Mathewes-Green, a graduate of the Virginia Theological Seminary, converted to Orthodoxy from the Episcopal Church following her husband, now an Orthodox priest.
She describes life in a composite American Orthodox parish, describing in elaborate but personal and appealing detail everything from the character of the faithful; the appearance of the building; the form and nature of liturgy through a church year, weekly services, a communion, Pascha, baptisms, a marriage and a funeral, hospitality hour; a midnight telephone call to the priest from a spiritually distressed parishioner; to a house blessing (and a brief window into Orthodox worship at home). She describes the music, the role of icons, the written sources of wisdom, and something of the meaning of praying continuously. Above all, she describes how the entirety makes up the ancient spiritual Way that Orthodoxy offers for drawing ever nearer to God and Jesus. In a delicate afterward she invites us to take any part of Orthodoxy we may find appealing, but to understand that it is the combination of elements accumulated and refined over millennia that make Orthodoxy a resolute, difficult, and effective Way.
A scientist-activist’s heartfelt plea, inspired and sometimes poetical, always thoroughly scientifically detailed, to make the effort to cease the practices that will render our planet unfit to support our human lives within a few decades.
Flannery describes the Earth as a homeostatic system whose organs atmosphere, oceans, crust, and life, operate together to maintain the conditions that support all life. He describes the geological history of the Earth and the impact of the human species on the system that had evolved by the time our species arose, and the damage we have done since we developed agriculture. We can and will render Earth unable to support us and we can and will drive ourselves to extinction. The Earth system may be able to correct itself in a few thousands or tens of thousands of years after that. We could and might ruin Earth for all life. He explains how and why technically, psychologically, and politically we are failing to correct that damage, and what we can and must do about it now if we want the planet and ourselves to live.
Conversion, the sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist, believing in Jesus are the path; to love one another is the way; union, to come to know that we are one with God and God with us, is the completion.
Countryman’s thesis is that John’s Gospel is a manual for the mystical way in Christianity. He translates the Gospel in a manner which preserves John’s simple syntax, limited vocabulary, and repetitions and intersperses commentary, interpretation, and some cultural and historical context. He shows how John’s choice and ordering of events from Jesus' life and ministry, differing from the synoptics, emphasizes the path of spiritual growth. Characteristic of Jesus' teaching in John is the inappropriate response, the seeming non-sequitur when questioned that is meant to break his hearer out of old ways of thinking. It reminded me of the idea behind Zen koans.
Countryman writes clearly, precisely, intellectually, spiritually and with belief. The book is scholarly but direct, not dry, and faithful.
Riveting, detailed account of the first year of the American Revolutionary War. After a lively opening account of the British Parliamentary debates about how to handle the colonies, in which McCullough deftly sketches the opinions and eccentric characters on both sides of the issue, the narrative focuses on military matters: George Washington’s initial indecisiveness and poor strategies (thoroughly redeemed in the sequel of course, but how close America came to failure in that first year!); his aristocratic Virginian disdain for the wretched Yankee soldiers; the squalor and viciousness of 18th century warfare; and the daring, dedicated, enterprising self-made men who officered his campaigns. McCullough quotes heavily from diaries and letters, and describes the characters and actions of British and Colonials vividly.
The Shape of Water should have been beautiful: Creature from the Black Lagoon with a successful romantic ending. Sally Hawkins is indeed luminous playing a mute woman who feels herself an incomplete being, as much a freak as the ichthyic “asset” acquired by a military research laboratory, stolen from its home in a South American river where it was worshipped as a god. Octavia Spencer is warm and dignified and strong as the heroine’s friend. Her smile of willing shock and delight when Elisa reveals her liason with the creature is one of the best moments of a film full of many such moments. The main villain of the piece is, however, so darkly unredeemably evil under his perfect sixties veneer as to skew the balance, and the movie has all of writer-director Guillermo del Toro’s trademark fixation with puncture wounds and dismemberments. The harshest moment is the torture and execution of the sympathetic Russian mole whose poet-scientist’s soul responding to the creature’s nature rebels at capturing or killing it for his masters. The first two-thirds of the movie are absorbing despite a few over-the-top choices; the last third is a dark and ugly chase sequence. The ending is as expected for a del Toro story but the preceding nastiness robs it of the proper catharsis of a fairy tale.
In form a “locked room” murder mystery, The Caves of Steel is a thoughtful science fiction novel about crime and justice. The world a thousand years from now is less strange than the echoes of the world of 64 years ago in the character of the society and people. But Asimov’s sketches of feelings and motivations ring true. With The Gods Themselves and The End of Eternity, Caves of Steel is among my favorite of Asimov’s novels.