Christmas Books- Some Suggestions

If you’re looking for a last-minute gift for someone who can read and actually enjoys doing so, I’ve put together a list of books you can purchase online in time for Christmas. Some I’ve actually read, while others still reside on my personal wishlist. I suppose it’s a bit iffy to recommend unread books to others, but I can live with the consequences. After all, should you actually choose to purchase one of these books as a gift for another, I consider myself out of the loop, neither the giver nor the givee. Anyway, my advice is offered voluntarily, without cost. Because you are free to accept or reject it, I accept no responsibility for your decision. 

With that understood, here’s my list of books, each with an Amazon link. First up, a few books I’ve actually read and enjoyed.

The Puppet Show of Memory, by Maurice Baring (1922). I’ve read many autobiographies, but this book tops them all. Maurice Baring is one of those English writers, popular during the first-half of the 20th century, who has been largely forgotten; and that’s a shame. 

Baring enjoyed a remarkable life (1874-1945), traveling the world in the midst of war and peace. Born into a well-connected family, he knew personally many of the world's movers and shakers, as well as the celebrities of his day. 

Baring wrote a number of wonderful novels, some surprisingly good poetry, and several remarkable books based on his personal experiences in many of the age's great events.  (Indeed, his book, R.F.C.  H.Q. 1914-1918, is a marvelous read and relates his service with the Royal Flying Corps during the First World War.) My personal library probably contains a dozen of his books, volumes you won’t find in many public libraries today. The literary establishment ignores Baring because he was born into a wealthy family, ignored political correctness, converted to Catholicism, and befriended both Chesterton and Belloc, among other sins. How wonderful that his autobiography is in print once again, and even available on Amazon. It’s also available as a Kindle edition — I think, for free.

Dove Descending, by Thomas Howard (2006). Thomas Howard, another convert to Catholicism, died this past October at the age of 85. 

Howard was a remarkable man whom I had the honor of knowing, if only slightly. Although we corresponded a bit via letter, as I recall we met only twice, and spent most of those brief meetings talking about the novels of Charles Williams, a subject on which Howard had written a wonderful book and was probably the world’s most knowledgeable scholar. He also authored a number of scholarly works on C. S. Lewis and T. S. Eliot. The current volume, Dove Descending -- subtitled “A Journey into T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets” -- offers an excellent commentary on what I’ve always believed to be one of Eliot’s greatest poems. If you’re looking for a gift for someone who appreciates good poetry, give them this book. And while you’re at it, you might consider bundling it with a copy of Eliot’s poem: Four Quartets. 

The Well and the Shallows, by G. K. Chesterton (1935). With the possible exception of books by Pope Benedict XVI, my home library probably holds more books by G. K. Chesterton than any other author. This volume, a collection of essays first published just a few years before the onset of World War II, is a true prophetic text in which Chesterton takes a serious look at the grave moral and societal issues facing mankind then and now. He warns the world of Naziism, nationalism, socialism, Communism, and a capitalism that rejects Christian ideals and morality. He examines militarism and pacifism, anti-Semitism, materialism, and the sexual revolution decades before it appeared. Sadly, everything Chesterton wrote about remains true but has been largely ignored...to our peril. Chesterton (1874-1936) died just a year after this book was published. 

The Annotated Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen (first published, 1813). If you've read yesterday's post, you'll know I've long been a Jane Austen fan. Should you happen to know someone who's never read her work -- in which case his or her education was sorely lacking -- this annotated version of her most famous novel, Pride and Prejudice, would be a good starting point. The annotations, provided by David M. Shapard, an historian who has annotated all of Austen's novels, will help those who might need an occasional explanation as they navigate through the peculiarities of early nineteenth-century England. Austen died in 1817 at the age of 41. 

Pirate Freedom, by Gene Wolfe (2007). Okay, it's a novel about pirates -- Arrgghh! -- but with a twist, since it's also a sci-fi novel. Don't let that scare you off because the authur, Gene Wolfe, was an amazing writer, among the very best writers of American fiction. Sadly, he died last year at the age of 87. Wolfe is intentionally ignored by many of the literati because of the sci-fi genre, and also because his Catholic faith has colored his work deeply. 

This novel has it all: a Catholic priest with a long -- indeed, a very long -- and strange past; time travel; pirates on the Spanish Main; lots of shiny gold; and a love story thrown in. If you know anyone who enjoys a good yarn, extremely well told, and can suspend his disbelief, this just might be the book to place under the tree.

Now, a few books I have not yet read, but feel confident recommending. In each instance I've either read other works by the author or have read a review of the recommended book by someone whose opinion I trust.

Our Peculiar Times,  by Fr. George Rutler (2020). If you’ve never read anything by Fr. Rutler, you should be ashamed of yourself. Buy one of his books, and do it now! 

Fr. Rutler is one of the leading voices of sanity within today’s Catholic Church. Nothing escapes his notice and he introduces it all to us in a remarkable mix of humor and wisdom. The problem with his books? I read them too quickly. Once I crack the binding, I can’t put it down until I’ve turned the last page. Of course, I usually reread them because I miss so much on that first rapid reading. This latest of his commentaries on the human condition addresses everything from pandemics and societal upheaval to faithlessness and ignorance. As one reviewer put it, "This book is a must-read for anyone interested in rousing our fellow Americans from their slumber and persuading them back to faith, hope, charity and courage."

Blackout, by Candace Owens (2020). If you're wondering why many in the black community are turning to the political right and deserting the Democrat party, Candace Owens will answer your questions. A political activist and star of social media, Owens lifts the lid and exposes the true racism of the political left. Indeed, her book's subtitle says it best: "How Black America Can Make Its Second Escape from the Democrat Plantation.” I’ve listened to several of Owens’ podcast talks, occasionally caught her commentaries on various opinion shows, and always came away enlightened and greatly impressed by this remarkable young woman.

Blessed Charles of Austria, by Charles A. Coulombe (2020). I was truly surprised by the number of Catholics who were shocked when Pope John Paul II beatified Emperor Charles of Austria in 2004. The last Habsburg emperor of Austria-Hungary who accepted the throne in the midst of Word War I, Blessed Charles struggled valiantly to bring peace to the world, but was betrayed by almost everyone. This devoted husband and father lived a life of humility and holiness (1887-1922), a life whose story must be told. Yes, it’s a sad story from a worldly perspective, but a glorious story from heavenly perspective. I have read other books about Blessed Charles and the Habsburgs, and enjoyed them, but this promises to be the best yet.

The Right Side: a Novel, by Spencer Quinn (2017). For several years now I've meant to pick up a copy of this novel, but for some reason have failed to do so. For me a novel must first be a good story with well-developed characters, and I'm told this book has both. The novel's lead character is a woman, a soldier who returned from Afghanistan physically and mentally wounded. But she's joined by another character, a dog with an attitude. This, of course, simply piques my interest, making the novel even more attractive. As one reviewer describes the plot: "a deeply damaged female soldier comes home from the war in Afghanistan and becomes obsessed with finding a missing girl, gains an unlikely ally in a stray dog, and encounters new perils beyond the combat zone." Sounds like my kind of novel.

Okay, that's enough...

Let me know if any of my recommendations work out for your gift-gving. If they don't, please keep it to yourself.

Have a blessed and merry Christmas.

Happy Brithday to Jane and Ludwig

Today happens to be the birthday of two of my favorite people. The first? Ludwig von Beethoven, who was born on December 16, 1770. For Beethoven, today we celebrate his 250th birthday, certainly a major milestone, even if he didn't live to see it. Beethoven died at 56 in 1827, a mildly disturbing fact for those of us who have survived for many more years and yet have accomplished so very little. 

I've been listening to a lot of Beethoven today, thanks to Sirius satellite radio, Alexa, and the new Bose speaker that Diane bought me for Christmas. I told Dear Diane I'd wrap it up again and put it under the tree a few days before the 25th...maybe. But in the meantime I can listen to the work of this true musical genius.

Off the cuff I can name only one other person born 250 years ago: the poet, William Wordsworth, a man with the perfect last name for a poet. I knew of Wordsworth's birth year only because I recently read an article about him in the December issue of First Things -- "The Genius of Wordsworth" -- so don't think I'm all that smart. Wordsworth lived a long life, dying in 1850 at the age of 80.

Today I also discovered that William Clark, of Lewis and Clark fame, was born in 1770, specifically on August 1. In additon to his noted exploring, he fought in the War of 1812 and was later appointed governor of the Missouri Territory by President Madison. He seems to have had a rather full life and died in 1838 at the age of 68.

Another 1770 baby was Charles Adams, second son of our second president, John Adams. Charles was a most unfortunate man. An alcoholic who also carried on with women other than his wife, he was ultimately disowned by his father and died in 1800 at the age of 30, far short of 250. By the way, if you're ever in the Boston area, I suggest stopping by the Adams Home in Quincy, MA. It's truly worth a visit.

But enough of those 1770 folks. Besides Beethoven's I'm celebrating another famous person's birthday today: Jane Austen, who was born on December 16, 1775, making her a mere child at 245, five years younger than Ludwig. Sadly Jane died on July 18, 1817, at the too young age of 41. 

If you've been a longtime reader of this blog -- by the way, a very exclusive club -- you'll know I consider Jane Austen the greatest of the English novelists. I realize I'll catch a lot of grief for this, especially from all those fans of Dickens, or Hardy, or Bronte (take your pick), or Orwell, or Tolkien, among others. I enjoy every one of these authors and still read and reread some of them regularly, but no one campares to Jane. Those who don't understand Austen mistakenly call her a romantic. If you want to read a romantic, read one of the Brontes. Jane was no romantic. A master at depicting the human condition, she was an author who could apply the principles of moral theology to everyday situations, offering them to her readers with both humor and the sharp-edge, and sharp-eye, of mild cynicism. 

Today, as I celebrate Jane's birthday, I will begin to reread Persuasion, the last of her six novels, and probably my favorite. 

Here's a photo I took back in 2013 of the cottage where Jane Austen lived during her final years. It was owned by her brother and she lived there with her mother and sister. Located in Chawton, a lovely Hampshire village, the cottage is part of the Jane Austen Museum. We were fortunate to spend a glorious week in a tiny cottage next door.

And so, join me today as I wish these two people of genius, who have blessed the world with many decades of true enjoyment, a happy birthday! 

Happy Birthday, Jane Austen

Jane Austen

Jane Austen, the more than great English novelist, was born 244 years ago today on December 16, 1775. 

I first encountered Jane Austen's writing when I was assigned to read Pride and Prejudice as a senior in high school. That simply whetted my appetite for more and turned me into a lifelong fan. 

A lot of folks consider her a romantic, but not me. If you want to read 19th-century romance, read a Bronte. I've always considered Jane Austen to be a down to earth storyteller who was somehow able to combine biting social commentary and moral theology, all the while developing some of literature's most interesting characters.

A few years ago, in September 2013, Dear Diane and I made a kind of Austen pilgrimage to England, visiting many Austen-related locations. We had an absolutely wonderful time. In fact we spent a week in a rented cottage in the Hampshire village of Chawton, where Jane spent most of her last years. The cottage is right next door to the Austen house, which is now a well-visited museum (Jane Austen House Museum). And most handily, the cottage was also directly across the street from a charming village pub, The Greyfriar. Unfortunately, since the cottage and its main house, a very old home called "Clinkers", were sold not long ago, the cottage is no longer available as a rental. 

The Austen House in Chawton (2013)

The Greyfriar, dogs and children welcome

Dear Diane and I in the garden of the Austen House

We also visited Jane's tomb in Winchester Cathedral and spent time in Steventon, another small Hampshire village where Jane spent the first decades of her life. Her father, Rev. George Austen, was the pastor of St. Nicholas Church, the Anglican church in Steventon.

Winchester Cathedral

St. Nicholas Church, Steventon

We then drove to Lyme Regis, a near perfect coastal town that reminded me of Cape Cod villages back in the 1950s. Austen also lived there briefly and used it for some key scenes in her novel, Persuasion. 

A Blustery Day in Lyme Regis

We also visited the old naval port of Portsmouth, a city that makes an appearance in Austen's novel, Mansfield Park. We even stayed several days in Kent and saw the very large house inherited by one of Jane Austen's brothers, a home she occasionally visited. 

Admiral Nelson's Cabin: HMS Victory

Finally, we spent a wonderful weekend (except for the rain) at a lovely Bed and Breakfast in Bath (The Bath House), another city where Austen lived for a time and which she used as a setting in several of her novels (Northanger Abbey and Persuasion). When in Bath the Jane Austen Centre, another well-managed Austen museum, is also worth a visit.

Diane and friend at Bath's Jane Austen Centre

The Unique Architecture of Bath

Our trip concluded with five days in London where we rented a flat about halfway between Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus. One thing we discovered: rather than staying in hotels, it's far less expensive and much more enjoyable to rent cottages and flats. And because they usually come equipped with a washer and dryer, we were able to pack more lightly.

Leaving London, we returned to the USA via a 14-day transatlantic cruise aboard the Celebrity Infinity. It was a long, but truly delightful vacation...all thanks to Jane Austen.

Happy Birthday, Jane.

A Prophecy

One look at the titles in my home library and you would notice, with a few exceptions, most of the fiction was written by writers who are no longer with us. The exceptions include such novelists as Mark Helprin, Gene Wolfe, Dean Koontz, V. S. Naipaul, Michael D. O'Brien, and a few others. I enjoy the work of authors who write well, who accept the reality of objective truth, and who believe in what T. S. Eliot called the "permanent things" that make us human beings what we are and lead us to what we are destined to become. You will find few atheists or relativists among the novelists residing in my modest library. I hear enough from them in the popular media.

Jane Austen and The Cottage in Chawton, Hampshire

I've written often of my fondness for that early nineteenth-century moral theologian, Jane Austen, a woman so unlike those dark, brooding Brontes. And I continue to enjoy and reread the work of Charles Dickens, Herman Melville, and Anthony Trollope. In truth, these days I don't read Trollope but instead listen to him during my early morning walks, thanks to the good folks at audible.com and the Apple engineers who made my iPhone. Trollope is really quite listenable. And then there are the writers whose stories and novels make me laugh again and again, authors like P. G. Wodehouse (1881-1975) and H. H. Munro (aka, Saki, 1870-1916). I've also come to enjoy the somewhat strange novels of the late Alice Thomas Ellis (1932-2005) and the ghostly stories of Russell Kirk (1918-1994). I remember my surprise when I learned that Kirk, one of the intellectual fathers of the American conservative movement, also wrote these wonderfully spooky tales. 

A Young Mackenzie

All of this talk of authors and books has brought me to Compton Mackenzie (1883-1972), another writer in whose works I delight. I first encountered him about 30 years ago when I picked up a used copy of his farcical novel, The Monarch of the Glen, a book I thoroughly enjoyed. Since then I've probably read a dozen of his novels. But one day, while browsing in the aisles of my favorite Cape Cod bookstore -- Parnassus Books -- I picked up a copy of Volume 3 of Mackenzie's My Life and Times. I soon discovered that his autobiography was a massive work, filling ten volumes -- yes, that's right, ten! Each volume covers an "octave," eight years of this man's remarkable life. 

Since reading that third "octave", I have searched for and purchased the other nine volumes and, believe me, few lives are more interesting than Mackenzie's. He knew everyone from Kaiser Wilhelm to Winston Churchill, from T. E. Lawrence to D. H. Lawrence, from William Faulkner to Lawrence Olivier. The child of a theatrical family, Mackenzie graduated from Oxford, was a lifelong Scottish nationalist, converted to Catholicism, and developed a deep distrust of invasive government. He also liked cats, a odd trait which I can overlook.

Last evening, while reading Volume 8, which covers the war years (1939 to 1946), I came across something Mackenzie had written late in 1940. This was a most difficult time for the British. In 1939 Stalin and Hitler had signed the Molotov-Ribbentrop non-aggression pact, an agreement conceived in hell, one that would last until broken by Hitler in mid-1941. It would be well over a year before the United States entered the war after the Pearl Harbor attack in December 1941. At the time Mackenzie was writing, Britain stood virtually alone against the most powerful army the world had ever seen. And that army had just blitz-krieged its way through France and the Low Countries forcing the British troops and a contingent of allied forces to evacuate at Dunkirk. Were it not an island nation, Britain too would have fallen, probably quickly.

Mackenzie's comments were published as the forward to a volume designed to raise money for a charity called the War Orphans Fund. Given that they were written almost 80 years ago, in the early years of World War Two, they are both insightful and prophetic. I have included some excerpts here.

"If would be more comfortable to believe that this great war was merely the result of the last Great War. We might then feel fairly certain of achieving a real peace, for we have learnt a lesson and are in the mood to benefit by it. If this war is part of an evolutionary struggle, whatever the result we cannot hope to see the world securely re-established, because our victory must in time be challenged again but our defeat would be final, at any rate for too long a period to make speculation worth while. 

"I believe that we may soon be witnessing the death agony of that habit of thought and system of economy which is too loosely called capitalism, too loosely as it seems to me because it overstresses the economic aspect and I am not a dialectical materialist who can accept Marx's theory that man's circumstance is entirely determined by this. I regard our period as the beginning of the reaction against the trend that was given to Western development by the Renaissance and the Reformation and the discovery of America, which led to an exaggerated conception of the rights of the individual and an insufficient appreciation of his duties. The process has been accelerated by the abuse of mechanical progress from printing to flying, by the corruption of the ideal of popular education, by the substitution of humanitarian theory for religious practice, by the continually growing power of money, and by the encouragement of an illusory freedom of thought at the cost of real freedom of action. The result has been that never in recorded history was the ordinary man so completely at the mercy of his environment as he is today. The liberty that seemed within his grasp at the beginning of the fifteenth century is now farther away than ever, and is likely to recede still farther as long as man elects to be the slave of self rather than the servant of God."

At this point Mackenzie refers to a drawing of the Holy Family fleeing into Egypt and writes:

"They too were refugees...but they are refugees at this moment. What that Holy Family stood for mankind is even now being driven more brutally into the desert by material progress than ever by Herod's violence...

"After the Great War of 1914-1918 people sat back and declared that another great war would mean the end of civilization. Pamphlets were published to warn the world what appalling weapons and poisons would obliterate humanity. Pacifism was feverishly preached on the text that war was too horrible; its missionaries forgot that only experience teaches and that a younger generation would be excited but not warned by books like All Quiet on the Western Front. Meanwhile for two fatal decades audiences sought a deliberate thrill from gangster films and plays and readers procured themselves a kick from tough novels.

"And then suddenly in September 1938 audiences and readers woke up to the fact that the thrills and kicks they had been administering to themselves, thrills and kicks more pernicious to moral stamina than any hashish or cocaine could supply, were expressions of such a zeitgeist as not even the far-sighted Goethe discerned upon the wing...

"In one last desperate effort to travel out of the respectable past into the disreputable present Neville Chamberlain flew to Berchtesgaden to allay the whispers of politicians who had betrayed their country out of laziness because it was easier not to disturb an electorate with warnings of a storm which after all might not break. To politicians willing to betray their country out of laziness it did not seem a grave offense to betray what Mr. Chamberlain called a 'remote country' like Czechoslovakia out of cowardice. Not that such cowardice was not immediately justified, let it be quickly said; war was impossible for Britain and France. Neither was ready..."

Neville Chamberlain and Adolph Hitler in Munich

Mackenzie goes on to address the muddled thinking of both the Left and the Right in the years leading up to the war, and then writes the following:

"The seat of the trouble was that confused thinking which led to the failure to recognize that Fascism and National Socialism were only different expressions of the same basic evolutionary drive as inspired Communism. Black ants or red ants, they are both ants. The initials of Liberté, Egalité and Fraternité provide the first three letters for the LEFT, and T stands for Totalitarianism...

"The Communist secure in a positive material creed declares the condition of Europe to be evidence that the death agony of capitalism has begun. The Catholic equally secure in a positive creed which transcends materialism .declared the condition of Europe to be the logical result of turning aside from the way of life God Himself indicated when He was Man..."

Interesting stuff by a man who served actively on foreign soil in British Intelligence during World War One. I look forward to reading more of his thoughts as he describes life during the war years.

Mackenzie who wrote upwards of 100 books, also penned a four-volume memoir of those years as an intelligence officer in and near Greece during Word War One -- something else to search for...

God's Peace, the only True Peace...

Winchester, Rain or Shine

Wednesday, 16 October.
When we started out this morning, it had begun to rain. The rain continued, and even intensified, as we drove to Winchester, and by the time we reached the park-and-ride lot on the edge of the city, it was pouring. When our bus reached city center, we decided to jump into a nearby coffee shop and wait out the rain. The coffee was hot and welcome, but the rain continued. It was then we discovered that Winchester Cathedral, the one place we wanted to visit, would be closed today, indeed, closed all week, because it was the venue for a series of college graduations. And so, the day began with disappointing weather and disappointing news. We decided to walk to the cathedral nevertheless so I could at least photograph the exterior. As you can see in the below photo, faculty members, graduates and their guests were all gathered in the rain in front of the cathedral.

We made our way to the cathedral gift shop, if only to get out of the weather, bought a few trinkets, and found that we might be able to enter the cathedral at 4 p.m. if we could sneak in after the last graduation. Buoyed by this bit of good news, we noticed it was time for lunch and found the nearest pub, a locally owned place called The Old Vine. Once again Diane had the soup but I surprised her and myself by ordering a brie and bacon sandwich. Of course I allowed myself a pint of fine ale. It was all excellent, and adding to our joy, the sun had begun to poke out from behind the thinning clouds. Things were looking up. Here's a photo of the pub...

With the sun warming things up and the rain gone, we strolled around the cathedral's beautiful grounds and made our way to nearby College Street and to the house in which Jane Austen spent the last few weeks of her life. Her illness -- thought to be either Addison's Disease, some type of lymphoma, or even tuberculosis -- had progressed to the point that her family moved her from Chawton to Winchester so she could receive better medical treatment. Alas, nothing could be done and Jane died in this College Street home (see photo below) at the age of 41 on 18 July 1817.

To kill time until we could enter the cathedral we stopped by a few nearby shops, including a bookstore and print shop. The print shop owner suggested we pay a visit to a tiny church above his shop, St. Swithun-upon-Kinsgate church, which the locals claim is the smallest church in England. While in this little church I noticed a memorial to an 18th century apothecary that I found particularly moving. I've included photos of the church and the memorial below.


During our stroll we happened on a couple who live on Cape Cod, where Diane and I had our home for 25  years before we retired in 2003. As we compared notes on our trips we discovered that their best friends will be aboard the ship (Celebrity Infinity) on which Diane and I will return to the USA. We promised to look them up once we're aboard. Interesting coincidences.

We managed to enter the cathedral surreptitiously and spent a few minutes searching for Jane Austen's grave. With the help of a young college student we found it and paid our respects. Unfortunately, I have very few good photos of the interior of the cathedral. Before entering I changed lenses to take advantage of a fast, wide-angle lens. But I later discovered this lens was having trouble communicating with the camera and so most of the photos are out of focus. Ugh! Ah, well, no day is perfect.

Jane's grave is marked by a stone slab inscribed with a personal tribute describing her virtues, but with no mention of her writings. The inscriptions reads:

"In Memory of JANE AUSTEN, youngest daughter of the late Revd GEORGE AUSTEN, formerly Rector of Steventon in this County. She departed this Life on the 18th of July1817, aged 41, after a long illness supported with the patience and hopes of a Christian.

"The benevolence of her heart, the sweetness of her temper, and the extraordinary endowments of her mind obtained the regard of all who knew her and the warmest love of her intimate connections.

"Their grief is in proportion to their affection, they know their loss to be irreparable, but in their deepest affliction they are consoled by a firm though humble hope that her charity, devotion, faith and purity have rendered her soul acceptable in the sight of her REDEEMER."

Here's a photo of her grave:

It was only decades later that family members added a memorial plaque on the wall of the cathedral adjacent to her grave. This second memorial pays tribute to her as an author. Below is my poor photograph of this memorial, which reads:

Jane Austen, known to many by her writings, endeared to her family by the varied charms of her Character, and ennobled by Christian Faith and Piety, was born at Steventon in the county of Hants Dec xvi mdcclxxv and buried in this Cathedral July xxiv mdcccxvii. "She opened her mouth with wisdom and in her tongue is the law of kindness."  Prob xxxi vi xxvi

We left the cathedral, took the bus to our car, and drove back here to Chawton. For a day that began so poorly, it really turned out quite well. I'll leave you with a few more photos...



Blessings friends...

On the Road Again...

Monday, 14 October

By mid-afternoon yesterday (Sunday) I was feeling well enough that Diane and I decided to take a short drive to visit The Vyne, a nearby National Trust site with its expansive grounds and a large and beautiful home that dates back to Tudor times. Back in Jane Austen's day it was owned by the Chute family; indeed, the family owned the property from the time of the Civil War in the seventeenth century until the mid-twentieth century when the descendants turned it over to the National Trust. In its original Tudor form, it was owned by William, 1st Lord Sandys, Henry VIII's Lord Chamberlain. The Sandys family apparently lost the house when they backed the wrong horse during the Civil War. Anyway, Jane Austen attended many a ball at the Vyne, which was certainly the most splendid house in the area.

Since I had cleverly purchased annual memberships in the Royal Oak Foundation (the US affiliate of the UK's National Trust) a few months ago, Dear Diane and I can visit any of the scores of NT sites for free. The Vyne is among them.

The weather was less than perfect, but we slogged through the mud puddles and made our way along the wooded paths to the grand home. The grounds were quite nice and would have been better appreciated had it been a sunny day. See photos below...





The self-guided tour was aided by the presence of knowledgable and very pleasant docents stationed throughout the large house. Here's a photo of Diane conversing with one of the docents.

Although the house underwent many major renovations over the centuries, parts of it still reflect its original Tudor design. In the chapel, for instance, one can see a rather young Henry VIII depicted in one of the stained-glass windows. His first wife, Catherine of Aragon, can be seen in another. Obviously the chapel was built before this egomaniacal king began divorcing and beheading his wives. See a view of the  chapel below.

Here's a view of house from the main drive, probably as Jane Austen would have seen it from a carriage on her way to a ball.

Below are a few photos of some of The Vyne's rooms: the dining room and saloon. Some of the paneling and ceiling work is truly remarkable. And because the last owners also left the entire contents of the house to the National Trust, most of the furniture is original, from the 16th, 17th and18th centuries. Truly extraordinary.


All things considered, not a bad way to spend a couple of hours on a rainy afternoon. We even stopped by their tearoom for a bite to eat and, of course, made the obligatory visit to the gift shop. I was still feeling a bit edgy, so I didn't eat much, but the little I had (some homemade bread pudding) was pretty good.

Today (Monday) we decided to drive to Salisbury (about an hour's drive) and visit Stonehenge. We had hoped that a Monday in October, especially a rather bleak, overcast Monday, would keep the crowds down...and we we're right. It wasn't very crowded at all, which made the experience quite enjoyable.

Once again, my pre-trip planning paid off since I had purchased an English Heritage international tourist 9-day pass for two. Basically, English Heritage controls many of the places that aren't controlled by the National Trust. And so, Dear Diane and I were able to enter Stonehenge free of charge.

It's really quite well done. You are given an audio tour device that you carry with you as you follow the path circling the five-thousand-year-old site. I took about 100 photos as we walked along listening to our recorded guides. The only downside was the wind and the temperature. Exposed to the elements on Salisbury Plain, and despite our warm clothing, the two of us nearly froze. We were pleased to find a little concession stand near the exit and gladly paid £4 plus for two cups of hot chocolate. And of course we hit the gift shop before returning to our car.

Here I am, looking much warmer than I really was. On the way home we stopped at a pub near North Waltham, Hampshire, just a couple of miles from Jane Austen's family home in Steventon. The pub, The Wheatsheaf Inn, has been around for a few hundred years and Jane Austen visited it frequently. She didn't go there for the good ale, but to collect the family's mail since it was the local post station. You can read more about this here: Jane Austen and the Wheatsheaf. Our meal was quite good and the service excellent.

Tomorrow we plan to drive south to the coast and visit some of the sites in Portsmouth and Southampton. It should be another enjoyable day, weather permitting.
Blessings...

To Iceland and Beyond...

Wednesday, 9 October 

Dear Diane and I are aboard an Icelandair Boeing 757 flying from Sanford, Florida en route to Iceland. Seated here in our economy class seats, we are surrounded by tall, blond people who speak a language that I am certain can be learned only from infancy. To the untrained ear, Icelandic sounds like something that might be spoken by the Klingons of Star Trek or Tolkien's elves. Nothing sounds at all familiar. I am convinced that the Icelanders must be as intelligent as they are attractive to speak such an incomprehensible language.

Air travel has certainly changed. The seating is cramped and uncomfortable, so I expect sleep will escape me. And onboard food now comes at a price. Two substandard ham and cheese sandwiches and two bottles of "sparkling" water set me back about $25. I think I'll pass when breakfast rolls around.

We will spend all of 90 minutes on the ground in Iceland before boarding our next flight that we trust will take us (and our luggage) safely to London's Gatwick Airport. There we will claim our rental car from Avis and head east into Kent and to a B&B quaintly named The Old Barn. We will no doubt be exhausted and in need of sleep so I expect tomorrow (Thursday) to be a wasted day. On Friday we hope to visit Canterbury and then catch a glimpse of the white cliffs either at Dover or Beachy Head. In the afternoon we'll drive to the village of Chawton in Hampshire and take up residence in the little cottage we've rented for a week. From there we'll explore the countryside of southern England. I'll try to include photos in future posts.

It's now time to catch some sleep, assuming the nearby Klingons stop talking...

Thursday, 10 October

They didn't. They are young and apparently don't need sleep.

We arrived at Keflavik a few moments ago -- a nice airport, very modern terminal. Dear Diane especially liked the bathroom facilities. I was impressed by the coffee machine that quickly generated almost acceptable cups of cappichino and espresso at a reasonable price. I was here once before, in the summer of 1965, when as a Naval Academy midshipman I hitched a ride to Europe on an admiral's plane. We had stopped to refuel and to allow the local commander a chance to schmooze with the admiral. In those cold-war days Keflavik was a strategically located US Naval Air Station responsible for tracking Soviet submarines as they entered the Atlantic from the north. Times have certainly changed.

As we await our Icelandair connecting flight to Gatwick we sit in the terminal watching others as they board a WOW-Air flight. I'm not sure I'd want to fly on an airline with that name, although the flight attendants were both young and cute. I have found that the presence of attractive female flight attendants can overcome a multitude of airline sins.

We finally arrived in the UK at London's Gatwick Airport. I actually managed to grab an hour or so of sleep on the flight from Keflavik (Dear Diane probably slept better than I), so we're only partially, not completely, exhausted. Immigration and customs were a breeze, a pleasant change from what one experiences when entering the US. Our luggage was there to meet us and Matt, the nice young man at the Avis counter, had our car all ready for us. In fact, he upgraded us from a VW to an Audi A5, so we'll be touring in style for the next ten days.

After a wee bit of confusion departing the airport, I managed to drive to our first night's B&B without crashing or scaring Diane too much. The Old Barn in the quaint village of Bethersden (just south of Ashford in Kent) is a lovely B&B run by Leslie and Andrew who couldn't be more pleasant. Our room is large and comfortable with a huge bathroom equipped with a wonderful shower. After checking in we stopped by the local pub, The Bull Inn, and enjoyed a late lunch/early dinner. The young ladies who waited on us treated us like royalty and they, too, we're just as cute as can be. Predictably, I ordered the fish and chips but Diane had the steak and ale pie. It was all very good. 

After dinner we slept for several hours and now find ourselves wide awake at 9 p.m. Ah, well, eventually we'll adjust to the new time zone. Tomorrow we hope to visit Canterbury Cathedral, the scene of St. Thomas Becket's martyrdom, stop by Godmersham Park, and perhaps see Dover Castle and the famous white cliffs. Then it's on to Hampshire and our little cottage in Chawton.

At midnight...back to bed...perchance to sleep.

Friday, October 11

It's 6 a.m., still quite dark, and Dear Diane sleeps soundly at my side. I can hear the rain peppering the skylight. When we arrived yesterday the weather was perfect -- sunny and crisp -- but I knew it wouldn't last, not in England, especially in October. I can only hope this is just a passing shower. We came prepared, though, with new umbrellas, hats, and raincoats. Ah...the rain has stopped, at least for a while.

Leslie, our landlady for the day, has promised us a full English breakfast at 8:30. And then we'll be off to begin our English adventure. I look forward to the sunrise.

Reading and Rereading

To the tiny band of loyal readers of this blog, my apologies. For the past month or so, and for no particular reason, I've taken a break from blogging.

Sometimes life just gets too busy, so busy I don't have time to think seriously about anything other than the practicalities of daily living. That's not good. We humans need to do those things that separate us from other creatures. We need to love and pray and think. And I really hadn't done much thinking lately. I believe I simply needed to step away from the unnecessary distractions and think about some of the things that have been roaming about in my aging brain. There was a need to take hold of them and pin them down. Whenever I get this way, I usually reach for a book, just to get me thinking. More often than not, it's a book I've already read, a little comfort food for the brain.

For example, about a week ago I was asked to conduct a committal service at the National Cemetery in Bushnell, Florida. This happens frequently since our parish is not far from the cemetery and we deacons are more than willing to assist more distant parishes by conducting these services for them.

I always include a brief homily during committals. After all, the committal is the final rite of the funeral, the time when family and friends say their public goodbyes to their loved one. It's really a very special time for most families. They need words of comfort and hope.

Flannery O'Connor

In this particular instance the deceased was a sixty-year-old woman who had suffered from Multiple Sclerosis for many years. Her husband, a retired Marine, had died three years before in a car accident. Their five children, now all in their twenties and thirties were present, along with a whole crew of grandchildren. They all mentioned how cheerful and loving this mother and grandmother had been, even in the midst of her illness and despite the tragedy of her husband's death. They would miss her terribly. It was a very sad day for these young people. What could I say to them?

As a sat down to write my brief homily, Flannery O'Connor came to mind and I reached for a book of her letters, The Habit of Being (1979). It's a thick book of over 600 pages, but after a moment's searching I found the letter I was looking for. O'Connor, who suffered her entire adult life from lupus, the disease that would ultimately take her life at age 39, wrote these words to a friend:

"I have never been anywhere but sick. In a sense sickness is a place...and it's always a place where there's no company, where nobody can follow. Sickness before death is a very appropriate thing and I think those who don't have it miss one of God's mercies." [p. 163]

I included this excerpt in my homily and suggested that their mother would have known exactly what O'Connor meant by the mercy of illness. This woman they loved so much had given them the example of one who had recognized this mercy of God in her long illness and had accepted it with joy. How blessed they are as a family to have had such a wonderful mother and grandmother, someone to show them the way.

We all need people like this in our lives.

This evening I decided to begin another book I've read many times before, Jane Austen's Mansfield Park. We'll see what this moral philosopher of another time and place has to teach me today.

Summer Reading Lists

OK, we're well into the summer and any summer reading list should probably have been posted back in May. My only excuse is that I live in Florida where it's summer most of the year and any attempt to define the start of the season just doesn't make a lot of sense. So without apology I offer my list now while there's still time to make it to the beach before you northerners experience the first snowfall.

Atheist Delusions by David Bentley Hart (Yale University Press, 2009). A wonderful book by a very smart man. He addresses the place of Christianity in transforming the ancient world and the potential repercussions of the present day neglect of Christianity's spiritual and moral values. Dr. Hart is currently a visiting professor in Theology at Providence College and the author of another wonderful book, The Beauty of the Infinite.

Latro in the Mist (Orb Books, 2003) and Soldier of Sidon (Tor Books, 2007) by Gene Wolfe. These two books (actually three since Latro in the Mist combines the two early novels of the series) will hold you spellbound. Written by Gene Wolfe, the undisputed (at least in my mind) best science fiction writer alive today, they tell the story of Latro, a Roman mercenary who roams through the pre-Christian ancient world experiencing rather marvelous things. Extremely well written and real pages-turners.

Letters from Lake Como (Eerdmans, 1994) and The End of the Modern World (Intercollegiate Studies Institute, 2001) by Romano Guardini. Although these two books by this late great 20th century theologian were written 30 years apart, I include them together because they should really be read consecutively. These prophetic works describe Guardini's vision of a future (actually today's present) in which secularism and Christianity battle for the soul of man.

The Spirit of Early Christian Thought by Robert Louis Wilken (Yale University Press, 2005). A well written and informative book by this distinguished scholar of early Church history. A terrific read that offers excellent insights into the thinking of the early Church Fathers.

Chesterton and the Romance of Orthodoxy by William Oddie (Oxford University Press,2009). Another wonderful biography of G. K. Chesterton, the great Catholic apologist and writer on all subjects. Chesterton is the only author I know who could write about absolutely anything and make it interesting to the reader. The reason is that everything interested Chesterton, and all good things delighted him. Oddie's biography covers only the first 32 years of Chesterton's life (1874-1908), but these were the years of his intellectual and spiritual formation. If you're a Chesterton fan, you'll love this book. If you're not a Chesterton fan, read this book and you will be.

Pride and Prejudice (Ignatius Critical Edition) by Jane Austen (Ignatius Press, 2007). This edition of (in my opinion) the best novel by the greatest woman novelist who ever lived also includes a number of excellent critical essays by some of today's most insightful Austen scholars. I read this book at least once yearly, a habit I highly recommend. You might as well begin during the summer months.

These should keep you busy. Should you, however, decide that my selections are not your cup of tea, here's a collection of summer reading lists that should give you plenty of alternative choices: Click here.

Enjoy the summer, except you folks in the Northeast who I understand will not have a summer this year.

Blessings...