And the Readin' is Easy: The Heart of the Matter

Remember that post a couple months ago about me making myself read The Heart of the Matter by Graham Greene? (Of course you do, because I'm such an amazing blogger and yet I can count my posts on one hand.) Well, I finally finished it. 

A title this fantastic needs no cover illustration, obviously.

Here's the deal. Though not considered to be Graham's masterpiece (look to The Power and the Glory for that), The Heart of the Matter is still a book that is very much worth reading. And since I know, dear reader, that you are far too busy at the moment for a good novel that explores deep philosophical themes, I have taken the liberty of sharing my humble booknotes with you.

The Basics: The novel takes place during WWII in a British Colony on the west coast of Africa (I only had a hazy idea of the location while reading the entire novel, yet I believe that I reaped most of the literary benefits nonetheless). Our hero, Henry Scobie, is a middle-aged policeman who has lost his zeal for life, to say the least. Greene keeps revisiting a description of the dripping-wet humidity and stifling heat of the climate throughout the book, so that by about page 30 I started to frown slightly while reading.  Scobie's wife, Louise, is whiny and cares only about whether Scobie is promoted to Commissioner and keeping up the practice of her Catholic faith. Their only daughter, Catherine, died in Britain while at school years before. Wilson, the new inspector in town, is younger than Scobie and has not yet become listless.

The Plot: Wilson falls in love with Louise, and even though Scobie realizes this, he encourages them to spend time alone together. Scobie makes a shady deal with an unsavory merchant named Yusef in order to send Louise to South Africa, which will somehow make her get over the fact that Scobie was denied the commissioner position. While she's gone, Scobie meets a young shipwreck survivor named Helen. Helen's new husband died at sea, and Louise is far away, so naturally Helen and Scobie start to have an affair. Now, at this point I thought to myself, okay okay okay, this novel is about adultery, blah blah blah. But really, the struggle that plays out in Scobie's mind is quite compelling. When Louise returns unexpectedly, Scobie's philosophical turmoil intensifies. Wilson makes advances toward Louise, proclaiming his love for her, but she denies him. Scobie leads a double life, going to Mass with Louise during the day and returning to Helen's hut at night. All of Scobie's self-disgust manifests itself at the end of the novel, but I won't give anything away just in case, dear reader.

The Themes: Pity, pride, self-sacrifice. Why does God offer us so much, and then give us the ability to throw it back in His face? Is it better to try and make others happy rather than to live virtuously? This novel is dismal and difficult, but also full of truth.

Whew. You didn't know this, but as I was writing this post, my mother was watching a re-run of the pilot episode of Glee. You try doing both at the same time. It's probably only marginally easier than writing a novel about adultery in the sweatiest place imaginable.

Now, go and discuss The Heart of the Matter with all of your intellectual friends. And then, someday, read it.

Waiting

Here's a little slice of my life in photos. The first and the last are the reminders of Christmas that my roommate and I have strewn about the room. The second is a peek out at the (still snow-less) view from our window. And then there's the makeshift calendar I scribbled on the back of a class handout so that I could remember that the end of finals is coming. Even better, though, Christ is coming.

Advent is one of those seasons that is sometimes overlooked. I've never really given it more than a medium amount of consideration before, but this year was different. I attend daily Mass frequently, and  my prayer life has grown into what I didn't know I wanted it to be all along. I find myself giving different daily activities up to God, such as working out and getting homework done early. I'm definitely not perfect about this. I spend way too much time looking at dresses on Modcloth or reading cooking blogs, and then an hour has gone by and I've done absolutely nothing of real value.

In the brief moments when I return to my room and sit on my futon, still wearing my winter coat and clutching my pink mittens in one hand, I lean my head back and remember that God Himself came down to earth and at one time felt cold and weary. Then I stand back up, remove my coat and boots, and figure out how much of Gulliver's Travels I should be reading. The silent waiting of my soul as I go about my day-to-day work, that's what advent is about. In a week, the waiting will be over, but it will not have been meaningless. This year was the first year that I realized I should be preparing my heart for Christmas, and the only way to do that is to wait.

All the pictures above appear hazy and dull, but that is actually quite apropos, for waiting points to the fact that something better is coming. And that something is Emmanuel, "God with us."

The days are growing shorter...

Okay, so I let November slip away a little. But here's the thing, everybody, I am NOT giving up. Right now I'm sort of this blogging underdog, battling end-of-semester homework and end-of-semester apathy in order to squeeze out a time where I can actually commit to this thing. You, dear reader, are of course pulling for me, because everyone loves an underdog, right? Right.

Enough about how I never write new posts before this becomes the Anti-Blog.

On to a new, more pressing subject: what is winter good for? I know I was born in Minnesota and somehow this makes me genetically obligated to well up with joy every time I see a thermometer that reads below zero. I know that four seasons are better than one. But really, why would I voluntarily subject myself to bitter winds that will make my freshly-showered hair freeze to my forehead? Because I have an 8:00 Logic class across campus, that's why.

I have friends who can't get enough of this barren season. They get some sort of thrill out of the possibility of getting to scrape ice off of their cars at any given moment. For them, the opportunity of making a snow-angel makes up for the times they forget to wear their mittens on the half-mile walk to South Campus. Having hands so cold that you can't move them is only sort of interesting about one time.

Lest you should think I'm a sort of Minnesota-expatriot wannabe, here are the three things that make winter kind of bearable for me:

1. The greater appreciation of hot drinks. I say "greater" because let's face it, ninety-degree weather is not going to deter me from enjoying (several) cups of coffee in the summertime. There's something so wonderful about slipping off your winter gloves and cradling your still-frozen fingers around a huge mug of steamed milk and espresso. Also, because in the winter the cold sticks around all day, you have an excuse to drink hot chocolate ALL DAY. This trade-off is almost good enough for me to start liking winter. Almost.
2. The undeniable beauty of snow. Okay, people, just because I don't like winter does not mean that the sun shining down onto glorious, bright snowfall does not also tug at my heartstrings. Also, the white snow makes it really easy to see outside at night, which I will concede is pretty dang cool.
3. Christmas. I'm listening to Christmas music this very moment and every free moment that I get because I only have about twenty-two more days to enjoy it without causing someone to be extremely annoyed. Please look up the Christmas albums of Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole (!), Michael Buble, and Josh Groban. Your Christmas cheer will be cheerier. Christmas is beautiful not just because it inspires good feelings and family togetherness, but because it celebrates the birth of our Lord, the Savior who has changed the world forever. One more thing, in C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, things are so dismal and hopeless in Narnia because it's always winter, but never Christmas. That's about exactly right.

In Minnesota, winter lasts from about November to mid-April. Here's to another four-and-a-half months of icy wonder.

Hearts

Right now I'm supposed to be reading The Heart of the Matter by Graham Greene. I assigned it to myself almost two weeks ago, and I haven't made much headway. I wanted to start reading for pleasure again ("reading for pleasure"-- that most tantalizing and elusive idea!), but then college reminded me of my foolishness. What happened to the 5th grade Carolyn who kept a chapter book carefully stowed in her desk and would try to snatch up bits of it in the few moments of transition between math and social studies? She is gone, and in her place is a St. Thomas sophomore who wanders over to the computer to check Facebook when she should be analyzing Cordelia from King Lear.

Another distraction from my literary endeavors has been my recent obsession with the band The Head and the Heart. My Bethel friend Rachel showed them to me, and I love her for it. CHECK THEM OUT.

One last thing about hearts before I dive into Greene and then dash off to my New Testament class: I watched A Beautiful Mind this last weekend. When I become a grown-up and have to start buying my own movies, this will definitely be one of my first purchases. If you don't understand the connection between this film and hearts because you haven't seen it or don't remember it, watch it. Seriously.

I don't know why I suddenly became a reviewer (well, more of a mention-er) of books, music and movies all in one post. Maybe I just had to get it all out of my system at once. I do know, however, that I just managed to squeak in a post before November began, and somehow this is an accomplishment. Excuse me while I go celebrate my third (third!) blog post in the span of four months.

Sorry 'bout that, August

Well my three followers, I bet you weren't expecting a second post on this blog after so many days of one-hit-wonder behavior. My life has been very unexpectedly like a movie for the past three weeks. After many repeated vague prayers about letting God rule my life, He took me on QUITE the adventure. So now I find myself sitting at my little college desk in Flynn suite 353 at the University of St. Thomas, writing out my soul to you, dear readers.

Me reading the Canterbury Tales. This was fake reading for the picture. I need to do some real reading before my 8:15 British Authors class tomorrow.


I'm so glad I'm back at St. Thomas, even though my life is a little hectic right now. The other morning I was walking across the quad, looking through the bright white light of day to the familiar form of the UST Chapel, and I actually thought to myself, "I get to go here." Yes, I realize how ridiculous that is. I can't help it, I sort of love life.

I've run out of time, but it's probably best to keep things short and snappy anyway. More to come, I promise! Even if it takes me until November.

Hello, cyberworld.

Well, I've told my mother that I'm starting a blog, so now this is real. 

Speaking of my mother, the other day she engaged in one of her mad-dash pre-grandchild clean-ups that she likes to do before my nephews and niece come to visit. Upon hearing her pleas for help in this matter, I immediately grabbed the vacuum cleaner and flung myself upon the housework like the dutiful youngest daughter I am. No, really. 

What's that you say? There is something "odd" about this picture? What, your mother doesn't stop you in the middle of your chores to place her own wedding veil circa 1980 on your head and then insist on doing a photo shoot? Well, then. 

And if you're wondering about all the china on the left-hand side of the picture, that came from my great-grandmother. My mother likes to blur the line between dishware and furniture. When she gets her hands on actual furniture, she turns it into art, as you can see in the deftly-painted little piece of wall decoration next to my left hip. 

This photo, which I like to call "Wedded Bliss," is actually a fairly good representation of my mother. She finishes the most mundane of tasks (vacuum) so that she can engage in the most thrilling (artwork). She appreciates and preserves the past (china, veil) while remembering that she herself will become the past someday, so she had better raise some good children (fine specimen in center of photo). And the best part of all is that she was the woman behind the camera.

I'm not sure how this post became All About Mother, but then again, how many other times has this happened in my life?

Love you, Ma.

PS This room quickly became a temporary (?) toyroom for aforementioned grandchildren. And man, did they LOVE IT.