Notes on Lance Larsen's First Book

Erasable Walls is a good first book. I say this because I've been thinking about first books and how Edward Hirsch calls them collections of "the best ofs..."--meaning they don't flow as well as the next books because the writer is still figuring the process and himself out. I thoroughly enjoyed Erasable Walls on its own, but since I read the other two collections first, I can see how Larsen has become more comfortable and confident in his work.

I knew going in that Larsen is a narrative and personal poet--meaning there are people in the poems, healthy sentiment, an arc you can follow as a reader (compare to lyric poetry which covers more "landscape of the soul" and other abstract concepts). I enjoyed the whole collection; my favorite poems centralized on the attempts to spiritually translate a situation, though.

I love "Errand." What are our errands? Of our fingernails or knees?

Another section, from "Letter to Hieronymus Bosh" that I appreciated: "This afternoon I found a mouse with a chewed-off head / on my doorstep. What was he guilty of? If tossing / him into hte field was a kind of prayer, I offered it / quickly, but didn't mean it. A single, lazy arc." How do our actions become prayers? Or how should they be prayers? What does it mean to really have compassion on the least? Is simply noticing ever enough?

"Denouement" felt like a poet's poem--on naming and language and expansion. Most collections of poetry have at least one meta moment. Usually every poem has a line or so that hints toward it, perhaps because one of the purposes of poetry is to draw attention to how we shape the world and our experience by the way we name things, by our labling processes. So Adam addresses the new world. "And no punctuation--all commas adn periods / swallowed by a grammar of infinity: / for who can parse God?" as we see the punctuation, the thundering dash, and definite colon, all leading up to the question mark that hangs heavily and implies that we believe we are whole, or know we are lacking, but ultimately we attempt to parse ourselves so that we can understand God, so we can grasp our relationship to something even as simple as the comma that may or may not be there.

Overall, I savored the book and my main complaint is that I bought a used copy and dislike the previous owners' marginalia (alas).

A note on some poetry (drafted months ago...)

Time builds up and I start feeling guilty about this dumb blog. I should form better, more efficient reports on what I read, but some days I can barely check my e-mail (Levi + technology = haphazard joy, destroyed machines...). And some days I struggle to slip in any writing time at all--the blog is just lower priority, I guess. Forgive me for my inconsistency; I don't live up to my own expectations most of time.

I have now officially read all of Jane Austen's work. Perhaps this desire came because I am surrounded by boys. Pride and Prejudice is witty and passionate and quoteable--no wonder there are multiple versions of it. Plus it's a fast read. Persuasion is not appreciated enough. I haven't heard many people rave about it, and it can be raved over. Sense and Sensibility is such an interesting look at sisters. What I love about Austen is the interiority she reveals by focusing on exterior realities. Granted, sometimes certain books and authors just fit my mood.

I've also recently reread Dandelion Wine (that was to celebrate summer). Ah. And Cheaper by the Dozen (one of Wesley's favorites--and very fun). I've read a few others and they are logged away in Excel. Eventually I may just figure out GoodReads.

This post is actually about three poetry collections.

I didn't mean to read The End of Desire by Jill Bialoski. Wes ordered The End of Oil for one cent online, and the bookstore had the two mixed up in their catalogue. They told us to keep it and sent the money for shipping back. Neat. While there were some great lines and what Doug Thayer calls "moments of insight," the collection felt self-absorbed and strangely self-congratulatory in its confessional style (annoying). It made me remember why people resisit the idea of personal nonfiction and confessional poetry. I worry sometimes that my work comes across that way. It is easy to believe you're exploring when you can't see the larger picture. People who have already made the map, or at least seen it, have a different perspective.

The Clearing by Philip White is an immensely personal study of grief, healing, and time as he considers the death of his wife. He's in his thirties. Overall, I found the collection lovely but a bit redundant. Sometimes I buy into the idea that there are only three or so themes out there that we all choose from and cling to--but I still want surprise and joy in the language. I want to feel pushed from the inside out.

Two Great Spiritual Reads

A few weeks ago I read a book that changed my life. Completely. I (unfortunately) have a tendency to edit as I read and wonder why people made certain decisions in their writing, but on this book I looked past all of that and stopped caring. It is written with the Spirit: amazing. Each page uplifts and edifies as a result, regardless of writing style or organization. It's one everyone should read, I can't even offer a decent summary. Such a humble, inspiring work. Wesley and I have made some life/family changes because of it. That's a powerful book.

Point: Read F. Enzio Busche's book, Yearning for the Living God (edited by Tracie Lamb).

This morning I finished Neal A. Maxwell's Not My Will, But Thine. Also lovely, but perhaps organized more intellectually. I thoroughly enjoy Maxwell because his work is quick to read as well as full of things to mull over. I find myself still refering to his ideas and insights years after I have read them. One that stood out from this book:
"What we feel on that occasion will be God's and Jesus' perfect love for us--not a scolding sterness but a profound kindness and immense tenderness. As these virtues flow from them toward us, many will feel the scalding shame of not having returned that love. As we feel their perfect love, we will confess that the justice and mercy of God are likewise perfect."

Isn't lovely that mortality is a matter of developing? I've been thinking a lot lately on how life demands more of our bodies and spirits than they are capable of handling, and yet we are upheld. Sleep deprived, over- or under-worked, strained--our lives are hungry, starved in a variety of ways at different times. But on earth, we refine our soul, we combine the worth and strength of both body and spirit, we daily discover what it means to be mortal and sometimes glimpse the greatness God sees in us.

Of Ivanhoe, Titles, and Foils

I'm in a book club with my sisters and mom. We read Ivanhoe in October. Since I'm behind in my book logging, I thought I'd start with this review. More to come.
Despite my first suprise at not hearing the name "Ivanhoe" until chapter 5, I thoroughly enjoyed the book (note here that I listened to the entire thing--so when it comes to names, etc., I don't have any spelling references!). I determined early on that male authors--at least our friend Sir Walter--of that time period should not spend pages describing clothing since even after lengthy anecdotes of feathers and furs, most of the characters fall into categories of class but are rarely distinguishable otherwise. With that acknolwedged, I do love Wamba--in his jester cap or disguised as a friar.


Throughout the novel I considered why Ivanhoe was the title character. He had few appearances, no real show of valor or strength, and primarily background information (rather than current since he was in secrecy then wounded). The book spent equal time with Wamba and the swineherd, more with Locksley/Robin Hood, and a decent amount with Cedric, Friar Tuck, and the celebrated Black Knight/King Richard. I felt that ultimately, the cast centralized around Rebecca. Rebecca revealed imperfections and virtues, desires and constraints, weakness of person and station but strength of spirit. Her affection for Ivanhoe is really where the reader sees the most of him. As a literary tool, Rebecca's main problem was that she proved Rowena to be a surface character: limited, again, to a vague description of beauty and heritage. At the conclusion of the novel, although we are told Rowena and Ivanhoe live happily, I could almost sense Sir Walter's wish that he had allowed Ivanhoe and Rebecca to somehow end up together. Alas, she a Jewess and he a crusader.

Ultimately, I think Ivanhoe is the proper title character because all of the events and other characters hinge on his existance. While the story only briefly touches on him, it could not happen without him. Cedric and Rowena probably would not have attended the tournament without the initial argument about/with Ivanhoe. Isaac might not have survived (more than once). Brian would have persued Rowena. The Black Knight would not have interfered as he did. Sweet Gurth never would have achieved freedom. Rebecca's champion would not have materialized. In addition to physical events, the emotions and motives of the characters relied on the established goodness and solidity of Ivanhoe. At least as a catalyst.

Women of Covenant

"We are going to do something extraordinary." --Emma Smith

""Let your first business be to perform your duties at home. But inasmuch as you are wise stewards, you will find time for [other] duties because these are incumbent upon us as daughters and mothers in Zion...By seeking to perform every duty you will find that your capacity will increase, and you will be astonished at what you can accomplish." --Eliza R. Snow

"I think visiting teaching is the most important work we do in the Church....I feel I really know a woman only when I enter her home. In this way I can serve her person-to-person. I have tried not to suppress any inclination to generous word or deed." --Camilla Kimball

"We should recognize that ideals are stars to steer by; they are not a stick to beat ourselves with." --Barbara Smith 

I love Relief Society. Last week I finished reading Women of Covenant: The Story of Relief Society. I loved it; it's amazing how my appreciation of something, even something I already love, can increase when I know its history and evolution. In my personal involvement in Relief Society I have seen miracles as women work together to help one another and seek to compassionately serve and grow. I bought this book almost five years ago when serving as secretary in my singles ward RS, but have only been able to skim through it until now. Since then, I've experienced the joy of visiting teaching--and the sorrows you can share with women who become your sisters. I've seen the effort that goes into creating meetings that uplift and build. I've participated in funerals, quilting, babysitting, and music. Mostly, this book helped me remember that Relief Society is really about providing relief to our families, to each other, to the Priesthood, and by doing so becoming more Christlike. Thinking about Relief Society really just makes me want to hug people and say, "Come with me." 

I want to be friends with Pearl London

Bless the Provo City Library and their little podium displays of new nonfiction! Last week I randomly picked up Poetry in Person edited by Alexander Neubauder just published this March. The book compiles (and condenses) over 25 years of 90 minute conversations with poets. Pearl London taught at the New School and began a course called "Works in Progress." She invited poets to bring a poem in revision, or newly revised, and discuss their "vision and revision" with her and her students. As a result, these conversations are much more intimate and worthwhile than interviews (and I love interviews!). The poets are candid, personal, and useful in so many ways. So many different modes of expression, advice, and theory.

If only every classroom was like this! If only every day (and conversation) was like this! It makes me want to devour the world. It makes me want to give the world something great.

If nothing else, every writer should buy this book as a reference.