Tag Archives: chesterton

Are “the classics” actually good? Wuthering Heights is!

So I’ve been making an effort recently to read some of “the classics” – my husband seems bemused by this, but I feel like I’ve reached a point where I can appreciate literature in a way I just didn’t when I was younger. I’ve always loved to read – but it was all about being wrapped up in the story. As I’ve gotten older, read more, become a mom in need of intellectual stimulation, and become more experienced as an editor and beta reader I’ve gained a greater appreciation for the art of writing. You can get a three-star review from me for an engaging story without amazing writing, but the fives are reserved for those that do both and also convey some sort of life message – communicate some great truths about life.

This year so far I’ve read 1984 and Animal Farm (George Orwell) and I’ve begun reading The Innocence of Father Brown (G.K. Chesteron). In 2019 I read Les Miserables (Victor Hugo), Under the Lilacs (Louisa May Alcott), and Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte). In 2018 I read The Silver Chair (Chronicles of Narnia #4, C.S. Lewis), Sense and Sensibility (Jane Austen), and The Valley of Fear (Arthur Conan Doyle). I only actually enjoyed two of those: The Silver Chair and Wuthering Heights. The rest I’m glad to have read, but didn’t love while I was reading them, if that makes sense.

Since I let this post sit for four months without touching it and don’t remember at all where I was going with it, I’ve decided to offer my quick takes on each of the books I mention above:

The Innocence of Father Brown — It is SLOW. Father Brown always solves the crime, and he usually imparts some bit of Catholic wisdom in the process. But it is slow.

1984 — I finally understand so many cultural references to Orwell. I also do not understand how people do not see the parallels to our modern life. Telescreens remind me an awful lot of Alexa…or Facebook. Scary stuff.

Animal Farm — I never took a European History class, which put me at a great disadvantage when it comes to understanding this book.

Les Miserables — Would any editor anywhere let this book get published nowadays? I LOVE the musical and know all the songs by heart, and the core of the story is wonderful. But we need to slash like…half the book.

Under the Lilacs — I just feel ambivalent about this one. I reread Little Women and Little Men as a kid (rereading books is not something I typically do) because I loved them so much and this one…was just harder to get into and love.

Wuthering Heights — This book is SO DARK. In the past I’ve found it hard to get into books where I can’t identify with the characters, or where the characters are unlikable. Pretty much everyone in Wuthering Heights in unlikable, but I think the story is wonderfully written and so heartbreakingly realistic. Maybe I’ve just reached a point in life where I realize there are no perfect people and so I’m not looking for perfect characters? I think, though, it might be that I found it a fascinating look at why people do horrible things. What makes these people tick? That understanding brings empathy, even the face of human awfulness.

The Silver Chair — Narnia is eternally captivating and all the books have been spectacular so far. I should get back to that series!

Sense and Sensibility — I really, really, really WANT to like Jane Austen. I’m just not sure I do. Some of the characters are infuriating and I’m glad I didn’t live in that society.

The Valley of Fear — I was largely unimpressed, to be honest. Which was a little disappointing.

Have you read any of these books? What do you think of them? Are there any classics I should be sure to read?

Why “The Hobbit” is not just for kids – Reblog from Aleteia.org

I came across this commentary this morning and I think it’s just wonderful. While I haven’t read The Hobbit since high school, it is one of the books (along with Lord of the Rings) that I hope to introduce to my kids when they’re old enough. The author of this commentary, Tod Worner, captures, I think, the essence of why I read and what I hope my children gain from reading. I particularly love the GK Chesterton quote he includes! Please find the original piece here.

Why ‘The Hobbit’ is not just for kids

 Tod Worner | Jul 03, 2018
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How reading J.R.R. Tolkien’s story to his 10-year-old daughter unexpectedly stirred this father’s soul.

I have a confession to make.

I am just finishing The Hobbit for the first time. And I am almost 45.

Okay, okay. So it’s not scandalous. But to those who consider themselves well-read Catholics, not having read The Hobbit and its three-volume sequel, The Lord of the Rings, is considered perplexing if not irresponsible. After all, they are essential works of the moral imagination.

For years, I have been told how good these books are. In them, tales unfold of an extraordinary quest of unlikely heroes, unimaginable creatures and unexpected twists. Ice-capped mountains and lush valleys, barren hillsides and forbidding forests serve as terrain for a motley crew of unlikely allies who strive and suffer together towards an end much larger than themselves.

And so, earlier this year, my 10-year-old daughter and I decided to embark on reading The Hobbit together nightly as she went to bed.

And it has been extraordinary.

As we walked each night with the diminutive Bilbo Baggins from his cozy home in the Shire to the perilous wide world of Middle Earth, we encountered elves and wizards, trolls and goblins, spiders and orcs. We sensed the constant thrill of the adventure ahead mixed (paradoxically) with the forlorn homesickness for what was left behind. Again and again, we agreed with Bilbo’s skepticism about himself. He is a nimble thief? He is an indispensable member of group of dwarves trekking to reclaim a mountain and its treasure from a hell-spewing dragon? He is a hero? Right. But then, time and again, Bilbo proved he was just a little bit smarter, just a touch braver, just a smidge better than either my daughter or I expected. The little hobbit was growing. And we were growing with him.

But there were no small number of times that I wondered what the devil this hobbit thought he was doing. He had a comfortable home and an easy-going life. His books were well-ordered and his larder was full. His fire was toasty and his room warmly-lit. Why leave it all? Why walk away from the known and predictable for the wild and uncertain? Night after night, just walking with Bilbo into the greater unknown made me pull the comforter a bit tighter and snuggle a bit closer to my daughter.

But, after all, that is what these tales are all about. They remind us of our smallness, but our potential for greatness. They illustrate the peril of living dangerously, but also the risk of not living at all. They re-acquaint us with eternal verities (often considered outmoded) such as duty, loyalty and honor as well as the bright line (forever at risk of being blurred) separating right from wrong and good from evil. They instill in us a devotion to each other and a greater reason for being beyond our own selfish appetites. And they do this all in the form of a parable.

The great southern Catholic novelist Flannery O’Connor once observed,

“I tell a story because a statement would be in adequate.”

Quite right. In a world deaf to platitudes, J.R.R. Tolkien decided to shout with hideous orcs, an incinerating dragon and an intoxicating ring. But the tale isn’t a tale for the sake of telling a tale. Allegories are allegories for a reason. They speak to sins and virtues, temptations succumbed to and temptations resisted, damnation averted and grace received. As G.K. Chesterton once noted,

Fairy tales do not give the child the idea of the evil or the ugly; that is in the child already, because it is in the world already. Fairy tales do not give the child his first idea of bogey. What fairy tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogey. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.

Indeed.

We must remember: The dragon can be killed. The ring can be destroyed. You can endure suffering. You can return home.

Chesterton reminds us,

At the back of our brains, so to speak, there was a forgotten blaze or burst of astonishment at our own existence … The object of the artistic and spiritual life was to dig for this submerged sunrise or wonder; so that a man sitting in a chair might suddenly understand that he was actually alive, and be happy. 

As I was lying there reading The Hobbit to my 10-year-old daughter, I smiled and once again understood.

I am alive.

And I am happy.

Thank you, Todd and Aleteia!