Back in February and March when I was re-reading and reading* Madeline L’Engle’s Time Quintet, I recalled the author’s bittersweet Two-Part Invention.  The subtitle helps show my interest in the book:  ”The Story of a Marriage.”

At the time, I thought it was the best book on marriage I had ever read.  Later, when I re-read the Odyssey, I realized Homer’s epic still holds that title.  (And perhaps always will.)

Given that I underline in my books and often write notes in the margins and fly-leaves, I thought that by reviewing this book, I might quickly locate a few insights, a few conclusions she has made about that ancient and honorable institution to help me craft a post on gay marriage similar to that Megan McArdle, as Jane Galt, wrote eight years ago, A really, really, really long post about gay marriage that does not, in the end, support one side or the other.

But, L’Engle’s book was about marriage primarily in the sense that she reflects on her life, her relationship with her husband Hugh, farmed in part around his death from cancer in 1986 .  To write movingly about marriage, she deals not in abstractions, but in anecdotes, sharing certain experiences with us as she recalls her feelings and her reflects on her and her beloved’s interactions.   And as I reviewed my notes, I wondered if what has been bothering me so much about the debate on gay marriage is that most people do the opposite of what L’Engle did in this book, that is, they talk mostly in abstractions.

Marriage is about love, say the advocates.  Gay marriage will destroy the institution, say the opponents.  The former hardly discuss how love can sustain a life-long partnership.  The opponents don’t tell us how exactly same-sex unions will undermine the institution.

And their tired cliches sound increasingly empty each time another individual repeats them anew.   What L’Engle teaches us is that to really get at the meaning of marriage, you need do more than recite rehearsed bromides, you need to tell stories.

No wonder that when Homer reunites Odysseus and Penelope after twenty years of separation, he has Athene delay the dawn so that the married couple can both delight in the pleasure of love-making and share each other’s stories. (more…)

On this the 193rd anniversary of the birth of the greatest English novelist, let me offer, in slightly modified form, the tribute I have offered in years past.  It is also the 116th anniversary of the birth of my late, beloved Aunt Ruth.  In her life, that great lady embodied the qualities of a heroine of an Eliot novels.

A few years back in anticipation of Eliot’s birthday, I watched the BBC version of Silas Marner, perhaps her most accessible novel.  The story got to me as the book always does.  It’s odd I who love books so much and am moved cry so little when I read (yet tear up frequently when watching movies).  Wwhenever I hear the story of the lonely weaver of Raveloe, however, whether in print, via the spoken word (i.e., book on tape/CD) or on screen, I am always touched, always lose it, so to speak it.

Ben Kingsley’s Silas plea to keep an apparently orphaned child who had strayed into his home, “It’s a lone thing; I’m a lone thing. . . . It’s come to me,” is the plea of every human being who has ever felt cut off from his fellows.  Indeed, that line in quintessetially George Eliot who so understood human loneliness and recognized our need for the companionship of our fellows.

And how meaningful that companionship can we find it.  Or how powerful the presence of someone who listens to our concerns and manifests sympathy for our plight.

George Eliot so delighted in the effect of a child on an adult with an open heart:

She [that child] was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep–only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky–before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway. (more…)

As a bibliophile, I fear the coming demise of an institution and product I love, the bookstore and the physical book.  With technology, we became able first to order books online, then to buy electronic editions, both actions facilitated by one particular company.

The virtual bookstore, however, could not replace several aspects of the brick-and-mortar variety.   The old-fashioned institution is an actual locale; a place of respite for your home or place of business.  Not just that, you could could discover treasures just by browsing — or by chancing upon one title while browsing for another.  Or while randomly wandering through a bookstore alone — or with a friend.

This happened to me on Sunday evening when, after dinner with a new friend in Glendale, we ended up in an adjacent Barnes & Noble.  There, in the essays section, I alighted on a book about a man, Lionel Trilling, who crafted an expression that helped me define my sometime predicament in life (“the dark and bloody crossroads where literature and politics meet”).  I might not have discovered the book through an amazon search.  Trilling doesn’t always come to mind.

Yet, for nearly two full days after first seeing the book, this book kept coming to mind.  I have this crazy theory (well, maybe it’s not so crazy) that if you see a book in a bookstore and you keep thinking about it (without outside prompting), it’s a sign that you’re supposed to buy the book.

So, today, rather than return to Glendale to buy the book, I ordered it.  On amazon.

On this the 192nd anniversary of the birth of the greatest English novelist, let me offer, in slightly modified form, the tribute I have offered in years past.  It is also the 115th anniversary of the birth of my late, beloved Aunt Ruth.  In her life, that great lady embodied the qualities of a heroine of an Eliot novels.

A few years back in anticipation of Eliot’s birthday, I watched the BBC version of Silas Marner, perhaps her most accessible novel.  The story got to me as the book always does.  It’s odd I who love books so much and am moved cry so little when I read (yet tear up frequently when watching movies).  Wwhenever I hear the story of the lonely weaver of Raveloe, however, whether in print, via the spoken word (i.e., book on tape/CD) or on screen, I am always touched, always lose it, so to speak it.

Ben Kingsley’s Silas plea to keep an apparently orphaned child who had strayed into his home, “It’s a lone thing; I’m a lone thing. . . . It’s come to me,” is the plea of every human being who has ever felt cut off from his fellows.  Indeed, that line in quintessetially George Eliot who so understood human loneliness and recognized our need for the companionship of our fellows.

And how meaningful that companionship can we find it.  Or how powerful the presence of someone who listens to our concerns and manifests sympathy for our plight.

George Eliot so delighted in the effect of a child on an adult with an open heart:

She [that child] was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep–only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky–before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway.

I rediscovered those words when I re-read Silas Marner a few years ago. When I opened the book I had just purchased containing the novel and some of Eliot’s short fiction, I did not quite arrive at the short story I had just begun.  I plunged instead right back into the novel, starting this time in medias res, reading well over two chapters before sleep overtook me.

Such is the power of George Eliot’s prose, the images she invokes, the ideas she presents, the emotions she expresses. She helps us find words for our deepest thoughts and shows compassion for our everyday weaknesses. She seems to see into the troubles of all our lives and finds the balm in tender relations with our fellows.

And that was how I introduced my George Eliot birthday post: (more…)

Maybe it’s all those Bush-haters looking for dirt:

For someone who mangled words on a regular basis, it’s an impressive feat.

Former U.S. President George W Bush’s memoir has sold an astonishing two million copies since it was released in early November – and it’s not even in paperback yet.

‘Decision Points’, published both in hardcover and e-book form, is flying off the shelves, the Crown Publishing Group says.

By contrast, former president Bill Clinton’s memoir, ‘My Life’, has logged sales of 2.2million copies since it was first published in 2004.

Or maybe it’s something else.

Commenting on this tidbit, Mark Hemingway quipped, “history is already proving to be more favorable to Bush than his final approval ratings would suggest.”

On this the 191st anniversary of the birth of the greatest English novelist, let me offer, in slightly modified form, the tribute I have offered in years past.  It is also the 114th anniversary of the birth of my late, beloved Aunt Ruth.  In her life, that great lady embodied the qualities of a heroine of an Eliot novels.

A few years back in anticipation of Eliot’s birthday, I watched the BBC version of the novel (featuring Ben Kingsley).  And the story got to me as the book always does.  It’s odd I who love books so much and am moved cry so little when I read (yet tear up frequently when watching movies).  Wwhenever I hear the story of the lonely weaver of Raveloe, however, whether in print, via the spoken word (i.e., book on tape/CD) or on screen, I am always touched, always lose it, so to speak it.

Ben Kingsley’s Silas plea to keep an apparently orphaned child who had strayed into his home, “It’s a lone thing; I’m a lone thing. . . . It’s come to me,” is the plea of every human being who has ever felt cut off from his fellows.  Indeed, that line in quintessetially George Eliot who so understood human loneliness and recognized our need for the companionship of our fellows.

And she delighted in the effect of a child on an adult with an open heart:

She [that child] was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep–only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky–before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway.

I rediscovered those words just a few nights ago. When I opened the book I had just purchased, I did not quite arrive at the short story I had just begun.  I plunged instead right back into the novel, starting this time in medias res, reading well over two chapters before sleep overtook me.

Such is the power of George Eliot’s prose, the images she invokes, the ideas she presents, the emotions she expresses. She helps us find words for our deepest thoughts and shows compassion for our everyday weaknesses. She seems to see into the troubles of all our lives and finds the balm in tender relations with our fellows.

And that was how I introduced my George Eliot birthday post: (more…)

Shortly before I left on my cross country trip, while browsing in the Barnes & Noble bookstore in the Grove, I chanced upon a book which seemed particularly relevant to the current debate on gay marriage, Elizabeth Gilbert’s, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage.  The title itself sounds like a reference the gay movement’s sudden embracing of an idea which many activists, until quite recently, so passionately rejected.

Reading the dustjacket and learning how this bestselling author was “forced” to marry her Brazilian sweetheart so they could live together in the United States, I wondered if any gay marriage advocates had done what she had done, studied the institution of marriage to better understand it meaning:

Having been effectively “sentenced to wed”, Gilbert decided to tackle her fears of matrimony by becoming a student of the institution, trying once and for all to understand what this befuddling, vexing, and contradictory, yet stubbornly enduring habit of human marriage actually is. Over the next ten months, as she and Felipe wandered haphazardly across Southeast Asia, waiting for the U.S. government to permit them to return to America and get married, the only thing she talked about, read about, or thought about was this perplexing subject.

Committed tells the story of one woman’s efforts through contemplation, historical study and extensive conversation with every soul she encountered along the way — to make peace with marriage before she entered its estate once more. Told with Gilbert’s trademark wit, intelligence and compassion, the book attempts to “turn on all the lights” when it comes to matrimony, frankly examining questions of compatibility, infatuation, fidelity, autonomy, family tradition, economic realities, social expectations, divorce risks and humbling responsibilities. (more…)

I took some time off from blogging and my dissertation yesterday for a second visit to the Borders on La Cieneg.  The bookstore has slashed prices (4o% off on books) as it prepares to liquidate its stock, even its fixtures, before it closes its doors this coming Saturday, January 16.

Given my bibliophilia, I may even return again, expecting the management to reduce rates even further in the store’s final days.  Today, I just “collected” books on CD as I usually buy a new one every time I prepare to head up to San Francisco to visit the most important person in the state.  After my purchases today, I won’t have to for some time.   Today, they had reduced most titles to $3.99, then discounted that price by 70%, meaning you could take home an audio book for $1.20.

I bought about 15 for a total cost less than I normally pay for one book, plus I tossed 7 or 8 copies of a reading of the Gordon translation of the greatest poem written in the first century of the Common Era into my shopping cart, wanting to share this great story with my friends.  They can hear of the exploits of one of the greatest heroes of all time as they navigate Los Angeles traffic.

Oh and one audio CD that wasn’t selling, even at $1.20, Scott McClellan’s What Happened, a title which has long since outlived its publisher’s purpose.  Obama’s Democrats notwithstanding, Bush-bashing no longer sells.

It is perhaps fitting that my youngest nephew celebrates his first birthday today (three days before the actual event) on the 113th anniversary of the birth of his great-great Aunt Ruth and the 190th anniversary of the birth of the greatest English novelist who ever lived, Mary Anne Evans Cross (AKA George Eliot).  For that great woman was particularly fond of children.  Almost all her novels end with the main character romping (or otherwise in the company of) his (or her) progeny.

Eliot understood childhood and the importance of a nurturing relationship between an adult and child.  And she even understood the importance of uncles.  At the close of Adam Bede, while Seth the brother to the novel’s eponymous hero did not marry the woman he loved, did delight in being uncle to her children.  Beckoned by his sister-in-law, Seth

. . . presently appeared stooping under the doorway, being taller than usual by the black head of a sturdy two-year-old nephew, who had caused some delay by demanding to be carried on uncle’s shoulder.

‘Better take him on thy arm, Seth,’ said Dinah, looking fondly at the stout black-eyed fellow.  ’He’s troublesome to thee so.’

‘Nay, nay:  Addy likes a ride on my shoulder.  I can carry him so for a bit.’  A kindness which Addy acknowledged by drumming his heels with promising force against uncle Seth’s chest.  But to walk by Dinah’s side, and be tyrannised over by Dinah and Adam’s children, was uncle Seth’s earthly happiness.

Last year, at this time I watched the BBC version of Silas Marner (featuring Ben Kingsley) where Eliot tells how by adopting an abandoned child, the eponymous hero found meaning and joy in his life and a connection to his his community.

“It’s a lone thing; I’m a lone thing. . . . It’s come to me,” he says when others in the community tried to take the child from him.  Eliot so delighted in the effect of a child on an adult with an open heart:

She [that child] was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep–only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky–before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway.

In February when I was in San Francisco, my sister and her husband went for a run, leaving me to watch over my sleeping nephew.  I peered into the darkened room where he was asleep in his cradle and felt a similar awe, an awe I’ve felt in the presence of his many cousins.  Eliot had described something we grownups feel and have felt, perhaps for as long as members of our species could feel.

Such is the power of George Eliot’s prose, the images she invokes, the ideas she presents, the emotions she expresses. She helps us find words for our deepest thoughts and shows compassion for our everyday weaknesses. She seems to see into the troubles of all our lives and finds the balm in tender relations with our fellows.

Since I am borrowing from last year’s post to craft this one, this year I will once again cut and paste the piece I have posted in previous years:

There are holidays we all celebrate. And then there are the personal days, the anniversary of a wedding, the day we first met our beloved, the birthday of a friend, special relative or favorite writer. November 22 is one of those days for me. Not only does it mark the anniversary of the birth of a very dear great Aunt, my Aunt Ruth, who would have been 113 today, it is also the 190th anniversary of birth of the greatest English novelist, George Eliot.

(more…)

With Sarah Palin’s memoir, Going Rogue:  An American Life going gangbusters on amazon, currently their #1 seller (it was released only today, yet has spent 50 days in the online bookseller’s top 100), it’s clear that this accomplished former Governor can both infuriate liberals and sell books.

It seems alas that the media, just as they did in the campaign, are focusing not on this reformer’s record, but her personal life.  After watching Palin on Oprah Winfrey’s show yesterday, Ann Althouse observed that there was no discussion of policy:

For the most part, Oprah pursued the traditional women’s topics: pregnancy, children, marriage. Palin looked vividly alive and spoke quickly and without stumbles or hesitations. I don’t think there was a single word about any serious policy question. It was mostly about how it felt to be Sarah Palin.

Newsweek runs a cover story calling her a problem and focusing on her physique.  As if on cue, CBS Touts yet another “exclusive” interview with the former Alaska Governor’s ex-son-in-law to be.  Do you think they’d pay him Levi Johnston heed if he only had good things to say about his son’s maternal grandmother?

Since publishers know Sarah Palin can sell books, many will jump at the chance to publish just about anything she writes.  So, she needs take a page from the man who won the White House last fall by promising to govern the nation as she governed Alaska.  After writing a memoir, she should followup with a book on policy.  After the holidays, she can start reading classics of political theory and conservative thought while meeting with public policy experts who have crafted conservative an libertarian policies to address contemporary problems.

When this book is released, say maybe next fall, just as the 2010 elections are heating up, various talk show hosts would be tripping over themselves to book Palin, knowing how that appearance would boost ratings.  And with a wonkish book out, some would have to ask her at least a few questions about policy.

(Though they would much rather talk trash with her.)

Still, such a book would given her a chance to promote conservative ideas and burnish her own image, demonstrating her ability to discuss the nation’s problems and her familiarity with solutions which do not bust the federal budget or diminish our freedoms.

As I celebrate today the birthday of my favorite novelist, George Eliot, and my most beloved late great Aunt Ruth Friedman, a woman who in her life, embodied the qualities of a heroine of an Eliot novels, I had hoped to craft a different post than I had in years past.  But, as I reviewed that, I felt it was better than anything I could come up with this week.

So, I’ll repost that piece, but with a different introduction.

On Monday night, while browsing in Barnes and Noble, I chanced on that bookstore’s edition of Silas Marner which also includes two of Eliot’s short stories, “The Lifted Veil” and “Brother Jacob.”  Those two stories may be the only works of her fiction that I have not yet read. I started reading the first story and left with a copy of the book (paid for of course).

Last night, I watched the BBC version of the novel (featuring Ben Kingsley).  And the story got to me as the book always does.  It’s odd I who love books so much and am moved cry so little when I read (yet tear up frequently when watching movies).  Wwhenever I hear the story of the lonely weaver of Raveloe, however, whether in print, via the spoken word (i.e., book on tape/CD) or on screen, I am always touched, always lose it, so to speak it.

Ben Kingsley’s Silas plea to keep an apparently orphaned child who had strayed into his home, “It’s a lone thing; I’m a lone thing. . . . It’s come to me,” is the plea of every human being who has ever felt cut off from his fellows.  Indeed, that line in quintessetially George Eliot who so understood human loneliness and recognized our need for the companionship of our fellows.

And she delighted in the effect of a child on an adult with an open heart:

She [that child] was perfectly quiet now, but not asleep–only soothed by sweet porridge and warmth into that wide-gazing calm which makes us older human beings, with our inward turmoil, feel a certain awe in the presence of a little child, such as we feel before some quiet majesty or beauty in the earth or sky–before a steady glowing planet, or a full-flowered eglantine, or the bending trees over a silent pathway.

I rediscovered those words just a few nights ago. When I opened the book I had just purchased, I did not quite arrive at the short story I had just begun.  I plunged instead right back into the novel, starting this time in medias res, reading well over two chapters before sleep overtook me.

Such is the power of George Eliot’s prose, the images she invokes, the ideas she presents, the emotions she expresses. She helps us find words for our deepest thoughts and shows compassion for our everyday weaknesses. She seems to see into the troubles of all our lives and finds the balm in tender relations with our fellows.

Without further ado, my George Eliot birthday post:

There are holidays we all celebrate. And then there are the personal days, the anniversary of a wedding, the day we first met our beloved, the birthday of a friend, special relative or favorite writer. November 22 is one of those days for me. Not only does it mark the anniversary of the birth of a very dear great Aunt, my Aunt Ruth, who would have been 112 today, it is also the 189th anniversary of birth of the greatest English novelist, George Eliot.

(more…)

As many of you know, the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah begins tonight at sundown, so as I write these words, some of our readers are already celebrating the holiday.

Every year, as the Jewish High Holy Days approach, I seek to engage in T’shuvah, the word literally means return (as if we return to the right path), where I examine my deeds in the past year and try to improve upon them for the year upcoming. To facilitate this process, I try to read S.Y. Agnon’s Days of Awe: A Treasury of Jewish Wisdom for Reflection, Repentance, and Renewal on the High Holy Days.

I have no clue how many times I’ve read this book since I first discovered it eighteen years ago. I find when I read it, it spurs me to reflection and helps me prepare for the Holy Days and the New Year.

This year, I pulled the book down from my shelves in the now-ending Hebrew month of Ellul, a month when, to paraphrase something I wrote two years ago at this time, we reflect, looking back on the previous year, considering our faults and resolve to improve ourselves. I didn’t get to it until just a few days ago.

I hesitated picking it up, fearing it would too much of a chore to get through, as I wanted to read the whole book over the Yamin Noraim, these Days of Awe, when we turn our thoughts to our Maker and our own improvement.

Once I started reading, however, it was not as much a chore as I initially feared. I found myself coming alive as I read, awakened to both the traditions of my people and the circumstances of my life, circumstances which helped explain (but not excuse) my own faults.  I realized (yet again) I was not the first to stray, not the first to take good things for granted.

I began to understand what it meant to be “humble and contrite.” Humble, that I am human and weak, not always able to live up to my duties and ideals. I’m not so proud to believe that I can always be perfect. Contrite, in that I take responsibility for my failures (even when I understand them) and seek to do better new year.

But, the real lesson I gleaned from this whole experience. While we may feel it is painful to consider our own imperfections, sometimes when we do, we discover the pain is lessened when we can see a path to improving upon them and find within ourselves the resolve to take the first step.

I’ve engaged in this process before. So, I ask another question: why do we hesitate sometimes to do those things which help us improve ourselves spiritually? And make us feel more engaged with our lives. And more alive.

May you, our readers, be inscribed and sealed for a Good Year.

. . .  or how to deal with a conservative blogger upset by a display table where left-wing books are overepresented.

On Wednesday, after taping a segment for Pajamas TV and blogging from a Culver City Starbucks, I agreed to meet a friend in the Barnes & Noble bookstore at the Grove where we’d go looking for a place to dine.  Getting there before he, I thought I’d browse around and pick up a copy of David Freddoso’s The Case Against Barack Obama: The Unlikely Rise and Unexamined Agenda of the Media’s Favorite Candidate.  I’d been meaning to review it.

So, I perused the display table inside the store, laden with political books. All but one (maybe two) books facing the doors were left-wing. This seemed out of character for that store, even though it is right in the heart of Hollywood, a stone’s throw (literally–if you have good arm) from CBS studios. Normally, they seem to have a balance of political books, just as many on the left as on the right.

Last time when I was there, I saw a table devoted to the presidential campaign. I actually counted the titles. They had one more Obama book (by or about) than those about his Republican rival. That seemed fair and may have reflected the size of the table more than anything else.

(more…)

As I recounted last month, I have been reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s The History of the Lord of the Rings. This morning, reading the third volume of that set, The War of the Ring, I chanced upon a passage (which the author would strike from the final text of The Two Towers) but which serves as much a rebuke of presumptive Democratic vice-presidential nominee Joe Biden as it does of the then-somewhat skeptical King Théoden of Rohan:

It is long since you have listened to tales by the fireside . . . , and in that rather than in white hairs you show your age, without increase in wisdom.

Here, Gandalf rebuked the aging king for doubting the truth of ancient tales.

Just as that good king doubted those old tales,  Biden refusing to look at the evidence of his own eyes and learn from history. For over the thirty-six years of this Democrats service in the United States Senate, he has been so spectacularly wrong on nearly every key issue “dealing with foreign affairs and defense:”

• In 1979, he saw the “advent of the ayotallahs” in Iran as an advance of human rights.
• In the 1980s, he opposed Ronald Reagan’s “proactive policy” against the Soviets.
• In 1990, he voted against the First Gulf War in 1990.
• Most recently, he called General David Petraeus “dead flat wrong” on the “surge.”

If any one of those two was “dead flat wrong,” it wasn’t the general.

While the Delaware Democrat has criticized one of the most successful American military leaders in recent years, he has been much more yielding in dealing with Iran, America’s most aggressive adversary in the Middle East, leading Michael Rubin to comment in today’s Washington Post, “Obama picked Biden for experience, but he might also have considered judgment. When it comes to Iran, Biden could stare down dictators; too bad he blinks.”

Just as experience alone does not mean good judgment, gray hairs do not necessarily mean an increase in wisdom.

It’s says a lot about Barack Obama that he assumed they do when making his choice for Vice President.  Better we should choose someone who has been right about so many international crises over the past quarter-century than someone who was wrong on nearly every key diplomatic issue since his first election to the United States Senate.

I wonder if it’s being around my family where the women are Democrats, the men Republicans that has made me less inclined to write about politics. To be sure, when we do get together, there is often much political banter, though others might use a stronger word to describe our exchanges.

Just over five years ago, during all the hoopla over the release of the Lord of the Rings movies, my passion for the story (and its surrounding mythology) was rekindled (well, it had never been extinguished). I re-read the trilogy, the Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales while exploring the various volumes of his notes, drafts and sketches.

I bought the box set of The History of the Lord of the Rings even as I had previously perused the volumes, thought I would never read them as they were merely his original drafts of the story, never fully fleshed out. When I was cleaning my apartment at the beginning of 2007, I decided to give these to a local thrift store, given that I already had the hardcover editions.

Well, a few weeks ago, while browsing in an LA bookstore, I chanced upon the first volume, I chanced (if chance it was) on the first volume of that set, The Return of the Shadow, and started reading. I was fascinated both by how much of the original story was there in Tolkien’s original drafts, yet how much of the tale’s essence had yet to emerge. I wanted to read on.

Feeling I owed something to the bookstore for allowing me the pleasure and privilege of perusing their treasures, I decided to buy the book and have been hooked ever since. Normally, I read the trilogy (or listen to it in my car) every year or so. This reading will be a bit different as I’ll be reading the drafts rather than the final version.

What an amazing story–how it stands up over time. Much like the great myths that I have been studying in my graduate work.

While I had become interested in War and Decision: Inside the Pentagon at the Dawn of the War on Terrorism when I read reviews of this new book written by the Bush Administration’s former Under Secretary of Defense for Policy on Powerline (here and here), I didn’t resolve to buy it until I caught this Corner post where Rich Lowry observed:

I’m told that the Washington Post won’t be reviewing Doug Feith’s book. And the New York Times hasn’t reviewed it yet either. I know as conservatives we always complain about MSM outfits not reviewing our books, but this is truly outrageous. Apparently it’s OK to heap every failure in Iraq on Feith’s head, but then to turn around and pretend he’s a figure of no consequence when he writes a book.

If they wanted to criticize the decision to go to war and the execution of that decision, it would be helpful to hear what a chief figure in setting the Administration’s war policy had to say, particularly when that figure includes numerous documents related to that policy. But, I guess their interest wasn’t in presenting an honest portrayal of Administration policy-making.  If the MSM was going to try to bury such a book, I would buy it to prevent them from doing so and to learn what this former official had to say.

Upon learning that Feith would speaking at the Santa Barbara Retreat of the David Horowitz Freedom Center, I bought my copy there so I could get his signature. So impressed was I when he spoke that evening, I asked if he would send me a copy of his remarks so I could excerpt them in a post promoting his book.

I wish more Administration officials had spoken as lucidly–and in fora more public than a gathering of conservative intellectuals and policy wonks.

Feith began by addressing the questions Horowitz had asked him:

Why did the President decide to go to war in Iraq —despite Saddam’s not having been a co-conspirator in the 9/11 attack? And the second is why did I write my book War and Decision?

He answered by pointing out that Bush “‘inherited the problem of Iraq and had two choices either “overthrow the regime” or “try to contain the danger.”  Neither choice was free from peril.

What struck me the most about Feith’s remarks was not his thoughts about the choice the president would make, but a choice he made in writing about it, not to denigrate those with whom he disagreed: (more…)

Reading Hugh Hewit’s post this morning where he discussed his appearance yesterday in the Campaign 2008 panel at this week’s Los Angeles Book Festival of Books, I realized I had intended to blog on both and the fair.

Building on his point (which I referenced here) about the weakness of the two leading Democratic candidates, Hugh writes the “Dems look more and more like Thelma and Louise headed for the cliff.”

More on that panel anon. First, about the fair itself. Given my love for books, I expected to leave with an armful, but surprised myself in buying only one–and that deeply discounted.

Every time I go to such gatherings or just visit to a large bookstore, I am impressed by the diversity of the offerings. I saw booths selling books (in one case, offering free Qu’rans) about Islam, others specializing in fantasy (and science) fiction, others in graphic novels, several in Buddhism and related themes, a number selling mysteries and other detective stories. The list goes on. And on.

I took note of at least four booths hawking left-wing books and information, ACLU of Southern California, Haymarket books, Leftbooks.com and the Nation Magazine. Puts truth to the left-wing lie about the “fascism” of the Bush era. If our nation were becoming fascistic, then such booksellers would not be able to display their anti-Administration, in some cases, anti-American, wares so openly.

In the aforementioned panel, the LA Times (the organizer of the event) offered a platform to outspoken Bush critic Robert Scheer. Neither the former Times columnist’s mean-spirited rhetoric nor his frequent misrepresentations of fact deterred the paper from inviting this left-wing blogger and columnist.

And Scheer did not disappoint, offering servings of angry rhetoric laced with regular distortions of the Bush record–and of conservatives in general. And he repeated the liberal/MSM notion that Hillary’s campaign tactics are right out of Rove’s playbook. Original these people aren’t.

I thought Hugh and co-panelist American Enterprise Institute fellow and National Review blogger/columnist David Frum had the better of the argument, but will give credit to the other liberal on the panel, blogger and former Howard Dean webmaster, Garrett M. Graff, for at least attempting to keep the conversation civil and not engaging in the kind of factual fantasy and rhetorical overkill which characterized Scheer’s comments.

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In the first few months of this year, I have read broadly, to prepare to write my dissertation, to sate my own intellectual curiosity and to understand the forces at play in the world as our nation responds to the ever-increasing threat of Islamofascism. As part of that last quest, I have recently completed the second of two books, each essential to developing responses to that threat and recognizing the challenges to implementing those responses.

The first (and easier read of the two) was Norman Podhoretz’s, World War IV: The Long Struggle Against Islamofascism. In this relatively short book (just over 200 pages), he looks how the challenges have changed as we move from success in the Cold War (which he dubs World War III) to the challenges of the struggle against Islamofascism (World War IV). Podhoretz praises President Bush for his aggressive actions in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks and shows how his policies are appropriate response to the threat we face.

Not only does Podhoretz defend the president, but he also dissects the criticisms leveled against the his policies by a variety of groups and interests, including the far left, the mainstream media, liberal internationalists and realists. Finally, he compares the current president to two of his predecessors who, like him, set our new direction for our nation’s foreign policy, Harry S Truman and Ronald Wilson Reagan.

The book is typical (Norman) Podhoretz well and often pithily written, offering many insights from his long experience covering American foreign policy and international affairs. This neo-conservative does not mince his words, never hesitating to take on his ideological adversaries and and ever eager to offer his own strong opinions. I only fault the book for its absences of footnotes. While with google, we could track down some of the articles he cites, we might face more of a challenge tracking down the books he references.

The second book, John Bolton’s Surrender is not an Option: Defending America at the United Nations is a slightly more difficult read, but demonstrates the real obstacles facing a diplomat trying to promote the policies Podhoretz advocates in our own government and international organizations.

Despite my criticisms of each book, I recommend both highly. The real challenge to reading Bolton’s memoir is that he details the many negotiations he had while at the United Nations. But, in sense that tedium serves an important purpose; reading those descriptions helps show the incredible patience required of a diplomat. And the challenges facing someone trying to advance America’s interest in international organizations.

As I noted in a previous post, given the endless give-and-take of those negotiations as he attempted to pass resolutions responding to the threats of international terrorism, I’m surprised that he did not blow his stack on a more regular basis. The constant parleying (with other nations), consultation (with other government officials and our allies) and compromise would try the patience of the most level-headed human beings.

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When I had a few moments to myself during my sister’s wedding weekend in San Francisco, I did something I love to do when visiting another town, visit a bookstore. And there was a delightful independent bookstore not far from my hotel, Books, Inc in Laurel Village.

This smallish (compared to the chain stores) shop reminded me how much I enjoy browsing in an “old-fashioned” bookstore. Here, instead of immersing yourself in one section, you find yourself starting in one section, then moving without thinking into another.

This store was one of those “independent stores,” you know, those who complain how they are losing business to Amazon and the chain stores.  I sympathize with this bookstore’s complaint.

I have tried to frequent such stores because the staff there tend to know and love books, but find that at some shops, the highly literate clerks have an attitude or lean far, far to the left and their store’s selection shows it.

Not so at Books, Inc. While I chanced upon a number of left-wing books on the shelves, I also saw offerings from Bruce Thornton (colleague/ideological ally of Victor Davis Hanson), David Frum and William F. Buckley, Jr. Jonah Goldberg’s Liberal Fascism was prominently displayed.

Not only that, The staff could not have been friendlier. As a result, I felt compelled to buy a book (always nice to find a reason to add another volume to my collection).  I don’t mind paying extra for a book when I buy it at a store with supportive staff and unbiased offerings.

If Independent bookstores are to survive, they will be places like Books, Inc. in San Francisco’s Laurel Village where you have a friendly staff and a selection which includes a panoply of political perspectives.

I had forgotten the pleasure of browsing in a smaller store where one section just flows into another. And the delight in perusing volumes which cover the gamut of American political opinion — as well as mythological texts, collections of poetry and bound reflections on human kindness.

So next time you’re in the Bay Area, pay a visit to Books, Inc.  And if the shop’s selection is as diverse as that I observed, buy a book and tell the clerk there you appreciate their inclusion of conservative tomes.  That is, if you think the market should reward broad-minded booksellers.