The Squishiness of Things (Marc Kompaneyets)

I had seen this book several months ago and was immediately drawn to cover. The colors just set off my mind. Also, the word squishiness! Without this book, I'm not sure I would have had the pleasure of saying that wonderful word so many times here lately.

The story is of Hieronymus, the great knower of things. He has studied and measured all that there is to study and measure. One day he finds an object that sends him on a chase to learn the last thing he cannot explain.

A wild search through many lands leads him back to his home and to the realization that although he knows everything else, he has no idea who he is.

It's a journey of self-discovery and shows the importance of a little introspection.

As the Temple of Apollo at Delphi had inscribed..."Know Thyself."

The Gospel According to Starbucks (Leonard Sweet)

As I sit writing this I am (of course) sipping a cup of Starbucks iced coffee that I've heated up, and the playlist inspired by this book is painting my atmosphere with the theme song from Central Perk. Hang on I gotta take a sip...Ahh! Sweet bitterness.

I love coffee. I am also one of those people who get really into an experience. It's not enough to just watch a basketball game, I want to go play. Same with baseball, but let's not kid ourselves. So in reading this book I have become officially addicted to caffeine. Tea and coffee mostly. And here's the deal. I dont even feel bad. I dont even care. So you can keep the diatribe to yourself, because I fully intend to keep the drip in this IV going.

This book is really good. Leonard Sweet can sometimes lose you in his rhetoric, but not here. He makes a plain and simple point that most of us can connect with since most of us have been to Starbucks, love it or hate it. His argument is that what this coffee company has achieved is less about product and more about Experience, Participation, Iconic Images, and Connectivity. All things the church should offer on a silver platter.

A few ramblings about the sensory experience and a few thoughts on historical Christianity, Sweet draws on some of the rather unorthodox business ideas of successful companies and shows how they have robbed the language of faith and have become what religious ideologies have left behind. The human need for this type of existence is still alive and well, and we're going to achieve it one way or another. I agree with Sweet that the church has traded emotional rationale for rationality itself almost completely devoid of any experience or view of, participation with, or connectivity to God.

I smell every book I read. This book has an aroma.

Lion in the Valley (Elizabeth Peters)

Though not my favorite of the Amelia Peabody series, this ending is not to be missed.

I became interested in this series when, to my embarassmet, I read the back flap of the second installment in the series, The Curse of the Pharaohs. It read, "if Indiana Jones were female, a wife, and a mother who lived in Victorian times, he would be Amelia Peabody." I had to read it.

I have always had an interest in Egyptian stories. Not so much the ones that take place in ancient Egypt, rather the ones like The Mummy, where the late 1800's-early 1900's collide with antiquity. And I must say this author is incredible. The plot and characters are not as strong as other mystery writers, but the way she writes is so fluid and fun.

The main character of these 18 books is Amelia Peabody Emerson, the wife of a boisterous Enlgish archaeologist named Radcliffe Emerson. Their son, Ramses, is a very intelligent child who serves the comic relief alongside his proud father. Peabody, of course, being the rational mind here.

To Peters' credit, she does not simply create a strong female character who totally overshadows the men of her text. She does give great attributes to her heroine, but also leaves some of the more obstinate qualities of men in tact. Her men are manly and quite capable, although constantly derided in the Mrs. Emerson's inner monolugue.

In this tale the family is on another dig riddled with murders and suspsicious individuals. The climax is in the last 20 pages when Peabody comes face to face with her arch rival, the Master Criminal. A psychological dialogue ensues that sets the stage for more of this personality in future books. 4 down, 14 to go.

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (JK Rowling)

Several years ago when I read the first Harry Potter book, The Sorcerer’s Stone, I was entertained. It was cute. It was good. It was a sermon topic for every pastor in America to rant against. But over the course of this summer I have been tearing through the series (and a good many other books) and I expect to finish the entire seven books sometime this winter. I have thought about pumping the brakes a little however, because it saddens me to think that when I close the cover on number seven, it is all over.

Well, I just finished Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire and I am simply blown away. Part two in the series got a little more involved “storywise” than did the first book. Part three had an ending I thought could not be topped. But the fourth book took me to a place only the “special” books have ever done. This is one of those books where you slip right through the pages and out of time. You actually slow down to read it. You focus all of your attention upon it and insist that the words come more slowly so as not to miss a thing.

The storyline in this is pure artistry. The characters are amazing. The situations are heavy and the suspense is almost unbearable. All the things you could want in a phenomenal novel. I am simply amazed at Rowling’s talent. I cannot even describe the superiority of her ability to manipulate and bend the English language to her will as an author. This book affected me!

A Grief Observed (CS Lewis)

My mind works less like a plane circling a city in pattern waiting to land, and more like a compact car trapped in a round-about trying to exit. "Hey kids, Big Ben." Right when I think I'm getting somewhere someone blows a horn, speeds past, and I am forced back into another turn around the circle. Some people might say I'm slow to learn. I say I'm just having trouble merging into to traffic. Nonetheless, because of it I sometimes find myself chasing a thought to a maddening end. A friend once called it the "paralysis of analysis." I think that is why I so appreciated this book by CS Lewis.

A Grief Observed is really not a book. It's a collection of writings from Lewis' journal penned about a month after his wife died. It is extremely raw and deals with his journey though the process of mourning. But he comes to conclusions near the end that are less like answers and more like resignations. Not the desperate sort of resigning oneself to facts that cannot be changed, but the kind of freeing resignation like quitting a job of 30 years, I imagine, would be. It's bittersweet, but no less bitter, no less sweet.

I honestly did not expect to connect well with this volume. I ended reading the whole darn thing in one evening. Lewis' musings do not just deal with his greif alone, but serve as a vehicle into the human mind and soul and our issues with attachment and loss. I personally loved the book because here, we see one our great apologists of Christianity honestly doubting the faith and the goodness of God. He yells at Him. He cries. He blames Him. He adresses His distance. He is honest with Him.

This text is a good therapy session for anyone and, as is natural to Lewis intellect and ability, the author has brought the psycology down from the mountain to us all. I've always thought a true stroke of genius was measured by how well a person could make me understand some rather complex thing. Lewis always had that gift.

Inferno (Dante Alighieri)

Wow! This is an amazing, extremely imgainative poem.

I wondered as I read whether this could be considered the predecessor of today's tales of person's descending to Hell and writing their stories to make a few bucks. I suppose the difference there is the tremendous literary value and the historical look into the religious mindset of Dante's time.

This text was written over 700 years ago, I must commend Mark Musa for rendering a translation very accesible to modern readers while still possessing the spirit of the piece.

The book is a little scary at times, but then it can tend to be somewhat boring as he trudges through each layer of Hell. The characters Dante meets throughout also demonstrate the writer's command of history up to his time. Sorry Homer, Plato, Socrates, Achilles, Cassius. It makes you think. Word of warning...do not build your understanding of Hell as portrayed in the Inferno. It is important to remember that it is an imaginative work. Dont miss this one.

Beowulf (Dave Campbell ?)

Seeing as how this is hailed as one of the greatest achievements of the English language, I purposed to read it. I confess I did not read the poem, rather a prose rendering. I expected this would enhance comprehension, and I was miserably correct.

There is no clue as to the original author of this work, so I took upon myself to claim authorship. Thank you. Thank you. Dont look for the book tour however, because I now regret that I have imposed such loathsome reading upon this planet. Here's the rundown...

Monster terrorizes Danish people.
Man from next province over (Boewulf) comes with many words and kills monster.
Much backslapping and lofty speech as to how great everything is.
Man kills monster's mother.
More backslapping and lofty speech.
Man leaves to his own country and reigns nobly for fifty years.
Man killed by dragon.
Whole world of middle-school students forced to read text.

No wonder kids dont like to read. Hark! Perhaps if we handeth unto thine children texts to engageth their realities they mayest grow more fond toward said practice.

I did not finish the book. Read about half. Thank goodness it only cost me $1.50.

The Suicide Club (Robert Louis Stevenson)

The name was enough for me. I think it sparked memories of an amazing movie called Suicide Kings. At any rate the back cover of this one proved to be incredible. A secret society comprised of men in London who want to kill themselves, but lack the courage to do so. The President of this club is a mainstay. He charges a fee for entrance. He shuffles. He deals. If you get the ace of clubs you kill whoever gets the ace of spades. Sounds great right. Well the concept is.

The problem here was that a noble minded Prince Florizel along with his manservant, Colonel Geraldine, take it upon themselves to disband the society. After dressing in disguise and making a habit of visiting the dregs of London, the Suicide Club finds the bottom of their capacity to endure what they've discovered.

Written as a series of three short stories, this whole work reeks of poorly written Sherlock Holmes. Forgettable characters, forgettable crimes, forgettable resolution. I simply expected more from the man who gave us Treasure Island. But you know what? Perhaps I'm the problem. Maybe there's something wrong with me because all I desired was to see the organization live and watch desparate characters sweat out their opportunites for death. Sicko.

Frankenstein (Mary Shelley)

A $4 purchase at a used book store when I was looking for something, anything to peak my interest. Sometimes the interregnum betweeen books is like a wandering, searching of the soul. A desparate desire for the imagination to connect with the printed word. Being a classic, and being that I had never read it, I acquised to it's draw. It took me three days to finish.

I must honestly say I was surprised. I had heard the story that Mary Shelley, her husband, and Lord Byron all challenged one another one dreary evening to compose the scariest ghost story they could. Out of this contest was born Frankenstein, but not the one I had expected. The Adam's Family had effectively indoctrinated me to accept the pictures of the mad scientist in his lab trying to electrically charge the electrodes in the side of his square-headed monster's neck. Shelley's book is much more organic.

It grapples with the psychology more than the monster. She paints a picture of madness to be sure, but not the Hollywood type that shocks one's hair to stand sraight up. Her's is the kind that emaciates the health on an individual. Her Victor, which in reality is the only Victor Frankenstein, is a man the reader has a hard time embracing in spite of his horrible misfortunes. The reason...he is to blame for them all. A greater sympathy is felt toward his monster, unamed and shunned by it's creator and every other human. However, the atrocious acts committed by this creature leaves little room for pity. In short it is a tale that engages the reader while at the same time gving her nothing to hold onto. While the depravity of their natures are accesible, it is difficult to relate to the main characters in the depravity of their experiences. This story is more of a tragedy than a horror. In fairness, to the minds of 19th century readers as yet unpolluted and desensitzed by the screen, it was surely a masterpiece of psychological disturbance. It will even leave 21st century robots with plenty to think about.

One thought provoking scene is "the prayer." The creautre relates his existence to his maker, Frankenstein, at the end of which he requests a bride. Though repulsed by his invention, the doctor consents but later renegs setting the stage for the final act. Here Shelley dives to the depths of the human desire for accpetance and paints an existence where one's Creator is hostile toward him without regard to his appeals for love.

The book is written as a narrative and is extremely descriptive. All in all a great read, though not one I expect to return to in my lifetime. If you enjoy chasing the roots of cultural phenomena, this Bud's for you. If you want to keep believing in your halloween costume, stay far, far away.

Vampirates: Demons of the Ocean (Justin Somper)

Well, this should probably not be the one to start this esteemed journal, but here it is anyway. In fact, after this installment you may never read this catalogue again.

I had just finished Harry Potter # 2. I was living in the middle of nowhere for the summer and so most of my book shopping had to be done at that great beacon for learning and imparter of knowledge...the book aisle at Wal-Mart. I didn't know Sam Walton could even read. I guess the truck and the overalls fooled eveyone, not just mom and pop. I digress.

Pirates 3 had just come out in theatres and I was forbidden access to the show because the small town movie place apparently runs box office hits for a week and then replaces them with Transformers and other future selections for Masterpiece Theatre to consider. I have always been fascinated with Vampires, and I was, at the moment of spotting the text at hand, thinking about Johnny Depp and the hot chick in the Pirates movies. Wrap those into one and you got it. My eye just happened to glance at the cover and I was hooked. I picked it up, turned it around in my hand, read the flap, and then noticed the prize. A perforrated leaf attached to the back cover of the novel could be torn away and used as a bookmark. I actually had to call Alisa Dishong, our Vice President and Senior Reviewer here at DBR, to try and gain enough of her ridicule to persuade me to put the book down. I was, however, so impressed with the bookmark that I think I accidentally peaked her interest. To make a short story long (my expertise), I purchased the book. Words cannot describe the shame I felt while standing in line with this volume in my hand. My only consolation was that I was assured most of the shoppers in the particular town I was in couldn't read anyway.

I made quick work of the text as it was light reading designed for stupid children who carry around Harry Potter wands even when it's not Halloween. (I saw this kid yesterday at Barnes & Noble, I'm still mad at his parents.) The main characters are two twins, one boy, one girl who's father, the lighthouse keeper in a coastal town, dies leaving them with the options of an orphanage or being the pets of the bank president and his wife. Stealing their dad's sailboat from the marina they make their escape only to be capsized by a violent gale. The brother is rescued by a ship of pirates, the sister by a ship of Vampirates. The story is of their trying to find each other while being duly educated (corrupted, spoiled) by their new shipmates. Will he embrace the vagrant life of a thieving, murdering pirate? Will she escape the clutches of bloodthirsty monsters who only come on deck at night for their feast? the book ends abruptly setting us all (both of us who read the thing) up for the sequel, Vampirates: The Tide of Terror. Ooooooh!

The story is not bad, though a few things troubled me. Somper allows his child subjects to embrace some of the things that would have got me spanked by my mother. Drinking beer with pirates at 13, and befriending undead bloodsuckers is not painted in a negative light in the text. The only redeeming bit of this tale is a psychological agreement that though persons may have every appearance of evil and vagrancy, there may still yet be some good beneath it all. Not that this makes me feel any better about underage drinking or small girls hanging out in graveyards.

I highly reccomend this book to anyone who feels life has so little value as to completely terminate a portion of the most precious gift we have, time. While I did enjoy the read, I am afraid the next installment is not on my list. Arrrrgh!