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And All Shall Be Well…

When one of your favourite authors (and a thinker you admire) quotes one of your favourite poets (who is another thinker you greatly admire) and says that this line–which embodies a form of hope–is something he has found to still be true, even in his darkest hour, you know that quote has got to be gold.

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“I will not, if I can help it, shin up either the feathery or the prickly tree. Two widely different convictions press more and more on my mind. One is that the Eternal Vet is even more inexorable and the possible operations even more painful than our severest imaginings can forbode. But the other, that ‘all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well’.”
C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I’ve been oscillating a lot, this month, between grief and grace, peace and pain, determination and the depths of despair. I was feeling especially sad and miserable, last night, when this line suddenly popped into my head, along with a vague recollection of what it represents in both C. S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed and T. S. Eliot’s poem “Little Gidding” in Four Quartets.

“And all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well”

It’s become my mantra, these last 24 hours, and I’ve been meditating on it a lot. I’ve also reread “Little Gidding” and have started rereading A Grief Observed. They’ve, collectively, been doing their work on me and I’m slowly working my way out of the depths again.

Anyway, back to the quote…

This is the only place, I am aware of, that C. S. Lewis ever references T. S. Eliot. The quote, itself, struck me the first time I read A Grief Observed two years ago. But I was even more struck when I happened to read T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, for the first time, a week or two later, and realised that C. S. Lewis had been quoting T. S. Eliot. This line appears, not once, but three times in T. S. Eliot’s “Little Gidding”, twice in the third section and once in the fifth and final section, and is one of the closing lines of the Four Quartets.

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“And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
—T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets: “Little Gidding”

I don’t have time to get into all the whys and wherefores, at the moment (perhaps I will in another post), but I do think that C. S. Lewis is definitely referencing more of “Little Gidding” than just this one little line. This line in itself is gold, but it’s also as if it’s a microcosm of or a hyperlink to, (possibly the entire, but) at least, the last three sections of the “Little Gidding” poem. (I also believe there are more connections, on the whole, linking A Grief Observed to Four Quartets, but, again, that’s a subject for another post)

It’s as if, with this line, C. S. Lewis is saying something unique and for himself, yet, at the same time, referencing T. S. Eliot’s “Little Gidding” and and hyperlinking to all the weight and significance that this line carries in that poem. But, it doesn’t stop there, it gets more interesting. 🙂

It turns out, (though not surprisingly, considering the way T. S. Eliot writes his poetry) with this line, T. S. Eliot, himself, is also referencing someone else’s writing.

I had totally forgotten, until I started writing this post, today, that in my recent exploration of the Four Quartets, through Thomas Howard’s Dove Descending: a Journey into T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets (which I am still only about 30 pages into), I had come across this quote (in April) which I found especially interesting:

IMG_0062rs“Eliot’s concluding cache in ‘Little Gidding’ from Dame Julian’s ‘Shewings’ made me go back to her original lines, as she is ventriloquist for the Almighty God of Grace: ‘I may make all things well, and I can make all things well, and I shall make all things well, and I will make all things well, and thou shalt see thyself that all manner of things shall be well.’ Dame Julian wrote that on her sickbed in the Black Death; Eliot wrote that in 1942 during the world’s blackest war. These tenses–may . . . can . . . shall . . . will–thawing the frozen ‘only now’ tense of the moderns, parallel the four metaphysical realities: what may be done invokes the possibilities of time; what can be done opens the mind to eternity; what shall be done points to undeniable mortality; and what will be done is the benign calculus of faith. The promise ‘thou shalt’ is the final fifth: the act of the will, which makes man a moral actor in the drama of providence.”
–George William Rutler
Dove Descending a Journey into T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets: “Foreword”

Rereading this above quote, again, today, added another level to my understanding of it’s depth and my meditation on it.

(As a side note–if you get it, you get it–I just shook my head and laughed out loud when I realised that the name of the mystic who wrote the original line, was Julian, and that I had only realised it, this afternoon, as I was writing this post. I even didn’t know Julian could be a woman’s name. Sometimes I feel like Providence is having fun at my expense.
Actually, I just looked it up, this is what Wikipedia says: “Very little is known about Julian’s life. Even her name is uncertain; the name ‘Julian’ is generally thought to have been derived from the Church of St Julian in Norwich, to which her anchorite’s cell was joined. ‘Julian’ was, however, a common name among women in the Middle Ages and could possibly have belonged to the anchoress as well as to the church.” So I guess people called their daughters Julian once upon a time. Interesting.)

It’s like this quote is like a little microcosm, hyperlinked down through the ages, that brings with it whole mountains of meaning and worlds of faith, hope and grace. Again, it’s one of those things of which I feel like I’ve only begun to scratch the surface of, when it comes to it’s depth and significance.

But, for today, this quote has given me hope, that no matter what happens,

“thou shalt see thyself that all manner of things shall be well.”

And, for now, that’s good enough. 🙂

What I’m Reading #10

After my last frustrating experience photographing a year’s worth of reading, I figure it’s probably a better idea to get back to doing my What I’m Reading posts more regularly. 🙂

Here’s a look at what I’ve read, so far, in 2017.DSC_8949rs

  1. The Problem of Pain by C.S. Lewis
  2. A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
  3. A Wind in the Door by Madeleine L’Engle
  4. Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl
  5. Daring Greatly by Brene Brown
  6. Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis
  7. The Double by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Richard Pevear (Translator), Larissa Volokhonsky (Translator)
  8. Nevsky Prospect, The Diary of a Madman, The Nose, The Overcoat by Nikolai Gogol (four out of six of the St. Petersburg Tales), Richard Pevear (Translator), Larissa Volokhonsky (Translator)
  9. Oddkins by Dean R. Koontz
  10. The Martian by Andy Weir (Not pictured because I borrowed it from a friend)
  11. Rise of Endymion (Hyperion Cantos #4) by Dan Simmons (Not pictured; I listened to the audiobook)

I’m having a bit of a dilemma regarding Nikolai Gogol’s works; I’m not exactly sure how to count or list them, as his tales are collected/listed differently depending on the publisher. I think I’ll just wait until I’ve finished reading the other two St. Petersburg Tales and then count all of them as one book. In that case, so far, I’ve finished reading ten books this year (1/3 of the way through my reading goal for the year, yay! 🙂 ). All of them were great reads, though I’ve only managed to blog about one. Hopefully, I’ll eventually get around to blogging about a few more of them.

These are the books I’m currently reading.DSC_8974rs

How to be Decadent by George Mikes
I and Thou by Martin Buber, Ronald Gregor Smith (Translator)
Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Richard Pevear (Translator), Larissa Volokhonsky (Translator)
Notes from Underground (A Norton Critical Edition / 1st Edition) by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Michael R. Katz (Translator/Editor)
The Gambler by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Richard Pevear (Translator), Larissa Volokhonsky (Translator)
St. Petersburg Tales (The Portrait, The Carriage) by Nikolai Gogol, Richard Pevear (Translator), Larissa Volokhonsky (Translator)
The Resurrection of the Son of God by N. T. Wright

For the last few weeks, I’ve been focusing on Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground. I’ll be meeting up with a friend this Sunday to discuss it, so I’ve been using that as impetus to really dig in and finish all the critical essays and background information included in my Norton Critical Edition. In addition to that, I’ve also been re-reading Notes from Underground for the second and third time simultaneously. (As you can see I’m somewhat obsessed. 🙂 ) I’m actually not exactly sure how you would count it, as I’m reading two different translations simultaneously (i.e. I finish a chapter in the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation, and then I read Michael R. Katz’s translation of the same chapter). I don’t think I could manage to pull off this kind of simultaneous reading with any other book, but Notes from Underground is short enough and such brilliant piece of work, I’m finding it’s actually a really interesting way to read it. 🙂

I’ve been slowly making my way through George Mikes’ How to be Decadent and Martin Buber’s I and Thou for about a year now. I actually started reading Buber’s I and Thou last May, but it was a tough read and hard to follow. I only got about 20 pages in before I put it down. I figured maybe it was problem with Ronald Smith’s translation and decided to wait till I could get my hands on a Walter Kaufmann translation instead. But, recently, I came across a few paragraphs from I and Thou that I really liked that turned out to be a section from the Ronald Smith translation just a few pages down from where I left off. So I figured maybe I’d just stopped before the good stuff, and decided to have another go at it. I’ll still likely still buy the Kaufmann translation, eventually, but I’m gonna give Ronald Smith another go and we’ll see how that turns out.

N. T. Wright’s The Resurrection of the Son of God is a tome I’ve been meaning to read for nearly a decade now. I finally bought a copy as a sort of Christmas present to myself last year and figured I’d make it my Lent reading project this year. Unfortunately, that plan got hijacked, by my Notes from Underground reading project. Still, I’ve been slowly chugging along at it. I’m only 50 pages in, so there’s no way I’m gonna finish it by Easter, but I’m determined to slowly make my way through it this year.

I haven’t started reading Dostoevsky’s The Gambler or the last two of Gogol’s Petersburg Tales, but they’re up next, after I’m finished with Notes from Underground.

Aside from those books, in celebration of National Poetry Month, I’m hoping to dig into some of the poetry of my two favourite poets T. S. Eliot and Gerard Manley Hopkins.

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I especially want to focus on T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, and possibly “Ash Wedsnesday”. But definitely Four Quartets, which I think is the best of T. S. Eliot’s best. I’ve been wanting to really dig into to it ever since I read it for the first time in November, 2015.

It’s such a deep and profound and beautiful and perfect collection of poetry, I think I could explore and meditate on it for a lifetime and still have more to discover and explore. I feel like it will take me years to even begin to scratch the surface of it’s depth, but I’m looking forward to making some progress towards that this next month. 🙂

A Wrinkle in Time

It’s very rare that I come across something I truly wish I’d read when I was a kid or an adolescent, but that was one of the strongest feelings I had when I finished reading this beautiful little gem of a story last week.

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It was almost a feeling of regret and frustration at the injustice that I was not even aware of this book’s existence, at that age, because I know that my adolescent self would have truly appreciated and found a kindred spirit and guide in it. I even share the same name as the protagonist 🙂 (a first for me; although, we don’t share the same derivative) and I could see a lot of myself, especially, a much younger me in this Meg. I think this book could have given me wisdom and helped to fortify and guide me through a lot of the issues I faced growing up.

But I don’t really mind, that it took me this long to finally read it, because I found it surprisingly relevant to my life right now. It still seemed like the perfect timing to read it. 🙂

I may do a more in depth review on the book at some point, but to try to sum it up in one paragraph: A Wrinkle in Time is a story that explores deep truths about what it means to be truly human. It’s a book that looks at darkness and evil and uncertainty with the eyes of  faith, hope and love. It’s a book that gives the imagination worlds to explore and wings to fly, without bogging it down with too many details. It’s a story that explores difficult ideas and concepts–such as: equality of opportunity vs. equality of outcome; conformity vs. individuality; confronting and resisting ideologies and the herd mentality; how freedom and true joy requires responsibility and the risk of pain, mistakes and unhappiness; how life isn’t simple and often there are no easy solutions or quick fixes and we can only respond to life by being responsible; how we don’t have to be afraid of being afraid, or of life or of who we are (imperfections, vulnerabilities and weaknesses included); how weaknesses can also be our strengths (and vice versa); how often times, the only way out is through facing our fears (taking an honest look at who we are and the things we are most afraid of or least want to do), but if we are brave we’ll find we are strong enough to and that good can come of it–all in a relatively simple and uplifting way, that even a child could understand and synthesise.

Simply put, A Wrinkle in Time is a gift and a story for all ages. I love it and I would recommend it to just about anyone.

That said, I can imagine that there may be people this book may not appeal to. There’s this little gem of a quote I came across, for the first time, yesterday, at the end of C. S. Lewis’ The Problem of Pain. It pretty much sums up how I feel about recommending this book:

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“You may have noticed that the books you really love are bound together by a secret thread. You know very well what is the common quality that makes you love them, though you cannot put it into words: but most of your friends do not see it at all, and often wonder why, liking this, you should also like that.”
C. S. Lewis,
The Problem of Pain

There’s so much of that secret thread–that binds books that I really love (and ideas that capture me) together–running through this book; it’s brimming with it. I’d say if you’ve read and loved, at least, two or three of the following titles: Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mocking Bird, Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series (as well as his Space Trilogy), Tolkien’s The Hobbit, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s The Little Prince, or George MacDonald’s The Princess and the Goblin books (or his other fairy tales and stories), and maybe even Kenneth Grahame’s Wind in the Willows or Brian Jacques’ Redwall series, or even, Edwin A. Abbot’s Flatland and the Bible then you may be someone who as an inkling of that secret thread and you may enjoy this book too. 🙂

Actually, I’d still say to just about anyone: give this book a read. It isn’t a long book (a little over 200 pages) and a very easy read (I read it in a day). And, if you do read it, let me know what you think. 🙂

This was my first time to read anything by Madeleine L’Engle and it definitely won’t be my last. I’m sure this is a book I will revisit too. It’s on my list of favorites and I’m already looking forward to reading it again. 🙂

If you, dear reader, have already read this book, do you have any thoughts (positive or negative) on it? If so, I’d love to know what you think. 🙂

Hank Green–Ranting about Books

This video, of Hank Green ranting about book publishing problems, never fails to give me a good laugh. I heartily agree with pretty much everything he says.

0:20 When he starts talking about spoilers in the blurbs and spoilers because of poor layout choices… my copy of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four did this to me. Some book designer thought it would be a good idea to put the last three sentences of the story opposite the Appendix: The Principles of Newspeak. To top it off, my book is a second hand copy and the previous owner liked the last sentence so much he, or she, decided to underline it (!).

So, I’m seven pages into the book, and I come across a footnote that tells me to “see Appendix”. I obey and turn to the back of the book. There, the first thing my eyes can’t help but see, is not the Appendix, but the last sentence–four unforgettable words, underlined in dark pen! It might as well have written like this: SP SPOIL SPO SPOILER!!!  Needless to say, I hold a permanent grudge against both the the designer and the unknown previous owner of my book. 😦

2:10 Books that look like Twilight covers. words to live byI have to say, I was rather horrified and surprised, when I came across Words to Live By (a selection of C. S. Lewis’s writing), a few years ago, in an online bookstore. I still cringe, every time I come across it. As much as I like C. S. Lewis, I would never consider buying this book because of it’s cover. Actually, I take that back. I just realised I would buy it, in one case, only–if I wanted to give a C. S. Lewis book to someone who was also a fan of Twilight! I have yet to meet someone like that.

If we want to talk about design choices and symbolism, I’m really not quite sure what the cover designer was going for here. Surely their target audience wasn’t Twilight fans. I’m thinking that maybe they want to insinuate food for the soul? But more often than not, in Christian symbolism, an apple in a hand means one of three things: temptation, sin, forbidden fruit. The more I think about it the more bizarre this cover choice seems. Why, oh why?!

It also bothers me when two books use the exact same picture as a cover. What’s worse is when you unknowingly buy both of them.

Case in point, my copy of The Diary of an Old Soul by George MacDonald and The Birth of the Modern: World Society 1815-1830 by Paul Johnson. I bought both of these off an online bookstore, secondhand, and the cover photo was not available for either when I made my order. Imagine my surprise when I ended up with the versions that both use The Wanderer over the Sea of Clouds by Casper David Friedrich. The Wanderer Over the Sea of Clouds by Casper David FriedrichIn this case, I really wish the cover designer of The Diary of an Old Soul had a gone with a different cover. Sigh.

2:15  I have a few old books with deckle edges (i e. 80 to 100-year-old; from an era when deckle edges were still a part of the book making process) and I think the deckle edge adds a bit of antique charm to the books. But, I agree, it is annoying (and this is probably more along the lines of what Hank is talking about) when it’s a conscious design choice in modern books, just to make the books seem fancier. Deckle edges tend to get soiled and worn faster than trimmed edges, so I think it’s a pretty dumb design decision and it also looks gimmicky.

How about you, dear reader? Do you have any publishing peeves? (Tom?? I’m guessing you do. 🙂 )  If so, I’d love to hear about it in the comment section below. 🙂

What I’m Reading #7

I was looking over my blog a few weeks ago and realised it’s been over a year since I’ve done one of these. A bit of shame, as I’ve gotten quite bit off track as far as my “reading plan” goes. For example, Dostoevsky has been completely neglected. But, at least, it’s not because I haven’t been reading; I’ve just been busy. I suppose another reason is, for the first half of this year, especially when I was going through my Sanderson binge, I was mostly reading e-books and listening to audiobooks, so my paperback stack was rather small. Anyway, this post is a bit of a catch up. I hope I can get back in the groove of doing this regularly.

Here’s a look at the books I’ve completed since my last “What I’m Reading” post.

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The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
Tuesdays With Morrie by Mitch Albom
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
First and Second Things by C. S. Lewis
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Franny and Zooey by J. D. Salinger
Animal Farm by George Orwell
T. S. Eliot: Selected Poems by T. S. Eliot
On Love by Alain de Botton
The Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius
Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
Paper Towns by John Green
Anam Cara by John O’ Donohue (Not pictured as I was only borrowing it.)

I know I always say I want to review the books I’ve read, but never seem to get around to doing so. Well, this time, this list includes some of the most unexpectedly great reads (e.g. Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and Alain de Botton’s On Love), as well as, the most disappointing reads (i.e. Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist and Mitch Albom’s Tuesdays With Morrie 😦 ) I’ve come across and I intend to blog about them. I’ve already started on a post about Tuesdays With Morrie, so stay tuned. 🙂

Aside from the sixteen books listed, I’ve also gone through sixteen e-books and audiobooks.
Wool by Hugh Howey
Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
The
Hunger Games
trilogy by Suzanne Collins
And eleven books and two short stories (which I’m just gonna count as one “book”) by Brandon Sanderson (see my last post). I should probably also mention here that my passion/appetite for all things Sanderson has abated quite a bit since my last post. I guess we’ll see how I feel about him in the long run.

So, all together, 32 books completed in about a year. Not bad. That’s also not including the ten to twenty books I’m going through at the moment. I’m shooting to finish reading 36 books this year. I’ve already read twenty-five; I’m two books behind schedule. We’ll see how it goes.

C. S. Lewis Out of Context

Came across this C. S. Lewis quote on a popular Facebook page today.

Don’t let your happiness depend on something you may lose.

My first thought was, Oh, nice, they’re quoting C. S. Lewis. This was immediately followed by, Wait a minute. Isn’t that quote from the The Four Loves and wasn’t C. S. Lewis paraphrasing St. Augustine and disagreeing with him?

Yep, C. S. Lewis out of context. The point C. S. Lewis was actually making was this:

IMG_1638rsTo love at all is to be vulnerable.

What bothers me is how the first quote is now floating around the interwebs as a pithy aphorism by C. S. Lewis–garnering tens of thousands of likes (God knows how many dislikes) and thousands of shares, less than 20 hours after it was posted–when what C. S. Lewis was really saying was the complete opposite. Thanks, internet!

The only reason C. S. Lewis even said, “Don’t let your happiness depend on something you may lose” was so that he could disagree with the sentiment. And the point he was making wasn’t about happiness, it was about love. Sadly, people who see this quote and disagree with it, as C. S. Lewis did, could end up thinking, as one commenter put it, “That’s B.S., C.S.” 😦 when, in fact, they are probably the ones who, most likely, agree with what C. S. Lewis was really saying. Ah, the irony!

Some quotes can be taken out of context or given new meaning and they still work, with respect to the author. Not this one. In this case, context is everything. (By the way, if you, dear reader, have come across any quotes similarly taken out of context, I’d be interested to hear about it. Feel free to post in the comments below.) I’ll get off my soapbox now.

Here is the quote in it’s full context. It’s long, but if you read to the end, you shall be rewarded with wisdom. 🙂 The last paragraph is one of my favorite C. S. Lewis quotes. Actually, if you have the time and opportunity, I  heartily recommend that you read The Four Loves. It’s C. S. Lewis at his finest and chock full of original thought, profound insight and wisdom.

 In words which can still bring tears to the eyes, St. Augustine describes the desolation into which the death of his friend Nebridius plunged him (Confessions IV, 10). Then he draws a moral. This is what comes, he says, of giving one’s heart to anything but God. All human beings pass away. Do not let your happiness depend on something you may lose. If love is to be a blessing, not a misery, it must be for the only Beloved who will never pass away.

Of course this is excellent sense. Do not put your goods in a leaky vessel. Don’t spend too much on a house you may be turned out of. And there is no man alive who responds more naturally than I to such canny maxims. I am a safety-first creature. Of all arguments against love, none makes so strong an appeal to my nature as “Careful! This might lead you to suffering.

To my nature, my temperament, yes. Not to my conscience. When I respond to this appeal, I seem to myself to be a thousand miles away from Christ. If I am sure of anything I am sure that His teaching was never meant to confirm my congenital preference for safe investments and limited liabilities. I doubt whether there is anything in me that pleases Him less. And who could conceivably begin to love God on such a prudential ground — because, so to speak, the security is better? Who could even include it among the grounds for loving? Would you choose a wife or a friend — if it comes to it, would you choose a dog — in that spirit? One must be outside the world of love, of all loves, before one calculates. Eros, lawless Eros, preferring the Beloved to happiness, is more like Love Himself than this.

I think that this passage in the Confessions is less a part of St. Augustine’s Christendom than a hangover from the high-minded Pagan philosophies in which he grew up. It is closer to Stoic “apathy” or neo-Platonic mysticism than to charity. We follow One who wept over Jerusalem and at the grave of Lazarus, and, loving all, yet had one disciple whom, in a special sense, he “loved”. St. Paul has a higher authority with us than St. Augustine – St. Paul who shows no sign that he would not have suffered like a man, and no feeling that he ought not so to have suffered, if Epaphroditus had died. (Philippians ii, 27.)

Even if it were granted that insurances against heartbreak were our highest wisdom, does God Himself offer them? Apparently not. Christ comes at last to say “Why hast thou forsaken me?”

There is no escape along the lines St. Augustine suggests. Nor along any other lines. There is no safe investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell. –C. S. Lewis (The Four Loves, pgs 110-112)

What I’m Reading #5: Books I Read This Spring

So my lovely new laptop arrived and I’m now ready to commence with blogging.

I thought I’d start with a little update on what I’ve been reading these past months. Altogether, I’ve read about 25-30 books, but these are the ones I completed.

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Listed, they are:
The Four Loves by C. S. Lewis
Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell
Nine Stories (aka For Esmé—with Love and Squalor) by J. D. Salinger
The Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger
Oscar and the Lady in Pink by Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt
Matthew for Everyone–Part One
 
by N. T. Wright
Searching for God Knows What by Donald Miller
Looking for Alaska by John Green
An Abundance of Katherines by John Green
The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Just about all of these books were first-rate reads and went straight to my list of favorites. I hope I can get around to blogging about about them, because I have so much to say.

Going back to what I’d planned to read in my last “This ‘Week’s’ Books” post, I read all except one. As you can see, the four books on top, in the pictures, are also on my list of completed books, including N. T. Wright‘s Matthew for Everyone–Part One (finally!).

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I read the Crime and Punishment section in Characters of Dostoevsky: Studies from Four Novels by Richard Curle, but didn’t read the entire book as the rest of the book (as the title suggests) deals with other Dostoevsky novels. I’m still reading Dostoevsky: the Making of a Novelist by Ernest J. Simmons. It’s a fascinating read, but difficult, as I’m trying to mainly read the parts that pertain to Dostoevsky, the man and writer, and the parts that specifically relate to Crime and Punishment without reading spoilers or parts that pertain to his other novels. It’s harder than I thought it would be.

The one book I didn’t read was The Young Dostoevsky (1846-1849): A Critical Study by Victor Terras; I didn’t even crack it open. I plan on reading it once I’ve finished reading Ernest J. Simmon’s Dostoevsky book.