You might have noticed that I have three basic loves: books, knitting, and video games. Many times on here I have commented on the books I am currently reading, and the last blog that I wrote (back in September!) was a treatise on my love for all things knitting. But one thing that I have not really touched on is that third love: video games.
Now, if you were to look into my past, you would quickly see that I have been playing games for nearly my entire life. First on an original Nintendo, then on a Sega Genesis, then a PlayStation a PlayStation 2, Nintendo DS and now an XBox 360 and a Nintendo Wii. Another thing you will notice is that I have a penchant for RPGS: Final Fantasy, Borderlands, Mass Effect... Sure, I've played other games. I love racing games (my husband and I compete all the time!), Unreal Tournament, Harry Potter and I EVEN dabbled at Halo. (I'm terriable at it.)
Now, I have found a game that I cannot stop playing: BioWare's Dragon Age: Origins.
This game is phenomonal. The story is marvelous, the graphics are beautiful, the music haunting, and the customization out of this world.
But the one thing that it has that very few other games has is the icing on the cake. That's right, the romance.
Now, BioWare is known for this, probably better than even Square Enix. In Mass Effect, you were giving a chance to woo certain characters into having a relationship with them. My kick-ass female Commander Shepard chose Kaidan, of course. But the fact that I had an option, the fact that I could even HAVE a relationship was one of the deciding factors in me buying this game. Don't get me wrong, the game was increadible. But I looked foward to the end of each mission when I could go back to Kaidan and flirt with him some more. And the bedroom scene that I was given had me sighing dreamily.
The boys (and girls!) at BioWare have stepped it up a notch with DA:O. Not only do you get to woo a character, there is a bigger selection this time around. (I picked Alistair. I am a hopeless romantic.:)) But the storylines for this game are so much deeper. And the fact that the origin story you pick has a bearing on how that story plays out is just amazing. The customizations are so much more in this game. I have spent more than thirty hours playing, and I plan on playing it again.
BioWare has hit on something that most other developers seem to be oblivious of: there are GIRL gamers out there. The old demographic of 18-29 year-old males has flown out the window. Granted, I am married to a hardcore gamer, but I'm the one who is taking off January 26th so I can stay up all night and play Mass Effect 2. I'm the one who can't wait to get my hands on Final Fantasy 13 (finally!).
We girls LIKE being able to play as a hard-as-nails, kick ass female, aka Jane Shepard and, in my case, Kallian, the Grey Warden. We like getting to smooch Alistair out in public and grin fiercely when Morrigan says she is going to be ill. And we want more!
Now if you'll excuse me, I have an arch-demon to slay.
Oh, and BioWare? If you ever need a writer, my bags are already packed for Canada.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Knitting: A Love Stoy
The art of knitting does not get enough credit. Every time I pull out some yarn and needles, my husband snickers and asks me if I need help to my rocking chair. My mother casts on two stitches --- five, if she’s really into it --- before putting it down and saying she can’t do something that doesn’t give her instant gratification. A lot of times, if I’m out in public, I get funny looks and a lot of questions that run along the lines of ‘You’re not old enough to be spending all of your time knitting’.
But there is so much more behind the yarn and the needles. For me, knitting is my therapy.
I first learned how to knit in February of 2008. I had recently graduated from college and could not find a job. My husband was working as a private investigator, but was only working a few hours a week. We had no money, our landlord was getting frustrated with us, and we were facing the harsh reality of having to move back in with my parents of something didn’t change soon. My days consisted of getting online and searching for jobs, then sitting on the couch and watching my husband play video games.
One weekend, my parents, sensing my growing depression, came up for a visit. My mom looks at me and says ‘What can I do to help you keep your mind busy so you don’t spend all of your time thinking about how bad things are?’ My response was immediate: I wanted to learn how to knit. A friend of mind had taught me how to crochet a year or so before, and I enjoyed it, but it seemed as though you could do so much more with knitting.
So we headed over to the local Wal-Mart, picked up some tasty-looking yarn, and grabbed an ‘I Taught Myself Knitting’ book and got to work.
This was before I had any idea that different yarns required different sized needles. But after a few hours, I had the basic knit stitch down. Purling was still a bit beyond me, but I didn’t care. I was so excited. I was knitting!
My first piece was pretty bad. Again, I wasn’t too sure about the purl stitch, so I did the whole thing in Stockinette. It ended up being a purse. While it was pretty bad as far as aesthetics go, I was so proud of that thing.
We ended up moving back in with my parents. I still couldn’t find a job. My husband did, and we didn’t even live together for a while. He worked nights, so stayed with his mother while working. I only saw him on days he didn’t have to work.
I continued to knit. That summer, while I was out of a job, I looked after my mother, who was recovering from surgery to correct a hernia that was blocking her bowels. Every morning, I would get up, make sure she didn’t need anything, then hop online to check and apply for jobs. I still was feeling pretty depressed. I started keeping a folder of all of the rejection letters I received. But if I wasn’t out in the pool with a book, I was inside, my needles clicking furiously. I tried to teach my mother --- after all, she couldn’t do very much --- and she realized she didn’t have the patience. She would stick to crocheting hats, thank you very much.
After a few months, I finally got a job, and was able to move in with my husband. It was crowded: me, Roman, his mother, his brother, his sister, and his sister’s boyfriend all living under the same roof. Privacy went out the window. I spent as much time as possible staying out of everyone else’s way and knitting.
Then something wonderful happened. One day, at work, two lovely ladies came waltzing through the door, plopped down at a table, and pulled out their knitting. I couldn’t stay away. I wandered over there to see what they were knitting and was amazed. It was beautiful! It was exactly the kind of thing I wanted to knit, but just couldn’t seem to get the hang of. I told them that I too was a knitter, and just wanted to ask them a few questions. After a few moments, they spoke those magic words.
“Are you on Ravelry?”
Ravelry? I had never heard of Ravelry. When I said so, they immediately jumped into action. “If you’re a knitter, you have to join Ravelry. Here’s the website, here are our usernames. It’ll take a few days before you can get on there, but once you do, you will be absolutely addicted. Make sure to look us up!”
Curious, I went home and found this website that they had made such a big deal out of. I signed up and decided to check back in a few days when I should be getting my invitation.
Three days later, I got my first glimpse of Ravelry. That was a year ago. Hardly a day goes by now without me getting on to scope out what’s new.
My knitting skill has quite literally exploded. I learned what garter stitch was, I learned how to purl (finally!), cable, sock knitting, knitting in the round… And I realized that there was other yarn besides what was at my local Hobby Lobby. I discovered Bliss Yarns, just up the road. I also learned that I was not the only twenty-four-year-old knitter.
I’m currently sitting on my couch, working on a sock in a yummy Deborah Norville yarn, one of many of my projects, which include a hoodie and a baby blanket. When I get upset, I lock myself in my bedroom and knit. When I have some extra cash, I go yarn shopping. I knit in the mornings before work, and in the afternoons when I get off. My husband complains about all the yarn lying around the apartment.
Yes, knitting is so much more than a hobby. For me, it really has become a way of life.
But there is so much more behind the yarn and the needles. For me, knitting is my therapy.
I first learned how to knit in February of 2008. I had recently graduated from college and could not find a job. My husband was working as a private investigator, but was only working a few hours a week. We had no money, our landlord was getting frustrated with us, and we were facing the harsh reality of having to move back in with my parents of something didn’t change soon. My days consisted of getting online and searching for jobs, then sitting on the couch and watching my husband play video games.
One weekend, my parents, sensing my growing depression, came up for a visit. My mom looks at me and says ‘What can I do to help you keep your mind busy so you don’t spend all of your time thinking about how bad things are?’ My response was immediate: I wanted to learn how to knit. A friend of mind had taught me how to crochet a year or so before, and I enjoyed it, but it seemed as though you could do so much more with knitting.
So we headed over to the local Wal-Mart, picked up some tasty-looking yarn, and grabbed an ‘I Taught Myself Knitting’ book and got to work.
This was before I had any idea that different yarns required different sized needles. But after a few hours, I had the basic knit stitch down. Purling was still a bit beyond me, but I didn’t care. I was so excited. I was knitting!
My first piece was pretty bad. Again, I wasn’t too sure about the purl stitch, so I did the whole thing in Stockinette. It ended up being a purse. While it was pretty bad as far as aesthetics go, I was so proud of that thing.
We ended up moving back in with my parents. I still couldn’t find a job. My husband did, and we didn’t even live together for a while. He worked nights, so stayed with his mother while working. I only saw him on days he didn’t have to work.
I continued to knit. That summer, while I was out of a job, I looked after my mother, who was recovering from surgery to correct a hernia that was blocking her bowels. Every morning, I would get up, make sure she didn’t need anything, then hop online to check and apply for jobs. I still was feeling pretty depressed. I started keeping a folder of all of the rejection letters I received. But if I wasn’t out in the pool with a book, I was inside, my needles clicking furiously. I tried to teach my mother --- after all, she couldn’t do very much --- and she realized she didn’t have the patience. She would stick to crocheting hats, thank you very much.
After a few months, I finally got a job, and was able to move in with my husband. It was crowded: me, Roman, his mother, his brother, his sister, and his sister’s boyfriend all living under the same roof. Privacy went out the window. I spent as much time as possible staying out of everyone else’s way and knitting.
Then something wonderful happened. One day, at work, two lovely ladies came waltzing through the door, plopped down at a table, and pulled out their knitting. I couldn’t stay away. I wandered over there to see what they were knitting and was amazed. It was beautiful! It was exactly the kind of thing I wanted to knit, but just couldn’t seem to get the hang of. I told them that I too was a knitter, and just wanted to ask them a few questions. After a few moments, they spoke those magic words.
“Are you on Ravelry?”
Ravelry? I had never heard of Ravelry. When I said so, they immediately jumped into action. “If you’re a knitter, you have to join Ravelry. Here’s the website, here are our usernames. It’ll take a few days before you can get on there, but once you do, you will be absolutely addicted. Make sure to look us up!”
Curious, I went home and found this website that they had made such a big deal out of. I signed up and decided to check back in a few days when I should be getting my invitation.
Three days later, I got my first glimpse of Ravelry. That was a year ago. Hardly a day goes by now without me getting on to scope out what’s new.
My knitting skill has quite literally exploded. I learned what garter stitch was, I learned how to purl (finally!), cable, sock knitting, knitting in the round… And I realized that there was other yarn besides what was at my local Hobby Lobby. I discovered Bliss Yarns, just up the road. I also learned that I was not the only twenty-four-year-old knitter.
I’m currently sitting on my couch, working on a sock in a yummy Deborah Norville yarn, one of many of my projects, which include a hoodie and a baby blanket. When I get upset, I lock myself in my bedroom and knit. When I have some extra cash, I go yarn shopping. I knit in the mornings before work, and in the afternoons when I get off. My husband complains about all the yarn lying around the apartment.
Yes, knitting is so much more than a hobby. For me, it really has become a way of life.
Friday, August 21, 2009
A Letter to Author Suzanne Collins
This is a letter to author Suzanne Collins and the publishers at Scholastic. I have a request for you all:
When you finish the last book of the Hunger Games, may I please, please have an advanced copy? I will beg, I will pay, and I will come and fetch coffee for you for the rest of my natural existence. Anything to alleviate this torture of waiting that I am currently experiencing.
You see, as I was a bookstore employee, I was constantly surrounded by people who love books as much as I do. After I heard many, many people talk about The Hunger Games and how amazing it was, I decided to see for myself.
I was immediately addicted. I couldn’t put it down. I did one better than Stephanie Meyer. She may have taken the book to dinner and hidden it under the table so she wouldn’t have to stop reading, but I stayed up for an entire day! That’s right. I was up for a full twenty-four hours, completely unable to tear myself away from the trials of Katniss and Peeta. And, of course, Cinna, who is without a doubt my favorite character.
As I finished the book, there were a few things I had left to wonder. What was Gale going to say to Katniss as the Peacekeepers drug him away? Was he going to tell her that he loved her? And now that she had won the Games, could they possibly have a chance at a relationship together? What about Peeta? Pure, dear Peeta. How would he play into all of this?
But I was assuaged. See, one privilege I had at working at the bookstore was that I was able to pick up advanced copies of upcoming books. And when an advanced copy of Catching Fire came in, I snatched it up before anyone else could even have a chance.
I have just now closed the cover, and I must admit that I am seething with anger. Not because the book was horrible, or that I was disappointed in it. Quite the opposite. I am so very angry because I know it will be a long time before I am able to finish the story.
What happened to Cinna? Is he still alive? How far does the rebellion spread? How many people in the Capitol are in on it? What is going to happen to Peeta and Johanna? And, now that Gale and Katniss are reunited, what will happen to them? What about the mysterious District 13? And what about the remains of District 12?
These are questions that I must have answered, and soon! I cannot wait to find out. I am not a very patient person, and I will be up all hours of the night, wondering what will happen to the girl who was on fire.
For those of you who might be a little lost as to what I am rambling on about, go to your nearest bookstore and pick up a copy of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games. It will be located in the Teen Fiction aisle. This is a wonderful book, no matter how old you are. And, on September 1, you have to go out and buy Catching Fire, book two in the series.
Of course, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a movie adaption of The Hunger Games in the works. I suppose that will tide me over. But Ms. Collins, Scholastic Books, if you would be so kind as to send me a silver parachute bearing a copy of the last book when it becomes available, I just might be able to survive these Games.
When you finish the last book of the Hunger Games, may I please, please have an advanced copy? I will beg, I will pay, and I will come and fetch coffee for you for the rest of my natural existence. Anything to alleviate this torture of waiting that I am currently experiencing.
You see, as I was a bookstore employee, I was constantly surrounded by people who love books as much as I do. After I heard many, many people talk about The Hunger Games and how amazing it was, I decided to see for myself.
I was immediately addicted. I couldn’t put it down. I did one better than Stephanie Meyer. She may have taken the book to dinner and hidden it under the table so she wouldn’t have to stop reading, but I stayed up for an entire day! That’s right. I was up for a full twenty-four hours, completely unable to tear myself away from the trials of Katniss and Peeta. And, of course, Cinna, who is without a doubt my favorite character.
As I finished the book, there were a few things I had left to wonder. What was Gale going to say to Katniss as the Peacekeepers drug him away? Was he going to tell her that he loved her? And now that she had won the Games, could they possibly have a chance at a relationship together? What about Peeta? Pure, dear Peeta. How would he play into all of this?
But I was assuaged. See, one privilege I had at working at the bookstore was that I was able to pick up advanced copies of upcoming books. And when an advanced copy of Catching Fire came in, I snatched it up before anyone else could even have a chance.
I have just now closed the cover, and I must admit that I am seething with anger. Not because the book was horrible, or that I was disappointed in it. Quite the opposite. I am so very angry because I know it will be a long time before I am able to finish the story.
What happened to Cinna? Is he still alive? How far does the rebellion spread? How many people in the Capitol are in on it? What is going to happen to Peeta and Johanna? And, now that Gale and Katniss are reunited, what will happen to them? What about the mysterious District 13? And what about the remains of District 12?
These are questions that I must have answered, and soon! I cannot wait to find out. I am not a very patient person, and I will be up all hours of the night, wondering what will happen to the girl who was on fire.
For those of you who might be a little lost as to what I am rambling on about, go to your nearest bookstore and pick up a copy of Suzanne Collins’s The Hunger Games. It will be located in the Teen Fiction aisle. This is a wonderful book, no matter how old you are. And, on September 1, you have to go out and buy Catching Fire, book two in the series.
Of course, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a movie adaption of The Hunger Games in the works. I suppose that will tide me over. But Ms. Collins, Scholastic Books, if you would be so kind as to send me a silver parachute bearing a copy of the last book when it becomes available, I just might be able to survive these Games.
Friday, July 31, 2009
The Redemption of Cain, Prologue
Hey everyone! This is a novel I'm working on (yes, I know. EVERYONE has one of those), and I was hoping that someone might read this and give me some constructive criticism! Hope you enjoy, if anyone reads this at all!
The Redemption of Cain
Prologue
And Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived, and bare Cain, and said
I have gotten a man from the Lord.
And she again bare his brother Abel. And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.
And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the
ground an offering to the Lord. And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings
of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto Abel and
to his offering.
But unto Cain and his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.
And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen?
If thou doest well, shall thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.
And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.
Genesis 4:1-8
Everything was moving slow, too slow. Every heartbeat seemed to take an eternity to sound in his ears, though he knew his heart was pounding madly against his chest. The stalk of corn seemed to be swaying lazily to and fro, instead of moving with the breeze.
Something wasn’t right. Cain knew it in the instant after his brother hit the ground. Abel didn’t look right. His eyes were wide open, and his head was hanging from an odd angle off of his neck. Underneath him, a vast amount of darkly red blood was beginning to pool.
Cain felt his fingers go numb, and the hoe, covered in the same blood that now poured out of his brother, fell to the ground. A moment later, Cain himself followed.
“Abel?” He reached out and tentavily touched the other man’s shoulder. “Brother, please. I am sorry. I let my anger get the best of me. I had no right to strike you so. Please forgive me.”
Abel did not move. He did not blink, did not twitch, did not say a word. He continued to lay absolutely still.
Cain frowned. “I said I was sorry, brother. Can you not accept my apology? We must be going, else we shall be late with our sacrifice. I do not wish to anger our Lord.”
Still nothing. Though he still felt as though something were wrong, Cain could feel his anger taking over him once more. Did his brother think this was a joke? Had he not already offered his sincerest apologizes? Why would Abel not get up?
Angrily, Cain climbed to his feet. “Very well, brother. You may enjoy your little prank. But know that I will not cover for you when our Lord asks why you have not come with your offering.”
Muttering to himself about the audacity of his brother, Cain gathered up the basket that contained his sacrifice --- only the best crops from his latest harvest --- and began the walk to his family’s sacrificial alter.
Cain lived with his family and a handful of other people just on the outskirts of the Garden of Eden, the place where his parents had been created. Every night, they could see the glow from the flaming sword that the Lord had placed to guard the tree of life. From time to time, they could also catch glimpses of the Cherubim’s who guarded the perimeter of the Garden.
Cain had once asked his father why they had chosen to stay so close to the Garden. After all, it was a place that held great shame for them.
Adam had smiled sadly and placed a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder. “And that is precisely why we stay here. The Garden was Paradise, yet we threw it all away. When we look at it, we remember what we had --- and why we lost it. This is a constant reminder to us to live a better life and not make the same mistake again.”
It had taken Cain a long time to understand his parents’ reasoning. And, as he grew older, he found himself beginning to resent them for their decision to stay so close to the source of their exile. It may serve as a reminder to them, but to Cain, it was something that would always be denied to him because of actions his parents took many years ago.
However, he cold not bring himself to complain about the location, either. The soil was wonderful, and his crops grew strong and large. Every day, he lovingly worked in his field, pouring all of his energy and devotion into his crops. At each harvest, he would choose the biggest and best of his crops to use in the sacrifice. The rest went to feed the people. No one ever went hungry.
It was because of these things that Cain had been stunned when the Lord had shown disfavor on Cain’s sacrifice, but praised Abel for his. Was he not all-seeing? Could he not see how hard Cain worked in his fields, while Abel simply slept in the meadow while his sheep grazed? Could he not tell that Cain brought his very best, while Abel simply brought whatever he had leftover?
These were questions that Cain had been asking his brother only a few short minutes ago.
“Pray tell, brother, why you think our Lord looked upon my sacrifice with disfavor? He has never done so before.”
Abel shrugged, lying on the ground in between the rows of carefully tended corn, staring up into the sky. “I do not pretend to know the thoughts of our Lord. His reasons are his own.”
“Yes, but there must be something you did to attract such praise from him. Did you offer a specially-reared sheep?”
“No.”
“Was it fed with a special grain? Had it produced the most wool? Perhaps it was the strongest of your flock?”
But Abel was shaking his head. “I simply picked one of the sheep that was too young to slaughter for meat.”
Cain stopped what he was doing, staring at his brother in disbelief. “You mean, you offered our Lord a leftover as a sacrifice?”
“Yes, I suppose so. And there’s no reason to sound so upset about it. He obviously thought it was better than what you considered to be your best!”
That’s when Cain had swung the hoe at him. He hadn’t meant to, not really. He had let out an angry cry and swung blindly, striking his brother in the throat.
And now he was just lying there, acting as though he had nothing to do except gaze into the sky all day.
Well, Cain would show him this time. He had made sure to pick the absolute best of his crops. And now, Abel wasn’t even going to bring his sacrifice! There was no way the Lord could be displeased with him this time.
The sacrificial alter was just a few miles east of Cain’s fields. He was there within an hour and a half. Once he had reached it, Cain turned and looked back, expecting to see his younger brother to come running up behind him, breathless, a bleating sheep struggling to free itself from his grasp.
There was nothing.
Cain couldn’t hold back a triumphant smile. Now everyone would see Abel for the lazy boy that he was. Now everyone would see that Cain was the better son!
Still wearing his smile, Cain placed his basket of tribute on the alter and knelt on the ground in front of it, touching his forehead to the ground. “Oh Lord Almighty,” he called out in a loud, confident voice. “I am Cain, son of Adam, who was cast out of the Garden of Eden after disobeying your command. I come now to offer you tribute, in order to earn your forgiveness for this sin. I beg you, accept this humble gift.”
Cain kept his head on the ground. He knew he couldn’t look up. His father had told him since the day he had begun making sacrifice that he was not to look up unless instructed to. But he could see the bright light that suddenly surrounded him, and feel the warmth that washed over him. Around him, everything went absolutely still.
There was a pause. Then … “Cain.” It wasn’t so much a voice in his ears as it was a presence in his head.
His heartbeat sped up. “I am here, Lord! I have brought the sacrifice you have demanded!”
There was another pause. “Cain. Where is Abel, your brother?”
His heart, racing with joy and anticipation, came to a crashing halt. Abel? I am here with my sacrifice, on time, and he’s asking about Abel?
“I know not where Abel is, my Lord,” he replied, his voice coming out more bitter than he intended. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Again, that pause. This time, when the voice sounded in his head, it was loud and angry. “What have you done?” the voice demanded. “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the earth.”
Cain was physically knocked down, flattened against the ground. The light became brighter, and the warmth became uncomfortably hot. “I am sorry, my Lord!” he cried out hoarsely, clinching his eyes shut tightly. “I struck my brother out of anger. I left him lying in my crop field. I do not know why he has not joined us yet.”
The light grew brighter and brighter, pressing against Cain’s eyelids. It grew warmer and warmer, until he felt as though his skin was going to melt off.
Just as he was about to scream, the light and the heat suddenly vanished. Cain lay there on the ground, panting, wondering if he was alone, and confused by what had just happened.
“Cain”. The voice was suddenly there again, causing Cain to jump in fright and sending him scrambling back to his kneeling position. The voice was back to a soft tone, but, this time, it was filled with a deep sadness. “You have slain your brother.”.
Slain? As in ‘kill’? Like what we do to the animals? That’s impossible. I can’t do that to a human. We can’t die! “I’m sorry, my Lord. I do not understand.”
“Your brother’s body has returned to the earth, his spirit returned to me. He will no longer walk among you. He has been lost to the world.”
That same feeling of wrongness that Cain had experienced earlier was back, and an icy cold gripped his heart. Lost to the world. Cain wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew it was bad.
The voice was back. Still filled with sadness, it had changed to a firm, authoritive tone. The way Adam’s voice sounded when he scolded his son’s for their childish mischief.
“Cain. You are now cursed from the earth that has opened her mouth to receive the blood of your brother, which you have spilled. When you till the ground, it shall not henceforth yield to you her bounty. A fugitive and a vagabond you shall forever be.”
“No!” He didn’t care about the consequences. Not anymore. Cain opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. He was immediately running, flying over the distance back to his field.
When he came into view of the field, he let out a gut-wrenching scream, his feet picking up speed.
His crops, the lush, green field that he had left only a few hours ago, was gone. The corn stalks were withered. The cabbage was rotten and lying on the ground. All that food for his family… gone.
In the middle lay Abel, right where Cain had left him.
Cain fell to his knees by his brother. The ground, once rich soil, had now turned to sand, a deep red color that matched the hue of the blood that had spilled onto it.
Ignoring the blood, Cain gathered his brother’s body into his arms. Abel’s head, held on by little more than a skin flap, flopped grotesquely. “Abel? Abel, please.” The tears were beginning to fall. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Abel!”
Nothing. His brother was stiff, cold. And Cain knew it was true: his brother was gone, and it was his fault.
He lifted his head to the sky and let out a primal scream that left his throat raw.
“Oh, Lord,” he managed to whisper. “My punishment is greater than I can bear.”
Abel’s body clutched tightly against him, Cain wept for all that he had lost.
Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth:
and from thy face shall I be hid, and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond
in the earth, and it shall come to pass, that everyone that findeth me shall
slay me.
And the Lord said unto him, Therefore whoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall
be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark on Cain, lest any find him
should kill him.
And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, east of
Eden.
Genesis 4: 14-16
The Redemption of Cain
Prologue
And Adam knew Eve his wife, and she conceived, and bare Cain, and said
I have gotten a man from the Lord.
And she again bare his brother Abel. And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground.
And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the
ground an offering to the Lord. And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings
of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the Lord had respect unto Abel and
to his offering.
But unto Cain and his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell.
And the Lord said unto Cain, Why art thou wroth? and why is thy countenance fallen?
If thou doest well, shall thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.
And Cain talked with Abel his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.
Genesis 4:1-8
Everything was moving slow, too slow. Every heartbeat seemed to take an eternity to sound in his ears, though he knew his heart was pounding madly against his chest. The stalk of corn seemed to be swaying lazily to and fro, instead of moving with the breeze.
Something wasn’t right. Cain knew it in the instant after his brother hit the ground. Abel didn’t look right. His eyes were wide open, and his head was hanging from an odd angle off of his neck. Underneath him, a vast amount of darkly red blood was beginning to pool.
Cain felt his fingers go numb, and the hoe, covered in the same blood that now poured out of his brother, fell to the ground. A moment later, Cain himself followed.
“Abel?” He reached out and tentavily touched the other man’s shoulder. “Brother, please. I am sorry. I let my anger get the best of me. I had no right to strike you so. Please forgive me.”
Abel did not move. He did not blink, did not twitch, did not say a word. He continued to lay absolutely still.
Cain frowned. “I said I was sorry, brother. Can you not accept my apology? We must be going, else we shall be late with our sacrifice. I do not wish to anger our Lord.”
Still nothing. Though he still felt as though something were wrong, Cain could feel his anger taking over him once more. Did his brother think this was a joke? Had he not already offered his sincerest apologizes? Why would Abel not get up?
Angrily, Cain climbed to his feet. “Very well, brother. You may enjoy your little prank. But know that I will not cover for you when our Lord asks why you have not come with your offering.”
Muttering to himself about the audacity of his brother, Cain gathered up the basket that contained his sacrifice --- only the best crops from his latest harvest --- and began the walk to his family’s sacrificial alter.
Cain lived with his family and a handful of other people just on the outskirts of the Garden of Eden, the place where his parents had been created. Every night, they could see the glow from the flaming sword that the Lord had placed to guard the tree of life. From time to time, they could also catch glimpses of the Cherubim’s who guarded the perimeter of the Garden.
Cain had once asked his father why they had chosen to stay so close to the Garden. After all, it was a place that held great shame for them.
Adam had smiled sadly and placed a hand on his eldest son’s shoulder. “And that is precisely why we stay here. The Garden was Paradise, yet we threw it all away. When we look at it, we remember what we had --- and why we lost it. This is a constant reminder to us to live a better life and not make the same mistake again.”
It had taken Cain a long time to understand his parents’ reasoning. And, as he grew older, he found himself beginning to resent them for their decision to stay so close to the source of their exile. It may serve as a reminder to them, but to Cain, it was something that would always be denied to him because of actions his parents took many years ago.
However, he cold not bring himself to complain about the location, either. The soil was wonderful, and his crops grew strong and large. Every day, he lovingly worked in his field, pouring all of his energy and devotion into his crops. At each harvest, he would choose the biggest and best of his crops to use in the sacrifice. The rest went to feed the people. No one ever went hungry.
It was because of these things that Cain had been stunned when the Lord had shown disfavor on Cain’s sacrifice, but praised Abel for his. Was he not all-seeing? Could he not see how hard Cain worked in his fields, while Abel simply slept in the meadow while his sheep grazed? Could he not tell that Cain brought his very best, while Abel simply brought whatever he had leftover?
These were questions that Cain had been asking his brother only a few short minutes ago.
“Pray tell, brother, why you think our Lord looked upon my sacrifice with disfavor? He has never done so before.”
Abel shrugged, lying on the ground in between the rows of carefully tended corn, staring up into the sky. “I do not pretend to know the thoughts of our Lord. His reasons are his own.”
“Yes, but there must be something you did to attract such praise from him. Did you offer a specially-reared sheep?”
“No.”
“Was it fed with a special grain? Had it produced the most wool? Perhaps it was the strongest of your flock?”
But Abel was shaking his head. “I simply picked one of the sheep that was too young to slaughter for meat.”
Cain stopped what he was doing, staring at his brother in disbelief. “You mean, you offered our Lord a leftover as a sacrifice?”
“Yes, I suppose so. And there’s no reason to sound so upset about it. He obviously thought it was better than what you considered to be your best!”
That’s when Cain had swung the hoe at him. He hadn’t meant to, not really. He had let out an angry cry and swung blindly, striking his brother in the throat.
And now he was just lying there, acting as though he had nothing to do except gaze into the sky all day.
Well, Cain would show him this time. He had made sure to pick the absolute best of his crops. And now, Abel wasn’t even going to bring his sacrifice! There was no way the Lord could be displeased with him this time.
The sacrificial alter was just a few miles east of Cain’s fields. He was there within an hour and a half. Once he had reached it, Cain turned and looked back, expecting to see his younger brother to come running up behind him, breathless, a bleating sheep struggling to free itself from his grasp.
There was nothing.
Cain couldn’t hold back a triumphant smile. Now everyone would see Abel for the lazy boy that he was. Now everyone would see that Cain was the better son!
Still wearing his smile, Cain placed his basket of tribute on the alter and knelt on the ground in front of it, touching his forehead to the ground. “Oh Lord Almighty,” he called out in a loud, confident voice. “I am Cain, son of Adam, who was cast out of the Garden of Eden after disobeying your command. I come now to offer you tribute, in order to earn your forgiveness for this sin. I beg you, accept this humble gift.”
Cain kept his head on the ground. He knew he couldn’t look up. His father had told him since the day he had begun making sacrifice that he was not to look up unless instructed to. But he could see the bright light that suddenly surrounded him, and feel the warmth that washed over him. Around him, everything went absolutely still.
There was a pause. Then … “Cain.” It wasn’t so much a voice in his ears as it was a presence in his head.
His heartbeat sped up. “I am here, Lord! I have brought the sacrifice you have demanded!”
There was another pause. “Cain. Where is Abel, your brother?”
His heart, racing with joy and anticipation, came to a crashing halt. Abel? I am here with my sacrifice, on time, and he’s asking about Abel?
“I know not where Abel is, my Lord,” he replied, his voice coming out more bitter than he intended. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
Again, that pause. This time, when the voice sounded in his head, it was loud and angry. “What have you done?” the voice demanded. “The voice of your brother’s blood cries out to me from the earth.”
Cain was physically knocked down, flattened against the ground. The light became brighter, and the warmth became uncomfortably hot. “I am sorry, my Lord!” he cried out hoarsely, clinching his eyes shut tightly. “I struck my brother out of anger. I left him lying in my crop field. I do not know why he has not joined us yet.”
The light grew brighter and brighter, pressing against Cain’s eyelids. It grew warmer and warmer, until he felt as though his skin was going to melt off.
Just as he was about to scream, the light and the heat suddenly vanished. Cain lay there on the ground, panting, wondering if he was alone, and confused by what had just happened.
“Cain”. The voice was suddenly there again, causing Cain to jump in fright and sending him scrambling back to his kneeling position. The voice was back to a soft tone, but, this time, it was filled with a deep sadness. “You have slain your brother.”.
Slain? As in ‘kill’? Like what we do to the animals? That’s impossible. I can’t do that to a human. We can’t die! “I’m sorry, my Lord. I do not understand.”
“Your brother’s body has returned to the earth, his spirit returned to me. He will no longer walk among you. He has been lost to the world.”
That same feeling of wrongness that Cain had experienced earlier was back, and an icy cold gripped his heart. Lost to the world. Cain wasn’t sure what that meant, but he knew it was bad.
The voice was back. Still filled with sadness, it had changed to a firm, authoritive tone. The way Adam’s voice sounded when he scolded his son’s for their childish mischief.
“Cain. You are now cursed from the earth that has opened her mouth to receive the blood of your brother, which you have spilled. When you till the ground, it shall not henceforth yield to you her bounty. A fugitive and a vagabond you shall forever be.”
“No!” He didn’t care about the consequences. Not anymore. Cain opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. He was immediately running, flying over the distance back to his field.
When he came into view of the field, he let out a gut-wrenching scream, his feet picking up speed.
His crops, the lush, green field that he had left only a few hours ago, was gone. The corn stalks were withered. The cabbage was rotten and lying on the ground. All that food for his family… gone.
In the middle lay Abel, right where Cain had left him.
Cain fell to his knees by his brother. The ground, once rich soil, had now turned to sand, a deep red color that matched the hue of the blood that had spilled onto it.
Ignoring the blood, Cain gathered his brother’s body into his arms. Abel’s head, held on by little more than a skin flap, flopped grotesquely. “Abel? Abel, please.” The tears were beginning to fall. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Abel!”
Nothing. His brother was stiff, cold. And Cain knew it was true: his brother was gone, and it was his fault.
He lifted his head to the sky and let out a primal scream that left his throat raw.
“Oh, Lord,” he managed to whisper. “My punishment is greater than I can bear.”
Abel’s body clutched tightly against him, Cain wept for all that he had lost.
Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth:
and from thy face shall I be hid, and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond
in the earth, and it shall come to pass, that everyone that findeth me shall
slay me.
And the Lord said unto him, Therefore whoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall
be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark on Cain, lest any find him
should kill him.
And Cain went out from the presence of the Lord, and dwelt in the land of Nod, east of
Eden.
Genesis 4: 14-16
Saturday, July 18, 2009
A Little Health Care Ditty
I know it’s been quite some time since I last posted anything. And there have been quite a few things that have happened that I should have blogged about. But I just saw something on TV that demanded I send up a public outcry.
The thing in question was a commercial with a Canadian citizen talking about how she would have died from a brain tumor if she had stayed in Canada. Instead, she came to the US and was cured! So she is encouraging US citizens to not allow government health care.
I have a few problems with this. The first one is that this woman did NOT sound Canadian. Now, I know there are a ton of reasons for this. But seriously. She sounded like she was from New Jersey, not Nova Scotia. That makes it a little unbelievable.
My biggest beef is this: one of the options that Obama has proposed with his health care plan is to have a government-based health care plan to give competition to private insurance companies, not make everybody switch to a government-based health care plan. And I think this is a wonderful middle-ground, especially for people like me. My husband’s job does not offer health insurance of any kind. My job does, but I cannot afford it. Most private insurance companies won’t touch me because I have diabetes, one of those evil “pre-existing conditions” insurance companies love so much.
If this middle-ground plan is chosen, I’ll be able to get health insurance. Will it be the best health insurance? No. But I’ll be able to go to the doctor. I won’t panic every time I get sick and pray as hard as I can that it’s nothing serious because I know I can’t afford to go to the doctor. And then, one day, when I have a REAL job and can afford REAL health insurance, I’ll get it.
This is the way it works: You people who already have health insurance, keep it. No one is saying you have to get the crappy, free health care. But for the millions of us who are uninsured, at least we’ll have a little peace of mind. And a chance to go to the doctor for the first time in over two years.
The thing in question was a commercial with a Canadian citizen talking about how she would have died from a brain tumor if she had stayed in Canada. Instead, she came to the US and was cured! So she is encouraging US citizens to not allow government health care.
I have a few problems with this. The first one is that this woman did NOT sound Canadian. Now, I know there are a ton of reasons for this. But seriously. She sounded like she was from New Jersey, not Nova Scotia. That makes it a little unbelievable.
My biggest beef is this: one of the options that Obama has proposed with his health care plan is to have a government-based health care plan to give competition to private insurance companies, not make everybody switch to a government-based health care plan. And I think this is a wonderful middle-ground, especially for people like me. My husband’s job does not offer health insurance of any kind. My job does, but I cannot afford it. Most private insurance companies won’t touch me because I have diabetes, one of those evil “pre-existing conditions” insurance companies love so much.
If this middle-ground plan is chosen, I’ll be able to get health insurance. Will it be the best health insurance? No. But I’ll be able to go to the doctor. I won’t panic every time I get sick and pray as hard as I can that it’s nothing serious because I know I can’t afford to go to the doctor. And then, one day, when I have a REAL job and can afford REAL health insurance, I’ll get it.
This is the way it works: You people who already have health insurance, keep it. No one is saying you have to get the crappy, free health care. But for the millions of us who are uninsured, at least we’ll have a little peace of mind. And a chance to go to the doctor for the first time in over two years.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Book Review: Book of Air and Shadows
When I spied a gently worn copy of Michael Gruber’s The Book of Air and Shadows sitting on my mother’s bookshelf, I was giddy. I had spied the book quite a few times at work and had seriously considered picking it up. Happening to find it by chance (and for free!) seemed like a sign like this was a book meant to be read.
Now that I have read it, I am not so sure.
I am not here to say that the book was bad. On the contrary, it had all the trappings of a wonderful novel. A secret Shakespeare manuscript, a dastardly plot, the greatest literary find in history, and a nice smattering of reviews that lauded it as “better than the DaVinci Code”.
The Shakespeare aspect of it was the biggest draw for me, appealing to my literature degree and the fact that 16th and 17th century British literature happens to be my favorite period of literature. Yes, I very much heart the Bard, and I love a good thriller. So it was with great anticipation that I sat down with the book and opened to the first page.
The plot is marvelous. A man named Richard Bracegirdle (which is a Tolkien name! It was the family name of some of the hobbits that lived in the Shire. Again, appealing to my nerdiness) was caught up in a plot to expose Shakespeare as a papist, a Catholic supporter in the time of James Stuart when the Protestant religion was the “One, True Religion”. The entire basis of the story is driven by letters Bracegirdle wrote in the early 1600s, discovered in the backs of old books damaged in a fire. (A very cool point on this is that Gruber actually uses the correct 17th century spelling, where “gonnes” is used instead of “guns”. This was something that was quite delightful to me.) He convinces Shakespeare that a his lord wants the Bard to write a play exonerating Mary, Queen of Scotland (also known to history as “Bloody Mary”) that will infuriate the people of England and, hopefully, keep the heir of England from marrying a Catholic Spanish princess.
The found letters send two modern-day men --- Jake Mishkin and Albert Crosetti --- on a mission to find the lost manuscript and rewrite Shakespearean history as we know it. This serch takes them from New York to England and back again. Along the way they encounter beautiful women, Russian gangsters, and a bevy of other colorful characters (including Jake’s brother Paul, a Jesuit priest with a storied past and some interesting connections).
As I stated earlier, this book has all the elements of a great novel. Like the DaVinci Code, it’s the reimagining of something that we have been taught about since we were small schoolchildren that really draws you to it. And it contains a nice conspiracy theory full of mobsters and professors alike who will do at nothing to get their hands on this manuscript.
But that is where the similarities with Dan Brown’s novel ends. When I read the DaVinci Code, I was up until two a.m., unable to put it down. It gripped me from the beginning and held on all the way to the end. The Book of Air and Shadows didn’t really pick up until the last fourth of the novel. When Jake and Al finally meet, and there is the spectacular gunfight in the Crosetti home, I wanted to keep reading. Before then, it had been a chapter here and a chapter there, and maybe this will pick up soon and I can get through this book. And the conspiracy theory is , well, lame is a kind word for it, really.
Also, the characters are kind of weak. While Crosetti is funny and believable and great to read, Jake is just… There’s really nothing about him that makes you care. He’s just a pathetic asshole. Gruber writes Jake’s first person narratives in a way that seems like he wants you to feel sorry for him, but I can’t. He’s not the type of asshole that you say ‘Okay, he’s a jerk, but you have to feel sorry for him’ in a Frank Castle sort of way. He honestly has no attributes that make you feel sorry for him, but you don’t completely hate him either. He’s just a pathetic man that you really can’t find a reason to care about.
The writing style of this book is amazing, it really is. And I am substantially impressed by the fact that Gruber is a marine biologist who has a much better writing style than many ‘writers’ I know. This book’s biggest downfall --- and it’s ultimate defeat --- is how disjointed everything it. You have three different accounts --- the Bracegirdle letters, Jake’s first person account, and Crosetti’s third person views --- that really just don’t jive. When the two men finally meet very late in the book, and you are getting two sides of the same events, it makes it flow much more smoothly. (For an excellent demonstration of writing a book told totally in first person from multiple sources, check out Elizabeth Kostava’s The Historian. It is easily one of the best books I have ever read.) This disjointed writing also accounts for the many, many questions that just aren’t quite answered, or answered in a way that makes you scratch your head. Is the manuscript real? It must have been. Then why did he add the little bit about it being a fake? What reason did he have for throwing Jake’s father into the mix? It really made no sense. Did Gruber really expect his readers not to figure out that Mickey was involved? And that Carolyn and Miranda were the same person?
In the long run, the book was disappointing. Not bad, just not quite what I had expected or hope. But I wouldn’t mind picking up some of Gruber’s other works. I rather hope that he took the mistakes he made with this novel and made sure to correct them later on.
Now that I have read it, I am not so sure.
I am not here to say that the book was bad. On the contrary, it had all the trappings of a wonderful novel. A secret Shakespeare manuscript, a dastardly plot, the greatest literary find in history, and a nice smattering of reviews that lauded it as “better than the DaVinci Code”.
The Shakespeare aspect of it was the biggest draw for me, appealing to my literature degree and the fact that 16th and 17th century British literature happens to be my favorite period of literature. Yes, I very much heart the Bard, and I love a good thriller. So it was with great anticipation that I sat down with the book and opened to the first page.
The plot is marvelous. A man named Richard Bracegirdle (which is a Tolkien name! It was the family name of some of the hobbits that lived in the Shire. Again, appealing to my nerdiness) was caught up in a plot to expose Shakespeare as a papist, a Catholic supporter in the time of James Stuart when the Protestant religion was the “One, True Religion”. The entire basis of the story is driven by letters Bracegirdle wrote in the early 1600s, discovered in the backs of old books damaged in a fire. (A very cool point on this is that Gruber actually uses the correct 17th century spelling, where “gonnes” is used instead of “guns”. This was something that was quite delightful to me.) He convinces Shakespeare that a his lord wants the Bard to write a play exonerating Mary, Queen of Scotland (also known to history as “Bloody Mary”) that will infuriate the people of England and, hopefully, keep the heir of England from marrying a Catholic Spanish princess.
The found letters send two modern-day men --- Jake Mishkin and Albert Crosetti --- on a mission to find the lost manuscript and rewrite Shakespearean history as we know it. This serch takes them from New York to England and back again. Along the way they encounter beautiful women, Russian gangsters, and a bevy of other colorful characters (including Jake’s brother Paul, a Jesuit priest with a storied past and some interesting connections).
As I stated earlier, this book has all the elements of a great novel. Like the DaVinci Code, it’s the reimagining of something that we have been taught about since we were small schoolchildren that really draws you to it. And it contains a nice conspiracy theory full of mobsters and professors alike who will do at nothing to get their hands on this manuscript.
But that is where the similarities with Dan Brown’s novel ends. When I read the DaVinci Code, I was up until two a.m., unable to put it down. It gripped me from the beginning and held on all the way to the end. The Book of Air and Shadows didn’t really pick up until the last fourth of the novel. When Jake and Al finally meet, and there is the spectacular gunfight in the Crosetti home, I wanted to keep reading. Before then, it had been a chapter here and a chapter there, and maybe this will pick up soon and I can get through this book. And the conspiracy theory is , well, lame is a kind word for it, really.
Also, the characters are kind of weak. While Crosetti is funny and believable and great to read, Jake is just… There’s really nothing about him that makes you care. He’s just a pathetic asshole. Gruber writes Jake’s first person narratives in a way that seems like he wants you to feel sorry for him, but I can’t. He’s not the type of asshole that you say ‘Okay, he’s a jerk, but you have to feel sorry for him’ in a Frank Castle sort of way. He honestly has no attributes that make you feel sorry for him, but you don’t completely hate him either. He’s just a pathetic man that you really can’t find a reason to care about.
The writing style of this book is amazing, it really is. And I am substantially impressed by the fact that Gruber is a marine biologist who has a much better writing style than many ‘writers’ I know. This book’s biggest downfall --- and it’s ultimate defeat --- is how disjointed everything it. You have three different accounts --- the Bracegirdle letters, Jake’s first person account, and Crosetti’s third person views --- that really just don’t jive. When the two men finally meet very late in the book, and you are getting two sides of the same events, it makes it flow much more smoothly. (For an excellent demonstration of writing a book told totally in first person from multiple sources, check out Elizabeth Kostava’s The Historian. It is easily one of the best books I have ever read.) This disjointed writing also accounts for the many, many questions that just aren’t quite answered, or answered in a way that makes you scratch your head. Is the manuscript real? It must have been. Then why did he add the little bit about it being a fake? What reason did he have for throwing Jake’s father into the mix? It really made no sense. Did Gruber really expect his readers not to figure out that Mickey was involved? And that Carolyn and Miranda were the same person?
In the long run, the book was disappointing. Not bad, just not quite what I had expected or hope. But I wouldn’t mind picking up some of Gruber’s other works. I rather hope that he took the mistakes he made with this novel and made sure to correct them later on.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Book Review: The Shack
So I resisted for quite a long time reading this book. All I heard was "God" blah blah blah "religion" blah blah blah. Now, while I have no problem with books abut God and religion, when they're THIS popular, they're usually the type of books that only those really hardcore fanatics like. But when someone came in to return the book because, and I quote, "God is not a large, black woman", I knew this might be something I should check out. I sniffed around a bit, read an excerpt online, didn't think I'd like it, let someone co-workers talk me into it, and sat down to read it.
It was soooooo slow. Like, I just stopped reading for awhile and read a whole other book. (You can check out my review for that book, Dave Cullen's "Columbine" on an earlier post.) Then I finally picked it back and up and forced myself to continue reading.
I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised. While I am not religious, I do enjoy studying theology. And this book is very theological and not very religious. For example, Mack, the main character, marvels at the fact that none of the three --- Papa (God), Jesus, and Sarayu (the Holy Spirirt) --- are white. That made me happy. And, of course, God is indeed a large, black woman. Jesus does not believe in the institution of religion, another brownie point int my eyes, nor does he want to turn people into Christians. As he points out to Mack, he himself is not Christian.
There are many points throughout the book that made me quite happy to see. But there was one little gem that I just couldn't stop beaming about.
In his journey towards healing, Mack encounters a character known as Sophia, a woman who is described as the embodiment of God's wisdom. Now, I don't know how many of you have studied other facets of religion, but Sophia as wisdom is not a new concept.
The Gnostics, an ancient, religious sect that are supposedly responsible for a vast number of the books in the Apocrapha, held a slight different belief than Christians about the order of creation. In their tradition, God was created by another being: Sophie (or Sophia), who was wisdom. And seeing the character of Sophia play the role of wisdom in this book just made me delieriously happy.
Unfortunatly, the book was rather a long bore, with only a few good things sprinkled throughout. For the most part, it was the writing that killed me. I know, I know. I've had a bit more experience in what is supposed to be good writing than most people. So I tend to judge books a bit harder. But honestly! When was the last time this guy had a grammer class? And who on earth edited this thing?? No one seemed to have checked it for readablity. I guess they were too excited about having a religious piece of fiction to make sure it was well-written.
Another big turn-off was the way he had Papa, Jesus and Sarayu explain things. Some of it was great and wonderful and made perfect sense. But it seemed as though a vast majority of it was simply a rehash of another question that had already been asked pages before, just with another --- although equally as confusing --- way to answer. A good portion of the time I had to re-read entire pages, and still felt just like Mack, whose favorite saying was "Huh?"
In simple terms, the book had a great idea. It was probably one of the most original books I have read in a long time. And the parts of it that I did understand were great. While it doesn't want to make me run out and join the local church, it did help me have a better Scriptural understanding of God. But the execution was very, very poor. Will I read it again? Probably not. Will I recommend it? Only to people who have an open religious mind. But hey. Any book that portrays God as a large, black woman is, without a doubt, something worth looking into, if only for the novelty of it.
It was soooooo slow. Like, I just stopped reading for awhile and read a whole other book. (You can check out my review for that book, Dave Cullen's "Columbine" on an earlier post.) Then I finally picked it back and up and forced myself to continue reading.
I must admit, I was pleasantly surprised. While I am not religious, I do enjoy studying theology. And this book is very theological and not very religious. For example, Mack, the main character, marvels at the fact that none of the three --- Papa (God), Jesus, and Sarayu (the Holy Spirirt) --- are white. That made me happy. And, of course, God is indeed a large, black woman. Jesus does not believe in the institution of religion, another brownie point int my eyes, nor does he want to turn people into Christians. As he points out to Mack, he himself is not Christian.
There are many points throughout the book that made me quite happy to see. But there was one little gem that I just couldn't stop beaming about.
In his journey towards healing, Mack encounters a character known as Sophia, a woman who is described as the embodiment of God's wisdom. Now, I don't know how many of you have studied other facets of religion, but Sophia as wisdom is not a new concept.
The Gnostics, an ancient, religious sect that are supposedly responsible for a vast number of the books in the Apocrapha, held a slight different belief than Christians about the order of creation. In their tradition, God was created by another being: Sophie (or Sophia), who was wisdom. And seeing the character of Sophia play the role of wisdom in this book just made me delieriously happy.
Unfortunatly, the book was rather a long bore, with only a few good things sprinkled throughout. For the most part, it was the writing that killed me. I know, I know. I've had a bit more experience in what is supposed to be good writing than most people. So I tend to judge books a bit harder. But honestly! When was the last time this guy had a grammer class? And who on earth edited this thing?? No one seemed to have checked it for readablity. I guess they were too excited about having a religious piece of fiction to make sure it was well-written.
Another big turn-off was the way he had Papa, Jesus and Sarayu explain things. Some of it was great and wonderful and made perfect sense. But it seemed as though a vast majority of it was simply a rehash of another question that had already been asked pages before, just with another --- although equally as confusing --- way to answer. A good portion of the time I had to re-read entire pages, and still felt just like Mack, whose favorite saying was "Huh?"
In simple terms, the book had a great idea. It was probably one of the most original books I have read in a long time. And the parts of it that I did understand were great. While it doesn't want to make me run out and join the local church, it did help me have a better Scriptural understanding of God. But the execution was very, very poor. Will I read it again? Probably not. Will I recommend it? Only to people who have an open religious mind. But hey. Any book that portrays God as a large, black woman is, without a doubt, something worth looking into, if only for the novelty of it.
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