This Just Read: A Farewell to Arms

A few days ago I finished Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. It's part of my summer of World War One centennial reading. I could have sworn that I'd read it decades years ago, when I first discovered Hemingway in college, but I may be wrong. Either way, I read a handful of Papa's works every few years and delight in rediscovering them. [WARNING: contains spoilers]

More than many authors for me, I get more out of Hemingway's stuff as I re-read it later in life. There's plenty there to meet me at whatever age or place in life I find myself. This isn't true of every author. I love The Hobbit, for example, and delight in re-reading it, but I don't often encounter new things in it the way I do with Hemingway. I guess that's as good a definition of "literature" as can be found.

So, whether I'd read it years ago and forgot, or read it for the first time this summer, I can say that I was deeply moved by A Farewell to Arms (hence AFTA). I've read quite a bit of Hemingway history and criticism, including Carlos Baker's biography. I know the real-life circumstances behind some of the plot of AFTA. I also know this is a young Hemingway coming to grips with his own story in ways to which The Sun Also Rises--no matter how autobiographical--never comes close. Not by a mile.

So this is a serious work. It's a story of war, of love, of loss. By the time EH wrote it, he'd had some taste of all of these. By the time of my recent reading, I'd had a decent grounding in two of them. I'm willing to let EH's instincts as a writer and storyteller inform me of the third.

I'm writing neither a review nor a book report, just some of my impressions. Let me share a few of the things I really liked and one I really didn't.

As a statement about war, I like what Hemingway's done. The book is one big ode to the futility of war. The war has already begin before the fist page and isn't over when we get to the last. That leaves this reader is a sense of permanent war. This is a feeling expressed by many of the characters, as well. There's a sense of exhaustion and helplessness throughout.

Though set against the backdrop of battle and death, there are only a few depictions of actual warfare perpetrated on by by the characters. An Italian sergeant is shot at and killed by the main character as he abandons them during a retreat. One of the ambulance drivers is shot and killed by his own side while wandering between enemy lines. Later, groups of officers are pulled aside during a general retreat and systematically shot for abandoning their men.

What's telling is that all the warfare that's actually depicted in the novel is done by and to members of the same side. The Austrians--and later the Germans--are there in the background, but mostly it's Italians killing Italians. It's as if Hemingway is giving us a not-so-subtle clue to the true nature of war: everyone ends up killing themselves.

Key to the main plot is the pregnancy of Catherine Barkley by the protagonist, Frederic Henry. Her child is stillborn and Catherine dies of hemorrhage, leaving Frederic alone at the close of the book. This pregnancy can be instilled with many great and portentous readings. What do we hope is being born out of the sacrifice of war? What brave new world are we expecting to emerge? Whatever hopes we might have had--of a life free from fear, of a world free of violence--are shattered as the pregnancy bears no living offspring and, in fact, kills the mother. A powerful metaphor for the nihilism of war.

The Sun Also Rises (TSAR), Hemingway's popular first novel, was an ensemble piece, following a groups of folks around Spain. AFTA is a more private work. Most of the conversations are one-on-one. Where TSAR can be catty and mean-spirited, AFTA is intimate. Lots of conversations occur in empty hospital rooms, hotel rooms, and restaurants (their emptiness another echo of war). This is generally done well and suits the purpose of the book. But there is a problem.

In their pillow talk, Catherine Barkley comes off as some sort of mewling imbecile. I don't know if women used to talk like that in the 1920s or if Hemingway hadn't had enough experiences of real women. Catherine is a needy, whiny girlfriend. There's a touch of the crazy bunny boiler from Fatal Attraction in her. I spent some time wondering what Frederic saw in her. Maybe she had qualities that don't come across fully in print [nudge nudge, wink wink]. Every other conversation is tight and well-written, classic Hemingway stuff. She comes off vain and shallow.

I know there are reasons for her characterization, stemming from Hemingway's own wartime experiences. Still, he clearly was writing his heart out here with great purpose. He should have done better by his characters.

Still, I highly recommend A Farewell to Arms and consider it one of Ernest Hemingway's best.

This Just Read: The Guns of August

This summer marks the 100th anniversary of the outbreak of the First World War. To honor that event, I've been doing some associated reading.

This week I finished Barbara Tuchman's classic, The Guns of August, one of her three volumes on the history of the First World War. This volume deals with the immediate run-up to the war and the critical first thirty days, when Germany's drive through Belgium into France was designed to rapidly overwhelm French defenses, bringing the country to its knees in time for Germany to turn its attention to Russia.

I've been reading this for over a month, on my lunch hours, etc... It's well written, but not a page turner. I ran into the same problem a few years ago with John Keegan's The First World War. I think Keegan is one of the best military historians and love his books The Second World War and Six Armies in Normandy. Both Keegan's and Tuchman's approach to the First World War, however, is a step-by-step account of every move and counter-move. It gets a bit tedious and pretty soon you stop even trying to remember which general is which.

Some things I got out of Tuchman's book about underlying causes were the deeply-held conviction in Germany that war was a Good Thing, something that builds national character. Often commented upon as a causative factor was the interlocking web of treaties between nations at the turn of the century, committing them to wars if allies are attacked. France had to play her cards just right to make sure Germany violated all the right treaties (e.g. smashing through neutral Belgium) in order to lock in the actions of Russian and Great Britain. France did, indeed, play all those cards just right, though with supreme effort.

It's often said that the Second World War had its roots in the First. Well, apparently the First World War had its roots in the Franco-Prussian War of 1870. So much of the high commands of France and Germany were influenced by the events of 1870 and their war plans were crafted accordingly.

It makes one wonder how the wars of today are already influencing the wars of tomorrow. In this day of fast-paced Instant History, what formerly took decades can now happen in months or weeks. The swift attacks by ISIS in Syria and Iraq sprang full-blown from the US-led wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I'm sure more will follow.

I'm currently reading A Farewell to Arms, by Ernest Hemingway, and may then read All Quiet on the Western Front, by Erich Remarque.

This Just Read: Get Their Name

I'm running a bit behind on my book postings. A few weeks ago I read a book for church called Get Their Name: How to Grow Your Church by Building New Relationships, by Bob Farr, Doug Anderson, and Kay Kotar. It's a book about relational evangelism--sharing the good news through personal relationships.

Overall, it's a good book and reads quickly. It's divided into three short sections about: 1) teaching your church members to share their faith stories, 2) how to engage people and begin to form new relationships, and 3) church hospitality.

I read the first section at the Utica Coffee Roasting Company, my favorite hangout in Utica. It read quickly and got me pretty excited. I thought, "I'd love all my church leaders to read this!" It presents an ordered and accessible model for teaching your church members to begin sharing their stories.

The second section was OK, but struck me as a little contrived. It presented tips on how to initiate spontaneous, authentic conversations with strangers. Note: If you have to provide tips, it's neither spontaneous nor authentic.

The third section on hospitality was good. Nothing earth-shattering, but well-written and useful to local churches, without being overwhelming. I'm going to adopt some of their suggestions.

Overall, as good book. Readable and useful to local churches.

This Just Read: Rocket Ship Galileo

I decided to take a trip down memory lane this week. I re-read Robert Heinein's classic: Rocket Ship Galileo (just recently available on Kindle). This was Heinlein's first published novel and the first of his series of juvenalia: novels written for teens, including Space Cadet, Have Space Suit - Will Travel, Red Planet, and others. All feature plucky kids (unfailingly young men) with a scientific bent thrown into perilous sci-fi circumstances and forced to become men. Classic bildungsroman.

Rocket Ship Galileo is about a group of three midwestern teens who--under the guidance of an atomic-scientist uncle--build and pilot a rocket ship to the moon. What's not to love?! I read it when I was a teen myself, and every time I re-read it I'm transported back.

As it was published almost seventy years ago (1947), I don't feel bad about spoiling the plot twist. When our heroes safely land on the moon, they discover that they're not the first ones there! The Nazis have established a moon base and are planning to threaten the world with nuclear annihilation. SPOILER: Our plucky boys save humanity!

This mid-story plot twist is a device Heinlein uses in other novels, sometimes well, sometimes not so well. In Rocket Ship Galileo it's clever and drives the story further. In Farnham's Freehold, for example, it turns what may be one of the best first halves of a Heinlein novel into a disaster by the end.

Of course, Heinlein's strong streaks of American exceptionalism and libertarianism are evident here at the very beginning of his career--they'll be with him to the end. I don't mind them, and can even get swept up by them. I love Heinlein's future vision of American education--his teens usually have done lots of calculus and physics by the time they graduate high school. I wish I'd been as ambitious when I was their age.

There's also a hopefulness and a naivete in the juvenalia, both things I encourage and think necessary for a bright future for humanity. I love many of Heinlein's more mature writings (e.g. The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress and Stranger in a Strange Land), but my heart belongs to his young adult fiction. He was John Green before John Green was John Green!

This Just Read: The Killer of Pilgrims

I just finished Susannah Gregory's The Killer of Pilgrims on my Kindle. It's the sixteenth book in her series featuring Matthew Bartholomew, a physician in 14th century Cambridge. I've only read one other of the series, the one immediately preceding this one.

I'm a fan of several historical mystery series,especially the Joliffe series by Margaret Frazer and the Templar Knight Mysteries by Maureen Ash. I read them as an antidote to the other, serious reading I like to (and sometimes have to) do. Currently I'm a quarter-way into Barbara Tuchman's The Guns of August--a very serious read. I needed a break and decided to try a second book in this series.

I like the historical mystery settings. I generally find them well written with a good bit of historical flavor. Having lived in England, I can connect with some of the settings (e.g. Lincoln or Canterbury).

The main characters in these series usually have a few modern quirks--anachronisms that set them apart from the other characters and make them more like us. Matthew Bartholomew, for example, is an unusual physician. He looks for actual organic causes of illness, rather than consulting horoscopes to treat his patients, like the other (more respectable) physicians in town.

So, I just finished The Killer of Pilgrims and found it pretty exhausting. It depicts a series of thefts and murders set against the backdrop of inter-college rivalries in 14th-century Cambridge. I have no doubt the historical details are accurate; these books stand or fall on their historicity. That said, in the wake of last week's shooting spree at UC Santa Barbara, my heart just wasn't ready for a tale filled with such callous indifference to human life. The major and minor characters in The Killer of Pilgrims seem ready to run each other through for the slightest insult. Maybe it's accurate, I didn't care.

I finished it, and may well try another one some day. But not today.

An Open Letter to Bishop Mark Webb

Thursday, May 29, 2014

An Open Letter To Bishop Mark Webb

Dear Bishop Webb,

Today was the first day of the 2014 Upper New York Annual Conference. It’s been a long one, but some of the things I've seen and heard today have prompted me to write you.

From the very beginning of conference today, we've heard about the divisive times in which we live. You have encouraged us to love one another first and foremost, even as we tackle difficult issues and navigate entrenched positions. I agree whole-heartedly.

I'm a member of our conference’s Board of Ordained Ministry and have been since I was ordained in 2011. I was honored to be invited to serve and am strongly committed to the work of the Board. It takes a lot of time and energy, but I look forward to the time I get to spend with my Board colleagues.

Our Board is diverse, made up of people with different theologies, ideologies, and ecclesiologies. We have diversity in age, gender, race, years in ministry, and background. We have elders, deacons, lay members, local pastors, active and retired... even the rare deaconess!

With such a broad palette of difference, you might think we don’t get along. With so much emphasis on what divides us, you might imagine we struggle to agree on anything. But my experience has been just the opposite. I've not found the Board to be divided over ideology or anything else. In fact, I count my fellow Board members as some of my closest colleagues. In them I find retreat.

I've been thinking about why that is. Certainly, our Board's leadership models respectful and loving relationship, but I think there's more. The work we do is hard. The work we do is important. We are all committed to it. We do it together—we speak with one voice. When we make hard decisions—such as deliberating over candidates' futures—we are filled with mighty and terrible purpose. These are emotional times; more than once we've been brought to tears. Most of all, we do this work with great care for one another.

I treasure my Board colleagues precisely because we have done hard, important work together. Like soldiers in a foxhole, we are bound by the intensity of our shared experience, which transcends ideology.

Thinking of our larger connexion—the bond we share as clergy—I've been trying to apply the same logic. As clergy we do hard work. We do important work. We know things only other clergy can understand. All this might lead to the kind of loving relationships I share with my Board colleagues, but one thing is lacking, we don't work together.

We are, by the very nature of our work, balkanized. Each of us operates in his or her own discrete jurisdiction, seldom working alongside fellow clergy in any meaningful way. Without that shared experience, it may be harder for us to form the kind of bonds our connexion demands and deserves.

I don't have any magic solutions. I just wanted to share with you some of my thoughts of the day, my love for my colleagues and the connexion we share, and my hope for the future of our conference and church.

May God continue to bless you and your leadership,

Rev. Michael A. Smith

Mohawk Valley Trinity UMC, Whitesboro, New York

This Just Read: The Ghost Map

I just finished Steven Johnson's The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic--and How It Changed Science, Cities, and the Modern World. It's the second time I read it and I got more out of it this time. Back in 2008-2009 I was a chaplaincy intern at Strong Memorial Hospital in Rechester, New York. I was reading a lot of medical writing and found John Barry's The Great Influenza, the account of the 1918 influenza pandemic. After that, I read The Ghost Map for the first time. On the surface it's a medical detective story. A cholera outbreak in 1854 London killed hundreds in a matter of days. Two men, working independently, began to investigate the causes of the outbreak.
The prevailing theory of disease at the time was that it was caused by bad air, or miasma. London was a swelling metropolis of two million, with all the horrible stench and filth that comes with that many people, their animals and industry.
Dr. John Snow lived near the outbreak and decided to look into it to test a pet theory--that cholera was spread through contaminated water. He began going door to door, seeking out those who succumbed and those who mysteriously were left untouched.
At the same time the local vicar, Henry Whitehead, was going door to door in the same neighborhood, offering pastoral care to the people he knew so well. At last, a story where the vicar is the hero!
These two men collected the pieces of this puzzle and eventually joined forces and put together a compelling picture of the spread of this particular outbreak. Dr. Snow compiled their results on several maps that correlated the disease with proximity to one source of water: the Broad Street pump. Rev. Whitehead, through his knowledge of the people, managed to track down Patient Zero--the case that started this particular outbreak. Together, they showed the world (though it would take decades before their arguments were universally accepted) that cholera was spread through contaminated water.
At it's heart, this is a story of how we see that which is invisible. The cholera bacteria had only just been observed in Italy, and were unknown in England. How can one see what cannot be seen? Snow and Whitehead mapped the visible and in so doing were able to show an image of the entity that is cholera.
That's the main thrust of the book, but the story of Snow, Whitehead, and the 1854 cholera outbreak are also used by Johnson to get it a larger story: the story of human urbanization. We are city dwellers, more and more. The 1854 outbreak was made possible by bringing so many people together into such a small space without adequate technology to handle their waste. It's a logistical problem. Technology has enabled us to solve many of these logistical problems, making the urban landscape the norm for human living.
Johnson argues that this is a good thing, as out population swells, it makes sense to gather where we have the lowest impact on the environment. The most efficient places on earth for that are cities. New York City, for example, is the most energy-efficient place on earth! But mass urbanization is not inevitable. Fears of pandemic disease, terrorist attack, nuclear war, make gathering into huge cities problematic.
Overall, a well-written take on two interesting stories, one in the past and one in our present and future.