My Adventures in Literature

"Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become." (C.S. Lewis)

So this semester, I am taking Intro to Literature up at JCCC and LOVING it. So far it has been simply fantastic and I have had so much fun. Of course, my literature book and I have sort of a love hate relationship going on...it just so happens that all 2500 some-odd pages of this specimen of literature add about 5 pounds to my already murderous backpack...but then, I really simply adore its contents, so whats a girl to do? Continue going to Literature class and luxuriate in loosing myself in its pages? Yes. Set up an appointment with a chiropractor after carrying around 30 pounds on my back for a whole semester? Yes, too.
 
Annnyyway I am good at free-association :D Haha. The point of this post was ACTUALLY to share with you a pair of interesting poems we read in class today. The two were written by William Blake in the 1800s as companions for eachother, if you will, and are much more enjoyable if read together and then compared. So with out further ado, I present to you The Tyger and The Lamb:
 

The Lamb

 

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,

By the stream and o'er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing, woolly, bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice?

Little Lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

 

Little Lamb, I'll tell thee,

He is called by thy name,

For He calls Himself a Lamb.

He is meek, and He is mild;

He became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb,

We are called by His name.

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Little Lamb, God bless thee!

The Tyger

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night

What immortal hand or eye

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?

And What shoulder, and what art,

Could twist the sinews of thy heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,

And watered heaven with their tears,

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright

In the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Is the author comparing good and evil? Heaven and hell? Human nature before the fall vs. after the fall of man? Phrases in these poems point to all of these. And now, the fun part, is to explore for yourself and deide:)

Sonnet 43

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning ~

God Is the Gospel

So we (the members of the Gimotty care group) are beginning a new study. We will be going through John Piper's amazing book entitled God is the Gospel. Unfortunately as a result of my recent surgery (the removal of those nasty little inconveniences called wisdom teeth) I was not able to attend the first meeting centered around this study. :( For shame! But I did read the introduction and the first chapter myself at home, and even with such a small bit of exposure was deeply, deeply encouraged by Mr. Piper's words. This is just a breif section of the introduction, but it is so very lovely I thought I'd share it with ya'll:

THE HIGHEST, BEST, FINAL, DECISIVE GOOD IN THE GOSPEL

"The gospel of Jesus Christ reveals what splendor is. Paul
calls it the "light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of
God" (2 Cor. 4:4). Two verses later he calls it "the glory of God in the face of
Jesus Christ."

When I say "God is the gospel" I mean that the highest, best,
final, decisive good of the gospel, without which no other gifts would be good,
is teh glory of God in the face of Christ revealed for our everlasting
enjoyment. The saving love of God is God's commitment to do everything necessary
to enthrall us with what is most deeply and durably satisfying, namely himself.
Since we are sinners and have no right and no desire to be enthralled with God,
therefore God's love enacted a plan of redemption to provide that right and that
desire. The supreme demonstration of God's love was the sending of his Son to
die for our sins and to rise again so taht sinners might have the right to
approach God and might have the pleasure of his presence forever.

In order for the Christian gospel to be good news it must
provide and all-satisfying and eternal gift that undeserving sinners can receive
and enjoy. For that to be true, the gift must be three things. First, the gift
must be purchased by the blood and righteousness of Jesus Christ, the Son of
God. Our sins must be covered, and the wrath of God against us must be removed,
and Christ's righteousness must be imputed to us. Second, the gift must be free
and not earned. There would be no good news if we had to merit the gift of the
gospel. third, the gift must be God himself, above all his other gifts..."

John Piper

God Is the Gospel

copyright 2005 Desiring God Foundation

How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If I could choose a favorite sonnet from the 18th and 19th centuries, this one might be it. I love it. :) I recently read a novel based on (quite accurately) Elizabeth Barrett Browning's life, by one of the best historical novelists, Nancy Moser. She has also written on some of my other favorite historical women - including Jane Austen, Martha Washington, and Nannerl Mozart. But anyway - you should go and read her work. Espescially the one about Elizabeth. Even though its sad. Did you know her father forbade any of his children to marry? Elizabeth was nearly 40 years old when she finally ran away and married her one true love - Robert Browning - also a poet. Its a very romantic story and one taken straight from history. And that's what makes it so fascinating, as the autor Ms. Moser talks about. History often surprises me in that way - I have the ideas for a story, and the more I investigate, I find out what really happened was better than I ever could have made up. Gah I love it when that happens! Which reminds me of the story I am currently writing. Perhaps a snapshot of it will find its way on this blog in the near future. But I only said perhaps ;-)

~"I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life..."~

Romola Garai is Emma Woodhouse...

http://janitesonthejames.blogspot.com/2009/09/emma-2009-stuffy-period-drama.html

...and Ben Wishaw is John Keats! :)

http://www.brightstar-movie.com/

On Love

I tend to resort to poetry when I'm feeling melancholy (usually for no particular reason), but today I am suffering writer's block and must be content to read the words instead. Perhaps this poem's most memorable recitation was from the film Sense and Sensibility, where Marianne quotes it to her sister: "Is love a fancy or a feeling...or a Ferras?" ;)

Is love a fancy, or a feeling? No.
It is immortal as immaculate Truth,
'Tis not a blossom shed as soon as youth,
Drops from the stem of life--for it will grow,
In barren regions, where no waters flow,
Nor rays of promise cheats the pensive gloom.
A darkling fire, faint hovering o'er a tomb,
That but itself and darkness nought doth show,
It is my love's being yet it cannot die,
Nor will it change, though all be changed beside;
Though fairest beauty be no longer fair,
Though vows be false, and faith itself deny,
Though sharp enjoyment be a suicide,
And hope a spectre in a ruin bare.

~ Sonnet VII, Hartley Coleridge

Poetry, Anyone?

Let me not to the marriage of true minds,

Admit impediments; Love is not love,

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O, no, it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken,

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sicke's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Sonnet 116

Abe and Ann

Recently I've been reading some biographies (and a few first person novels) on the life of Mary Todd, Abraham Lincoln's wife. I do not wish to criticize Mary; I did not know her personally; and neither did the people who have researched and written about her. But many sources, more often than not, describe her as high-strung, self-absorbed, and rather obnoxious. As many of you know, I am an extremely loyal fan of Abraham Lincoln - I admire his humility, his down-to-earth-ness, his love for the Savior and his love for our country's roots (namely, the Declaration of Independence.) As a result, Mary Todd has always just rubbed me the wrong way. In my mind, dear Mr. Lincoln deserved much better. This, in turn, has led me to the lost (and often overlooked) young love of Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge.

As far as I have been able to find out, there are no known photographs of Ann herself. But whenever I see her name, I immediatly am brought to mind of an illustration in a children's book I read in 2nd grade - The Life of Abraham Lincoln - in which Ann is sitting outside, wearing a blue dress and bonnet, with curly dark hair and and a grin on her face. This will probably be the way I will always picture Ann Rutledge. Her story, on the other hand, is much more vague. In fact, no one really knows exactly what happened between her and Abraham Lincoln.

As a bare minimum, Wikipedia states that Ann was born on January 17, 1813, near Henderson, Kentucky - the third of ten children born to Mary and James Rutledge. The story is that Rutledge was engaged to John MacNamar, a dubious character who left for New York and promised to marry her upon his return. Rutledge and Lincoln supposedly fell in love while he was gone and she promised to marry him after MacNamar released her. For a time Rutledge and MacNamar exchanged letters, but his letters became more formal and "less ardent in turn" and eventually ceased completely. MacNamar never returned before her death. In 1835, a wave of typhoid hit the town of New Salem, leading to Rutledge's early death. This sad event left Lincoln severely depressed. Historian John Y. Simon reviewed the historiography of the subject and concluded, "Available evidence overwhelmingly indicates that Lincoln so loved Ann that her death plunged him into severe depression."An anonymous poem about suicide published locally exactly three years after her death is widely attributed to Lincoln. After Lincoln's assassination in 1865, his friend and law partner William Herndon first revealed the story of the supposed romance between Rutledge and Lincoln, much to Mary Todd Lincoln's anger and dismay. Abraham Lincoln's surviving son Robert Todd Lincoln was also upset by this claim. Most of Herndon's sources came from interviews with Lincoln's early friends in New Salem and Ann's relatives. The story was later repeated by Herndon in several lectures and books.

The exact nature of the Lincoln-Rutledge relationship has been fiercely debated by historians and non-historians for over a century. Evidence is skeptical at best. As for my own romantic self, I like to beleive that Lincoln really did love Ann, and that at least at some point in his life, no matter how short-lived, that there was a woman who completed him and brought him joy.

If anyone else is remotely interested in this doomed love affair, here are a few books I have put on hold at the library. I haven't read them yet but hopefully they will shed a little more light on the subject:

The Shadows Rise: The Abraham Lincoln and Ann Rutledge legend, by John Evangelist Walsh
The Women in Lincoln's Life, by Donald H. Winkler
The Intimate World of Abraham Lincoln, by A. C. Tripp

i.love.words.

I recently came upon this wonderful book called "Writing Tools: 50 essential strategies for every writer" by Roy Peter Clark. "Writing is a craft you learn," he says. "You need tools, not rules." The fact is, the best writers break the "rules" of writing all the time. Writing tools, on the other hand, "work outside the territory of right and wrong, and inside the land of cause and effect."

For an example, I will share with you one of my favorite new tools:

Tool 20: Choose the number of elements with a purppose.

One, two, three, or four: each sends a secret message to the reader.

>> The Language of One Use One For Power

Jesus wept.

Call me.

War is hell.

I do.

God is love.

Elvis has left the building.

I have a dream.

I have a headache.

Read my lips.

>> The Language of Two Use Two for Comparison, Contrast.

Mom and Dad.

Tom and Jerry.

Ham and eggs.

Abbot and Costello.

Men are from Mars. Women are from Venus.

Dick and Jane.

Rock 'n' roll.

I and thou.

>> The Language of Three Use Three for Completeness, Wholeness, Roundness.

Beginning, middle, and end.

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Moe, Larry, and Curly.

A priest, a minister, and a rabbi.

Executive, legislative, judicial.

The Nina, the Pinta, and the Santa Maria.

>> The Language of Four and More Use Four or More to List, Inventory, Compile, Expand.

Getting the drift? I am espescially enamored of the way the author uses what he is teaching in his actual writing. Some people may not catch it but I thought it was brilliant. I found it interesting how many of these "tools" I already used, but how being more aware of them by giving them a label has actually helped me in the every day writing process.

So. Anyway. If you made it all the way through that without falling asleep I applaud you. There actually are some wacko people out there who find themselves scraping the scraps off the plate, so to speak, when it comes to this kind of thing. Tool 44: Save String. You never know when you're going to use it.

Musings...

[EDIT: It has been brought to my attention by a particular Mr. Smith that I have not been posting his weekly articles. I am repentant and promise to start putting them up again in the near future...so stay tuned!]

Well, I finished my short story. By yesterday, I finally decided that I needed to go ahead and do something that I felt the most comfortable with...the Underground Railroad. It required zero research so I was able to finish it by this morning. Honestly I am not satisfied with it at all...I was kind of rushed and I know I could have done WAY more with it...but oh well. That's what the class is for, no?

I have found that, unfortunatly, the time I write the best is after 10 o'clock p.m. This presents the problem that, if I don't get to bed by 11 or 12, I have to sleep longer in the morning or I will not function properly the rest of the day. And when I sleep longer that pushes the rest of my school time to later in the afternoon, and I begin to feel rushed. Obviously I am in need of some time management skills?? The book by the Mahaney women, Shopping for Time, has been sitting on our bookshelf for quite some time. Maybe its time I took it off...;)

Anyway! Speaking of school I have quite a bit on my reading list. Most of it voluntary. :) Firstly, and so far my favorite, I have been going through the letters of John and Abigail Adams. The more I read their words the more I am amazed at what a strong woman Abigil was, and what a wise husband she had! God certainly knew what he was doing when he chose these people to help shape our nation.

Now I am going to have to share with you the first letter, while they were still courting. It is the first existing letter that we know of, from John Adams to a certain Miss Abigail Smith, or, "Miss Adorable":

Miss Adorable, Octr 4th. 1762

By the same Token that the Bearer hereof satt up with you last night I hereby order you to give him, as many Kisses, and as many Hours of your Company after 9 OClock as he shall please to Demand and charge them to my Account: This Order, or Requisition call it which you will is in Consideration of a similar order Upon Aurelia for he like favour, and I presume I have good Right to draw upon you for the Kisses as I have given two or three Million at least, when one has been recd, and of Consequence the Account between us iis immensely in favour of yours

John Adams

Anyway, I thought that was so cute and there are many other letters of more...serious buisness. :) Adios amigos!

Martha Custis Kennon

So...as many of you know I am writing a "book" centered around the family of Robert E. Lee. Well, I'd had my plot taken care of, and most of my characters, except for the most important one: the protagonist. I had to find someone who lived within a near enough proximity to the Lees to have a close relationship with them. She would have to be a young woman between the ages of 15 and 20. And she would have to be a relative of Mary Anna Lee, who was of the family of Martha Washington.

I spent hours in the library and hours online, deciphering geneologies and family trees, before I discovered Martha Custis Kennon.

Martha, or "Patsy", was born in 1843, the great-great-granddaughter of Martha Washington through her son, Jackie Custis. Patsy's mother, Brittania Peter, married BeverlyKennon in1842. She was 27 and he was 50. Beverly died a year after Patsy's birth, leaving his wife and daughter alone in their giant mansion, Tudor Place, in Georgetown, Washington DC.

I knew I'd found my protagonist. Teenaged descendant of Martha Washington, cousin to the Lees, offspring of an arranged marriage cut short, daughter of a staunchly Virginain woman living in the heart of the Union capitol. An only child growing up in a huge old house that once entertained celebrities such as John and Abigail Adams, Marquis de Lafayette, Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, and John C. Calhoun. Can't you just picture it? I could. It was not exactly the recipe for a normal and carefree childhood.

It was perfect.

And so I got carried away with all the what-must-it-have-been-likes? and my protagonist was born. Ahhh! It's all so exciting and perfect!!

Okay anyway. Obviously, the portrait is of Patsy Kennon around the time of her wedding in 1867. (I think its a rather pretty portrait - I love the fact that her hair looks like it might have been red.) Her husband (whose name will remain unrevealed as a plot-spoiler) was three years her senior - a young doctor in charge of a smallpox hospital during the war.

So the whole point of this post is basically I LOVE HISTORY. History is nothing but the stories of ordinary people who found themselves in un-ordinary times. This is the reason I love historical fiction and have such a passion about writing it. Because I want people to really see this, that history is so much more than dead names and dates! History is simply this - God's hand at work in the lives of his people throughout the generations. I get chills just thinking about it!

Sorry you all probably think I'm a pathetic maniac by now. That's okay. We're all different, no? :) Hats off to you if you've made it through my rambling thoughts on history once again!

Another Novel

Yes, I have been at work again on yet another "novel" of mine. I have many, you know, though I never have the heart to finish them. I feel rather disloyal to my characters if I finish a book. So there is no guarantee this one will be finished in 2009 like my spiffy little "trailor" says. I just made that for fun. :) But yeah, I find the fact that Robert E. Lee and George Washington were related (by marriage) fascinating. And sadly, my brain will run away with something like that and add a whole bunch of "what ifs...?" to it and voila, I start a new book. :)

So yes. This is what I have been up to lately. :)

.music.

Ah! greater than all words of mine can say,
The heights, the depths, the glories, of that sway.
No mortal tongue can bring authentic speech
Of that enchanted world beyond its reach;
No tongue but hers, when, lifted on the waves
Of Tone and Harmony, beyond the graves
Of all we lose, we drift entranced away
Out of the discords of the common day;
And she, the immortal goddess, on her breast
Lulls us to visions of a sweet unrest,
Smiles at the tyrannies of time and space,
And folds us in a mother's fond embrace,
Till, sailing on upon that mystic sea,
We feel that Life is Immortality.

~ Christopher Pearse Cranch

Books

Coming soon - pictures from the 6fourteen progressive dinner! Warning: disturbing images not suitable for young children. lol. Just kidding! But we were pretty slap-happy, yeah? I am very thankful for my crazy friends. Life would be very dull without you. =D

.snow flakes.

Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow,
Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make,
In the white countenance confession,
The troubled sky reveals
The greif it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in the silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.


~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A Portrait of Jane Austen

Many of you know Jane Austen, faintly, as the author of the book that inspired the film Pride and Prejudice. I did not know much about her at first, but after I read her novels, I began to wonder what kind of a woman this was. And I, a wanna-be-writer, of course, looked into the matter.
I found on the internet (isn't the internet a wonderful thing?) a book by her nephew that was written in 1870. In the future I may post other things of interest that I find about her in the on-line pages of that book, but I liked this description of her in Chapter Five:

Description of Jane Austen's Person, Character, and Tastes:

"...in person she was very attractive; her figure was rather tall and slender, her step light and firm, her whole appearence expressive of health and animation. In complexion she was a clear brunette with a rich colour, she had full round cheeks, with a mouth and nose small and well formed, bright hazel eyes, and brown hair forming natural curls close around her face. If not so regularly handsome as her sister, yet her countenance had a peculair charm of its own in the eyes of most beholders. At the time of which I am now writing, she was never seen, whether morning or evening, without a cap; I beleive she and her sister were generally thought to have taken to the garb of middle-age earlier than their years or their looks required; and that, remarkably neat in their dress and in all their ways, they were scarecely sufficiently regardful of the fashionable, or the becoming.
She was not highly accomplished according to the present standard. Her sister drew well; Jane herself was fond of music, and had a sweet voice, both in singing and in conversation; in her youth she had received some instruction on the pianoforte; and at Chawton she practiced daily, cheifly before breakfast...in the eveing she would sometimes sing, to her own accompanyment, some simple old songs, the words and airs of which, now never heard, still linger in my memory...
Jane, when a girl, had strong political opinions, espescially about the affairs of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. As she grew up, the politics of the day occupied very little of her attention, but she probably shared the feeling of moderate Toryism, which prevailed in her family...
Scott's poetry gave her great pleasure; she did not live to make much aquaintence with his novels. Only three of them were published before her death; but it will be seen from the following extract from one of her letters, that she was quite prepared to admit the merits of Waverly, and it is remarkable at that, living, as she did, far away from the gossip of the literary world, she should even then have spoken about his being the author of it:

"Walter Scott has no buisness writing novels; espescially good ones. It is not fair. He has fame and profit enough as a poet, and ought not be taking the bread out of other people's mouths. I do not mean to like Waverly, if I can help it, but I fear I must. I am quite determined, however, not to be pleased with Mrs. --'s, should I ever meet with it, which I hope I may not. I think I can be stout against anything written by her. I have made up my mind to like no novels, really, but Miss Edgeworth's, E's, and my own."

...when staying at Chawton, with two of her other neices, we often had amusements in which my aunt was very helpful. She was the one to whom we always looked for help. She would furnish us with what we wanted from her wardrobe; and she would be the entertaining visitor in our make-believe house. She amused us in various ways...very similar is the testimony of another neice:

"Aunt Jane was a general favourite with the children; her always with them being so playful, and her long circumstantial stories so delightful. These were continued from time to time, and were begged for on all possible and impossible occasions; woven, as she proceeded, out of nothing but her own happy talent for invention..."