A post on my church’s blog has pointed me to this – the Times’ top ten Christian books.
I was delighted – and intrigued – to see that Join Me, by the dear Leader (no, not that one) is in the list. Danny Wallace is not a Christian, and “Join Me” is not a Christian book, but it certainly features one or two Christians and the has inspired many. I’m off to the sixth annual Karmageddon next week, when joinees gather to celebrate, share and spread the kindness that Join Me (the movement on whose early days the book is based) has become.
If you’ve not read “Join Me”, I insist you do so, and may stop talking to you if I discover you haven’t.
The Times list was interesting, because I’ve been reading quite a few Christian books lately (which means I am either turning intellectual, or just getting old). Rob Bell has a couple of good reads, and I’ve just started a book called The Bloke’s Bible which caught my eye because it described itself as the sort of book you can read in the pub while having a pint. Excellent.
I’ve been quite an industrious reader of late, in fact.
In one evening recently, I sprinted through the unusual The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas, which tells the story of a friendship between a German officer’s son and a Jewish boy in a concentration camp. The simplicity and sheer readability of the book betrays a dark, sinister and quite uncomfortable atmosphere, all the more so because we see things through the 9 year-old German’s eyes, which are protected from the horror we know took place. Well worth a read, and as I say, a very easy and quick book to get through.
It reminded me, in a way, of Holes, an outstanding story about friendship in a youth detention camp, and which has a similar clever ability to explore deep, difficult issues through the eyes of a teenager.
Shifting genre somewhat, my most recent reads have been John Wyndham. I got given Chrysalids a while back, which tells a tale of friendship, dogma, isolation and community in a pre-industrial rural America. I really enjoyed it, and from there have read other Wyndhams, the most famous of which of course is the brilliant Day of the Triffids.
Although Chrysalids is set in a different era, it shares many core themes and styles with the other Wyndham books, which can be more or less sumamrised as heavily character-based 1950s science fiction set in England.
The stories are bitingly relevant to today’s world, and through them we explore humankind’s reactions to various threats – such as genetic engineering, rising sea levels or the slowing of the ageing process. The books are well-written and gripping in their plot and drama.
However, the fact that they are much more than stories and are also vehicles to explore big issues makes the books often a little academic or pseudo-historical. For instance, the key characters (the books are often written in the first person) are generally among the more knowledgeable about whatever catastrophe is befalling the world – usually our narrators are journalists or scientists, and explanations are given through somewhat wooden authority figures (eg military or government) and gaps in the reader’s understanding are filled by sometimes pedestrian and boring quotes from newspapers or TV and radio broadcasts. And the attitudes, phrases and societal norms of the era come over as antiquated and amusing in an era of gender equality, 24-hour news and global travel.
Perhaps that they come over as diarised histories, however, helps make them more authentic, more human, more sinister and credible as a result.
I read the five major Wyndham novels in quick succession, and am rather disappointed there are not more. Wyndham himself is dead, though, so I doubt he’d be up to writing any new ones.
Which reminds me – and I really am rambling now – of one of my favourite jokes. Many years ago, two grave robbers come across the grave of the recently-dead Beethoven. Thinking there should be a premium from the corrupt doctors for such a famous corpse, they dig him up. On opening the coffin, they find him lying down with a pile of sheet music, which he is frantically rubbing out with an eraser.
“Beethoven,” the grave robbers exclaim, “what on earth are you doing?”
“Decomposing,” comes the reply.
Anyway. Time for me to stop writing. I’m down with a bit of a cold right now, so have promised myself an early night.
Michael Palin’s New Europe awaits…
Finally, two months after getting back, I’ve finally got the last of my photos from the USA trip uploaded.
Although it felt a little too well-managed and gentrified to be the home of grunge, it still had a lovely mix of old and new buildings, a lot of native art around the place, the famous Pike Place Market, a lovely coastline, and great views from the Space Needle.
