No doubt about it, I am a Dorothy Sayers junkie. In the last six weeks I’ve read as many Lord Peter mysteries as I can lay hands on. And each one leaves me wanting more, especially the stories that include his partner in sleuthing and life, Harriet Vane. Call me a hopeless romantic, but beginning with Strong Poison, I went on to read Gaudy Night and Busman’s Honeymoon. And still I want to read more about this dashing couple!
So I was thrilled to find Thrones, Dominations on paperbackswap.com, and I just finished devouring this last of the Wimsey/Vane mysteries. Actually, the book was not published until 1998, more than thirty years after Sayers’ unexpected death in 1957. She had laid aside the novel sometime between 1936 and 1938 as she focused on other projects, specifically her translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy. But she herself said Lord Peter never really left her. I’m thankful that Jill Paton Walsh picked up Sayers’ mantle and completed the story for those of us who just had to know what happens to Lord and Lady Peter.
The plot is remarkably simple once you discover whodunit, with a believable double hitch to tie all the ends together. More complex are the interactions between the main characters as Walsh develops the bond between newlyweds Peter and Harriet. As usual, Bunter plays a key role in all things involving his master and is happily rewarded with a wife of his own. Knowing this is the final Wimsey mystery, readers will be particularly tickled at the afterword. The authors don’t leave us hanging as to the happy couple’s fate once the war begins; rather, they give us just enough details so that our imaginations can fill in the rest of the story.
My favorite quote from Thrones, Dominations is Lord Peter’s maxim that says, “A person who tells a secret, swearing the recipient to secrecy in turn, is asking of the other person a discretion which he is abrogating himself.” Big words, I know, but it’s a good reminder to avoid gossip and to keep a confidence. And as always, Sayers riddles her prose with references and allusions from the greats of English literature, particularly Shakespeare, Milton, and Donne. Likely that is why I am drawn to her books like dust to a TV screen. I feel like I’m taking a grad course in Brit lit with the turn of each page.
Showing posts with label What I've been reading these days.... Show all posts
Showing posts with label What I've been reading these days.... Show all posts
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
“The Soloist” Played My Heartstrings Brilliantly
On a recent visit to my local library, I was making my usual dash for the children’s reading room to catch up with son Ben who was already making himself at home. As I rushed past the shelf containing new acquisitions, a cover graphic of a beat-up violin caught my attention and made me pause to read the title: The Soloist: A Lost Dream, an Unlikely Friendship, and the Redemptive Power of Music (Putnam, 2008). Okay, so I was hooked.
Not as if I needed another book to read. After all, the stack on my desk of books waiting to be read grows each week. And I will read them all, I assure you. It’s just that some books are a siren’s call and insist on being read now. The Soloist is one of those books, and I’m thankful that it diverted me from what I had been planning to read last week.
LA Times columnist Steve Lopez tells the story of Nathaniel Ayers, a one-time Juilliard student reduced to living on Skid Row. Lopez came upon Ayers playing a dilapidated, two-string violin only a few blocks from his Times office. Something about the way this man played held the reporter mesmerized.
Over the next months Lopez would get to know Ayers and investigate his story. Turns out, he had been an up-and-coming classical bass student at the prestigious Juilliard School in New York back in the ‘70s. After a schizophrenic break during his third year, Ayers lost his ability to function and went home to Cleveland where he began living on the streets. Later he would relocate to LA, where he made musical offerings to the statue of Beethoven, his favorite composer.
It didn’t take long for Ayers to become more than a story for Lopez, who was increasingly involved in the man’s daily life. And as the musician learned to trust his new friend, Lopez could catch glimpses of the self-assured, well-spoken young man who had wowed his teachers thirty years before. The columns were awaking greater Los Angeles to the plight of its homeless population. Well-meaning individuals donated violins and cellos to help Ayers make the music that soothed his otherwise confused, paranoid soul. Spotlighting his story prompted local and state politicians to allocate more funds for agencies that exist to help people like Ayers get off the streets and into treatment.
I won’t say that The Soloist has a happy ending. I’m not sure that’s even possible in cases of schizophrenia. In fact, the story is far from over when the last page is turned. Yes, Ayers is off the streets and living in his own apartment. He has a studio where he can practice his music in peace. Hollywood is making a movie about his life. But he is still very much a man tormented by voices within and a broken, sin-stained world without. Nevertheless, his story fills me with hope…not in some inherent human goodness, but in the God who orders each of our stories.
Certain books really prompt me to pray for our world, and The Soloist does just that. It made me more aware of a group of people I don't normally think twice about in my comfortable northern Michigan community. I know that one day this broken planet will be redeemed to its pre-Fall condition. I’m always grateful for cues that steer my thoughts away from my own selfish anxieties and toward the One who cares perfectly for the fallen inhabitants of this fallen world. So thanks, Mr. Lopez, for the much-needed reminder.
Not as if I needed another book to read. After all, the stack on my desk of books waiting to be read grows each week. And I will read them all, I assure you. It’s just that some books are a siren’s call and insist on being read now. The Soloist is one of those books, and I’m thankful that it diverted me from what I had been planning to read last week.
LA Times columnist Steve Lopez tells the story of Nathaniel Ayers, a one-time Juilliard student reduced to living on Skid Row. Lopez came upon Ayers playing a dilapidated, two-string violin only a few blocks from his Times office. Something about the way this man played held the reporter mesmerized.
Over the next months Lopez would get to know Ayers and investigate his story. Turns out, he had been an up-and-coming classical bass student at the prestigious Juilliard School in New York back in the ‘70s. After a schizophrenic break during his third year, Ayers lost his ability to function and went home to Cleveland where he began living on the streets. Later he would relocate to LA, where he made musical offerings to the statue of Beethoven, his favorite composer.
It didn’t take long for Ayers to become more than a story for Lopez, who was increasingly involved in the man’s daily life. And as the musician learned to trust his new friend, Lopez could catch glimpses of the self-assured, well-spoken young man who had wowed his teachers thirty years before. The columns were awaking greater Los Angeles to the plight of its homeless population. Well-meaning individuals donated violins and cellos to help Ayers make the music that soothed his otherwise confused, paranoid soul. Spotlighting his story prompted local and state politicians to allocate more funds for agencies that exist to help people like Ayers get off the streets and into treatment.
I won’t say that The Soloist has a happy ending. I’m not sure that’s even possible in cases of schizophrenia. In fact, the story is far from over when the last page is turned. Yes, Ayers is off the streets and living in his own apartment. He has a studio where he can practice his music in peace. Hollywood is making a movie about his life. But he is still very much a man tormented by voices within and a broken, sin-stained world without. Nevertheless, his story fills me with hope…not in some inherent human goodness, but in the God who orders each of our stories.
Certain books really prompt me to pray for our world, and The Soloist does just that. It made me more aware of a group of people I don't normally think twice about in my comfortable northern Michigan community. I know that one day this broken planet will be redeemed to its pre-Fall condition. I’m always grateful for cues that steer my thoughts away from my own selfish anxieties and toward the One who cares perfectly for the fallen inhabitants of this fallen world. So thanks, Mr. Lopez, for the much-needed reminder.
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