Here's some of what caught my eye this week...
For Fun
Seth posted a rather disturbing picture of an actual float in a parade of Germany. You need to click through on this one to see the "tier of wrongness culminating in one great wrongness overshadowing all other wrongs." (well that's how he put it)
Kristin tried making homemade laundry soap (this is the kind of thing I think I would like to do and just never get around to doing) and these pancakes made me seriously hungry. I can just taste them, looking at that picture!
Music
Brant offers an insightful review of the new U2 album and Brody Harper was nominated for a Dove Award!
Stephen shares a song of the day over at the Rabbit Room accompanied by some great thoughts.
Movies
Kat asks Christians why they're okay watching explicit sex at the movies and Wendy takes Hollywood to task for considering a remake of the movie Clue.
Books
Condoleeza Rice scored a three book deal including a YA version of her memoir. I think I'll be interested in reading the personal memoir, she's an important historic figure no matter your politics.
Tess Gerritsen blogs at Murderati about when a series is over and Nymeth reviewed a book that I immediately ordered! This was a perfect example of a book blogger generating interest in a little discussed book.
Boswell and Books observed how to spot a book they can sell....really this is a fantastic blog if you're not reading it, I link to them almost every week. Great example of how a bookseller can use a blog to give us some inside perspective and show us the value of the independent store.
Jen hosted Robin Maxwell for a guest post about the Shadow Renaissance which was an interesting aspect of the book Signora da Vinci, and Beth reviewed Igraine the Brave by Cornelia Funke, which was a book meant for a younger audience than she's used to, but she still enjoyed it.
Tracy reviewed My Little Red Book, which is for women! I will be reviewing this book soon as well, so stay tuned for that! ;) Book bloggers have been gobbling up Deanna Rayburn's books lately and Wendi is no exception! She really made me want to got get my copy and read it now! Shelly reviewed A Carousel Tale which looks like a really sweet children's book! Meanwhile, Carrie added several books to her TBR pile from Bookmarks magazine!
Also, the Share a Story, Shape a Future blog tour was announced this week which looks awesome!
Becky asks if it's okay to ever hate a book, and Natasha wants to know the worst thing you've ever done to a book! (which if you hated it, really wouldn't matter. ;)
ANNOUNCEMENTS
A few of the links I share each week are agreed upon link exchanges. That's not to say that I didn't enjoy the posts or that I don't wholeheartedly endorse those blogs...I do. It's more a strategic effort to help book blogs get more attention. If you are interested in participating in something like this, please let me know. I don't want anyone to ever feel it's an exclusive club. Everyone is welcome to join in the effort.
Looking for a Co-reviewer
Deborah and I were chatting about co-reviewing some things on our blogs (namely books and possibly tv shows), but we were having some trouble coming to an agreement on which one (I think we know which one we'll be doing now, though). I have several TV shows on DVD waiting to be watched and I thought it would be all kinds of fun to have a co-reviewer while watching them. Ideally these shows would be new to you, too. Some possibilities include Dead Like Me, Burn Notice, Six Feet Under, The Wire, Arrested Development, and Supernatural. If you're interested, email me and we'll talk!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
This Week in Links
Friday, February 27, 2009
Faith 'n Fiction Saturday: What would you like to see?
Welcome to Faith 'n Fiction Saturday! If this is your first time participating, please read this post. It will tell you everything you need to know!
Today's Question: Christian fiction is growing as a market, but there are still many unexplored storylines and under-represented genres. What issues or ideas would you like to see tackled from a Christian worldview? Or, what setting would you like to see? Which genres would you like to see more books?
My Answer: I'd like to see more international historical fiction. Seriously, when I think of historical fiction in Christian fiction, I always think of prairie romances! There is some more coming out..Bonnie Leon writes about Australia and Siri Mitchell had A Constant Heart just this year. I think there's a lot of untapped story potential!
I'd also like to see more male writers writing something other than thrillers! Have you ever noticed how most Christian fiction male writers are writing fantasy or thrillers or supernatural thrillers? Not all, not all, I know! But I'd love to see some good "literary" male writers.
Your Turn
Just write up your answer on your blog and link back here! Then come leave the direct link to your post in the Mister Linky below!
1% Well Read Challenge
So, um, yeah. I didn't finish this challenge, like, at all the first time!! So I'm going to keep almost my exact same list, since I actually did buy most of the books. The one I will change is North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell (I tried ordering it and it never came) for Fingersmith by Sarah Waters. I am going to work off the combined lists this time, to read a total of thirten titles, but I'll decide those other three at a later date.
Here's my list as of now:
Fingersmith by Sarah Waters
Villette by Charlotte Bronte
Everything that Rises Must Converge by Flannery O'Connor
The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne
England Made Me by Graham Greene.
Saturday by Ian McEwan
Life of Pi by Yann Martel
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
Be sure to visit the sign up page and join in the fun!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Blog Tour: Drood by Dan Simmons and a Giveaway!
About the Book: On June 9, 1865, while traveling by train to London with his secret mistress, 53-year-old Charles Dickens--at the height of his powers and popularity, the most famous and successful novelist in the world and perhaps in the history of the world--hurtled into a disaster that changed his life forever.
Did Dickens begin living a dark double life after the accident? Were his nightly forays into the worst slums of London and his deepening obsession with corpses, crypts, murder, opium dens, the use of lime pits to dissolve bodies, and a hidden subterranean London mere research . . . or something more terrifying?
Just as he did in The Terror, Dan Simmons draws impeccably from history to create a gloriously engaging and terrifying narrative. Based on the historical details of Charles Dickens's life and narrated by Wilkie Collins (Dickens's friend, frequent collaborator, and Salieri-style secret rival), DROOD explores the still-unsolved mysteries of the famous author's last years and may provide the key to Dickens's final, unfinished work: The Mystery of Edwin Drood. Chilling, haunting, and utterly original, DROOD is Dan Simmons at his powerful best.
Welcome to the blog tour for Dan Simmon's latest novel, Drood!!
This weekend I had the privilege of attending an author event with Mr. Simmons at Vroman's Bookstore in Pasadena. I've heard of Vroman's for a long time and always wanted to visit (it's about an hour away from where I live) and since I was on this blog tour, I knew this event would be the perfect opportunity.
I absolutely love to hear from authors. I don't need to have read any of their books to enjoy hearing them talk about the process of writing, talk about their books, and read from their books. I also love the chance to observe them, since I am very much an observer.
So I was impressed to observe Mr. Simmons, author of over 20 published novels, help set up additional chairs. He was very gracious in every way throughout the event, in fact. He started off by telling us about the book has already been optioned for film and that Guillermo del Toro attached to direct. Which is fabulous in my opinion, I think he would be perfect for this story, but I'm wondering how they will condense an 800 page book into 2 hours?
He proceeded to tell us about Charles Dickens. He said there is no way in our time that we can understand the importance of Charles Dickens to England and America during his time. He was an extremely important novelist. He influenced culture and was recognizable to all. He also explained in depth some of the background of what was going on in Charles Dickens life around the time of the Parkhurst accident, which changed his life.
He also gave us some background on his narrator Wilke Collins. Wilke Collins is an unreliable narrator. He was a famous novelist in his own right, but no Charles Dickens. It's interesting, because so many book bloggers have been reading his books lately. He also sounded totally crazy to me!
He read from the beginning of the book and about the accident and then signed books!
Now my dear readers...I had every intention of buying a copy of the book and getting it signed to give away. But then the person in line in front of me asked Mr. Simmons to draw a little illustration and he obliged and suddenly, I had to have that, too!
Isn't that awesome???? There's no way I'm parting with it, sorry! I also so impressed by how gracious Mr. Simmons was--he thanked me for asking him to draw it! I did get a copy of The Terror signed and Miriam at Hachette has generously agreed to give away a copy of Drood! So one lucky winner is going to soon have plenty of reading material!! Which as Mr. Simmons said, is important in these economically difficult times.
To enter the giveaway, please have a United States or Canadian street mailing address and leave a comment telling me if you have ever read anything by Charles Dickens, Wilke Collins, or Dan Simmons before! Make sure to leave a valid email address...a link back to your blog is not enough.
And be sure to visit the other tour stops today!
http://hiddenplace.wordpress.com
Review: The Echo Within by Robert Benson
About the Book: Written out of his own lifelong search for and response to the calling voice of God, Robert Benson recounts his discovery of the meaning of vocation, work, and purpose through the ups and downs inherent in family life, professional choice, and spiritual experience. With clarity and insight, and in the elegant prose for which he is known, he gently invites and encourages readers to find such deep truths for their lives as well. In particular, he illuminates the way for readers to explore:
· ways to sense the Holy in our pursuits, both in the pursuits themselves and within ourselves.
· how to fall into our vocation and chart a course toward it at the same time.
· how to love the work we do, and the process of doing it.
For anyone beginning a new career or sensing a needed change in their life or wrestling with a transition suddenly thrust upon them, Robert Benson delivers wisdom, humor, and heart in what he’s learned about listening for The Echo Within—and how it can help us discover our calling.
My Review: I am in desperate need of a change in career ever since a career change was forced on me! So when this book came up for review, I thought it might give me some guidance.
I am such a lover of fiction and story, that sometimes I forget how much I love to read spiritual reflections and memoirs. This book hit me right where I am. Bringing instant tears to my eyes on occasion and resonating with me.
One of my favorite Andrew Peterson songs has a line in it, "A thing resounds when it rings true. Ringing all the bells inside of you." I have always loved that line and this book is pretty much a whole book about that...about learning to trust the unique voice that God has given you and the unique way He has created you to find your way. I particularly love that Benson is a writer so his own story is full of words and the love of creating.
This book is honest and touching and artistic. I point that last part out because I've seen some reviewers slam it for being unbiblical but rather, I think it takes truth and presents it in a fresh way as opposed to relying on the same tired words. I found tremendous encouragement in these pages. This book was a gift. It rang all the bells inside of me.
Here's a passage from the chapter Waking:
I come from a long line of folks who had ink in their blood. Or if not in their blood, then the ink was at least on their hands--writers and editors and publishers and printing salesmen.
Not surprisingly, I fell in love with the paper and ink, the tools it took to lay out the pages the rhythm of the presses, the book boxes, and the shipping-room dust. The physicality of the book itself and of the making of it was powerful and precious to me. I loved books long before I started writing them.
The book is full of that kind of beautiful writing, as it affirms that you are indeed spoken into being, given life experiences to create and shape you into only the person you can be.
Rating: 5/5
Buy the book here.
Book Spotlight: Daisy Chain by Mary DeMuth
I hope to have a review of this one soon, I've really been looking forward to it, but it came only a week before the tour....that's not enough time for me!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Mary E. DeMuth is an expert in Pioneer Parenting. She enables Christian parents to navigate our changing culture when their families left no good faith examples to follow. Her parenting books include Authentic Parenting in a Postmodern Culture (Harvest House, 2007), Building the Christian Family You Never Had (WaterBrook, 2006), and Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God (Harvest House, 2005).
Mary also inspires people to face their trials through her real-to-life novels, Watching The Tree Limbs
(nominated for a Christy Award) and Wishing On Dandelions (NavPress, 2006).
Mary has spoken at Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference, the ACFW Conference, the Colorado Christian Writers Conference, and at various churches and church planting ministries. Mary and her husband, Patrick, reside in Texas with their three children. They recently returned from breaking new spiritual ground in Southern France, and planting a church.
ABOUT THE BOOK
The abrupt disappearance of young Daisy Chance from a small Texas town in 1973 spins three lives out of control—Jed, whose guilt over not protecting his friend Daisy strangles him; Emory Chance, who blames her own choices for her daughter’s demise; and Ouisie Pepper, who is plagued by headaches while pierced by the shattered pieces of a family in crisis. In this first book in the Defiance, Texas Trilogy, fourteen-year-old Jed Pepper has a sickening secret: He’s convinced it’s his fault his best friend Daisy went missing. Jed’s pain sends him on a quest for answers to mysteries woven through the fabric of his own life and the lives of the families of Defiance, Texas. When he finally confronts the terrible truths he’s been denying all his life, Jed must choose between rebellion and love, anger and freedom.
Daisy Chain is an achingly beautiful southern coming-of-age story crafted by a bright new literary talent. It offers a haunting yet hopeful backdrop for human depravity and beauty, for terrible secrets and God’s surprising redemption.
If you would like to read the first chapter of Daisy Chain, go HERE
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
LOST Recap and Discussion: The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham
I feel like every week's episode is my new favorite episode of the season, but Locke-centric episodes always deliver! Tonight's episode was awesome!!! Does anyone ever feel like watching LOST is a bit like scratching a mosquito bite? There's some relief but just more itchiness...or curiosity!!
Anyway, spoilers and speculation follow!
The episode opens with the man we met last week (expressing condolences to Jack on Locke's passing) entering a darkened room and rifling through some papers and looking around. We know this man was on Ajira flight 316 but at present, we don't necessarily know where he is. A woman enters, who was also on 316 and asks him if he's found anything. He answers in the negative, but she suspiciously asks what he put in his bag. He hands over a flashlight. (in typical LOST fashion, he does not relinquish his gun!)
"We found someone. A man" She announces. A man standing in the water, wearing a suit. Caesar wants to know if he was "one of the ones who disappeared." No, she says, he wasn't on the plane. They walk by the plane heading to the campfire. We see a man sitting at the fire in a cloak (recalling Obi-wan some have said, but he seemed so hunched over, I was thinking more like Yoda) "Hello" Caesar says. "What's your name?" And bam ladies and gents, John Locke pulls back his cloak and reveals himself. (I read on Dark UFO that this was the original opening scene for the season but they changed it. Interesting, huh?)
Daytime now, and new chick tries to get some information from Locke. (and he tries to get some info from her) He doesn't have much to say but does offer that he suspects he was in a suit for burial. "You asked me what I remember," he says, "I remember dying." Now, if it was me on this island, having just seen a bunch of people disappear and my pilot run off with a woman and one of the only boats (what woman????) and then I discovered a man standing in the water wearing a suit who no one remembers from the plane and he tells me that he remembers dying...well I wouldn't just walk away. But apparently new girl is suffering from "don't really need to know any answers about the craziness I find myself in" syndrome and she does just that.
Locke flashes back. He's in Tunisia still in pain and no one is around. Soon, some men come for him, they snatch him up with no regard to his injuries and take him away. The doctors quickly take care of him with a truly cringe worthy scene as they work on Locke's leg. Locke glimpses Matthew Abaddon. When Locke wakes up lo and behold it's Charles Widmore!! They reminisce a bit about that day Locke walked into the camp back on the island. Widmore explains he was exiled from the island by Ben. "Just as you were" he says. Oh I chose to get off that rock, Locke says. I know you're lying, Widmore says, here's everything you need to know about the Oceanic 6. Why are you helping me? Locke wants to know. Because there's a war coming, Widmore replies. Locke heads off with Widmore's info and friend Abaddon.
Locke goes to see Sayid first. Sayid is building houses in the Dominican Republic and seems more at peace than we've seen him in awhile. He refuses to go back to the island, and suggests Locke only wants to go back because he has nowhere else to go.
Locke then goes to see Walt. They have a nice little chat. Walt still has some prophetic dreams about Locke. Locke doesn't mention Walt going back to the island, but they part on friendly terms. Then Abaddon says..I thought you had to get them all back? Locke responds, "If I can get one, I'll get them all."
Locke goes to see Hurley next, who naturally thinks he's dead. Locke convinces him he's real and urges him to come back to the island. Hurley adds to the.."there's no reason to go back" He then shares the paranoia of Abaddon. "He's evil." Hurley says and he runs away.
Locke is a bit shaken by this encounter, I think, so he asks Abaddon, just what exactly do you do for Widmore? Abaddon and Locke reminisce now about how Abaddon told Locke to go on the walk-about and then he gives the answer, "I help people get to where they need to get to."
Locke goes to see Kate, who is very strange and accuses him of never loving anyone. Why? Because she's bitter to have lost Sawyer or because she's in love with Jack? So Locke shares that he did in fact love someone once, not that this conversation makes any sense. I really don't like Kate in this scene. I think she's rather cruel.
At this point, Abaddon takes Locke to Helen's grave and reiterates the LOST theme..."you can't change destiny" And they start talking about Locke's death again. Suddenly there's a shot! Abaddon has been killed! Locke takes off and crashes. Is he dead? No! He gets to talk to a very tormented Jack in hospital. Guess what? Jack doesn't want to go back to the island either!
Locke has lost all hope. He pens the suicide note we saw last week. He gets ready to commit suicide, but then good old Ben comes along. With a great amount of persuasion and gentleness, Ben convinces Locke that they can get everyone back to the island. He suggests starting with Sun. I can't, Locke explains, I promised Jin I wouldn't. "Jin's alive?" Ben says with sincere surprise. A promise is a promise, Ben agrees. We'll get them all together, Ben assures Locke, don't know what we'll do after that. Oh, I do! Locke says. We'll find Eloise Hawking! Oh really, Ben says? Don't need you anymore! And he kills Locke.
Locke doesn't stay dead as we know, and back on the island he goes to Caesar to get some questions answered. Through their conversation, he comes to realize the Oceanic 6 are back on the island. There are some injured people, though, Caesar adds. He leads Locke to the sickroom, where Locke lays eyes on Ben, the man who killed him.
Analysis
I was captivated throughout the episode, it was so satisfying to see more of Widmore, and catch glimpses of what happened while Locke was off the island. I think the war is what we're building up to and I'm interested to see how all that plays out. Despite Locke's low point (near suicide) I found him to be much more sympathetic than I have in awhile as he worked to bring the O6 back to the island. The pacing was excellent and the story balanced, apart from the minor problem of no one calling him Jeremy Bentham and Caesar and Ilana's relatively easy acceptance of all the strangeness.
For Discussion:
- It seems the Ajira flight landed on the smaller island.
- I was hoping Ben was dead, but it seems he's in the preview for next week.
- Why did Ben kill Locke instead of allowing him to kill suicide? Did he think was killing him for good? Or was he playing a known role in the greater scheme of things?
- Do the preview makers really think all I care about is seeing Sawyer and Kate reunite?
- Who's good? Widmore or Ben?
- Who was the woman who ran off with Lapidus? Sun?
Tell me everything you think!!! And visit the LOST Books Challenge Blog for more recaps.
Guest Post: Lisa Dale, author of Simple Wishes + Giveaway
(I'm so excited to welcome Lisa Dale! I hope you enjoy reading this post as much as I did!) Hi everyone. I'm Lisa Dale, a new novelist with Grand Central. My first book came out in January so you may not know me yet. Thanks so much to Amy for giving me the chance to introduce myself! I love surprise endings. Always have. As a kid my gram used to read me a Sesame Street book called The Monster At The End of This Book and I remember being so scared for poor old Grover who pleaded with me not to turn the pages because there was a monster waiting for him at the end. (Of course, it turned out the monster was him!) It?s no surprise that my first novel has a surprise ending. Here's the scoop on the Simple Wishes story: the heroine, Adele, makes a mistake forces her to leave her NYC apartment and return to the mountain cottage she inherited from her estranged mother. There, the complex relationships she develops with a troubled teenager, an elderly Korean grandmother, and the sexy carpenter-next-door cause her to rethink her life and her desires. Just when true love is within reach, dark secrets from her mother's past threaten to send her running away again. Simple Wishes is about getting back to the simple things in life, but it's not simple to do that! My hero and heroine have a rocky road before they can find their happily ever after. But find it they do. And so far the twist at the end has fooled everyone I know who read the book. So, in accordance with my infatuation with surprise endings, I thought I'd put together this little list of my most memorable stories that have a twist. I won't give away any endings though! Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper. I had to stay up quite late to finish this book, and the ending took my breath away. Totally upside down. Star Wars; Episode Five. Five words. Luke, I am your father. Has any surprise ending ever been so iconic as that? O. Henry's short story: The Gift of the Magi. That's the one where the impoverished young couple wants to buy each other Christmas gifts. He buys her combs and she buys him a watch chain?and the end?which should be a big bummer?is instead gloriously romantic and warm. The Usual Suspects. My boyfriend made me watch this movie even though I wasn?t totally excited about it, and it turned out to be pretty fun. I didn?t see the ending coming. Should have, though. Teresa Medieros's Yours Until Dawn. This is a risky plotline with lots of important information that?s concealed from page one. It sticks out in my mind as a fascinating read because it takes risks. Do you have a favorite book, movie, or story that ends with a twist? Leave a post and tell me about it. One winner will get a free copy of Simple Wishes! To learn more about Simple Wishes (to see an excerpt or read reviews), visit my website www.LisaDaleBooks.com. I have contests all the time, so I hope you'll join me!
Simple Wishes: Romance with a Twist
Waiting on Wednesday: Beyond This Moment by Tamera Alexander
(This post is part of Waiting on Wednesday where we talk about the books we can't wait to get our hands on!)
Yesterday's Tuesday Thingers question was about the genre you review. I just love books! This week I finished From a Distance by Tamera Alexander. I guess you would classify this book as Christian historical fiction romance but man did I ever love it. Fresh setting, sharply drawn and very likeable characters, fabulous romantic tension, great prose....I was so excited to find a new author in a comfort read genre. The best part is she has a backlist of four books for me to read along with a new book coming out soon. Here's some information about the book:
About the Book: Dismissed from the university where she served as Professor of Romantic Languages, Dr. Molly Whitcomb travels west to start over in the secluded mountain town of Timber Ridge, Colorado, where she'll be teaching children. Her train stops in Denver, and on a whim, Molly purchases a wedding band--an attempt to cover a mistake, but also a chance at a fresh start.
Sheriff James McPherson was eager to hire a schoolteacher, but Dr. Molly Whitcomb isn't what he expected. His instincts about people--which rarely miss the mark--tell him she's hiding something. And when Molly's secret is revealed, her reinvented life begins to unravel. What's more, she risks losing her newfound relationship with the sheriff and her renewed faith in God.
Does this sound good to you? Do you like romances? What are you waiting for this week? Share with the world at Breaking the Spine.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Let's Talk About Book signings
Okay, first of all, I haven't actually been to that many book signings. Last year I went to see some Christian authors and it was a relatively low key event where there was plenty of time to chat with the authors and get books signed. I also went to BEA where there were a million signings but they were very organized, and you could only really get one book signed.
This weekend I went to a signing which I will share more about later this week, but I realized something very important. You need to take a patience pill before you go! The author talk and reading were wonderful, but since this particular author has written 26 novels, there were people there with bags full of books to get signed.
I'm sure there's some etiquette to book signings, my personal conviction is that I should be buying at least one book. You know, as a way to say thank you to the bookstore and the author and so that real book tours (as opposed to blog tours) continue to happen.
Anyway, while it was lovely to chat with other bookish people, I had a hard time being patient because I had driven quite a long way to be there, and wanted to go home. But I put on my happy face and bought two books to get signed and it was all in all very lovely, even if I do think it's slightly tacky for other people to bring ex-library copies of books to get signed.
Am I just a big meanie? What do you do at book signings? Do you bring all your books by that author? Do you buy a book? Have you ever even been to a signing? What author would you go see if you had the chance? Or what's the best author event you've been to?
Book Excerpt: Daniel's Den by Brandt Dodson
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
and the book:
Harvest House Publishers (February 1, 2009)
Brandt Dodson was born and raised in Indianapolis, where he graduated from Ben Davis High School and, later, Indiana Central University (now known as The University of Indianapolis). It was during a creative writing course in college that a professor said, "You're a good writer. With a little effort and work, you could be a very good writer." That comment, and the support offered by a good teacher, set Brandt on a course that would eventually lead to the Colton Parker Mystery Series.A committed Christian, Brandt combined his love for the work of Writers like Chandler and Hammet, with his love for God's word. The result was Colton Parker.
"I wanted Colton to be an 'every man'. A decent guy who tries his best. He is flawed, and makes mistakes. But he learns from them and moves on. And, of course, he gets away with saying and doing things that the rest of us never could."
Brandt comes from a long line of police officers, spanning several generations, and was employed by the FBI before leaving to pursue his education. A former United States Naval Reserve officer, Brandt is a board Certified Podiatrist and past President of the Indiana Podiatric Medical Association. He is a recipient of the association's highest honor, "The Theodore H. Clark Award".
He currently resides in southwestern Indiana with his wife and two sons and is at work on his next novel.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 324 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers (February 1, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736924779
ISBN-13: 978-0736924771
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Answer a fool according to his folly, or he will be wise in his own eyes.
Proverbs 26:5
Daniel Borden was a happy man. He was in control of his life and he had all that he needed. He was secure.
That was about to change.
On Tuesday, April 5, Daniel rose an hour before sunup and drank a chocolate-flavored protein drink before dressing in red running shorts, light gray T-shirt, and New Balance running shoes. The shoes were less than a month old, but had already carried him more than a hundred miles. They were comfortable.
After dressing, he stretched by putting one foot against the stairway banister and bending at the waist, bouncing slightly, until the tightness in his leg receded. He then alternated legs and performed the maneuver again.
When his stretching was done, he did a hundred sit-ups followed by a hundred push-ups. Although the intensity of the calisthenics was unusual compared to the number for an average man, Daniel was not particularly muscled. Instead, he had the lean sinewy build of an Olympic gymnast. At thirty-five, he looked ten years younger. And in fact, he felt ten years younger too. He attributed his good health to a disciplined lifestyle.
When his warm up was complete he called for Elvis, the two year old black Lab he had adopted from a local animal shelter. The dog had been lying patiently on the comfortable over-stuffed sofa watching with detached interest as Daniel worked through his morning routine. But now it was time to run and Elvis liked to run.
On hearing his name, the dog leaped off the sofa and trod to his master, waiting patiently as his collar and leash were snapped into place. The leash was a requirement of Bayou Bay's restrictive covenants, one of the many features that attracted Daniel to the highly regulated New Orleans subdivision.
He opened the door. “Let's go, boy.”
They left the house and crossed the short expanse of lawn, beginning their run by heading north, a route they often took and that would return them to the house three miles later. They ran at nearly the same time everyday and were familiar with the predawn rhythms of the neighborhood.
Newspapers were delivered between four and five each morning, the garbage collection occurred on Monday, and the Brightmans, who lived several doors down from Daniel and who tended to rise nearly as early, were usually drinking coffee in front of their open dinning room window by the time Borden and the Lab passed their house. The neighborhood ran with the precision and dependability of a Swiss time piece.
Except this morning.
As they began their run, Daniel noticed a black panel van setting curbside less than two doors away. There was nothing particularly suspicious about the van, but it hadn't been there yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that. In fact, in all the months that Daniel had been running through the neighborhood he had never seen the van.
It didn't belong.
He paused to take a second look, when Elvis distracted him by pulling on the leash.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Geeshsh.”
The morning air was still cool and dew had settled over the lawns giving them an almost aluminum sheen in the waning moonlight.
To the east, over the crest beyond which the city lay, a warm hue was beginning to illuminate the horizon as the sun woke for its ascent. It wouldn't be long before it would break the horizon, painting the sky over The Big Easy in a dazzling array of colors that would impress even the most skilled artist. Then the city would come alive as school children boarded buses, DJs took to the air waves, and rush hour traffic began to form.
But the neighborhood was quiet at this hour, which made for a quiet, peaceful run. Only the pounding of Daniel's feet, his own breathing, and the jingle of Elvis' tags broke the silence. It was a tune with which they had become familiar since Daniel acquired the lab, and it provided him a sense of stability that only the familiar can provide. And Daniel reveled in stability.
His need for the familiar, for the stable, as well as a passion to escape the near poverty conditions he had known as a child, had driven his career choice. As an investment analyst with one of the largest investment houses in the country, he learned that despite the ups and downs of an often volatile market, Wall Street could be relied on to do the one thing it does best--make money. Even in the most difficult of times the market could be depended on to correct itself. And it was the market's natural return to stability that convinced him most investors can control their financial futures if they were willing to make the hard decisions. The market may be unstable at any given moment, but the share holders needn't be. If they were willing to ride out the current travails, history showed they would have an excellent chance of recovery. If they had neither the stomach nor the time to wait for the inevitable market correction, they could sell and reinvest in another, more stable vehicle. True, they may suffer a loss, may even absorb a significant loss, but such were the realities of investing. But the truth underlying the matter is that the investor has the upper hand, even if exercising that option cost them in the short run. Far different than most, who viewed the market as a speculative ride, driven by greed and underwritten by risk, Daniel saw the market as the one place where savvy investors could control their destiny.
And Daniel needed to have control.
The runners approached the first turn in the road. This one would take then to the west, along Worth Street.
Daniel breathed deeply. The air was cool, invigorating, and renewed him in ways that made him feel lighter, as unbound by earthly constraints as the freedom that comes with unchecked flight. It was as though he could leave the earth and return at will.
As dog and master rounded the corner, Elvis began to tug at the leash, a clear sign that it was time to separate the men from the dogs.
“Want to run, huh?” Daniel said.
The dog woofed and pulled harder.
Daniel stepped up the pace, slow at first, but then faster as Elvis maintained his cadence effortlessly.
“Show off.”
Daniel had adopted the dog shortly after moving to New Orleans. Growing up as an only child whose parents moved frequently, more often than not to stay a step ahead of the bill collector, Daniel had often been lonely. Over time, his loneliness led to isolation. He had few friends (none who were particularly close) and was always the last one selected when choosing up sides.
And the abyss of loneliness was further deepened when, more often than not, his father was passed out on the sofa when Daniel came home from school and his mother was at work trying to earn enough money to keep the family in the same house for a single school year.
On those days, Daniel would go to his room and imagine himself a successful man who others admired and respected. He imagined himself traveling to places he'd never been, and would likely never see.
But on other days, when his father was not unconscious and his mother was home, he would try to earn their attention by initiating conversation or taking the lead in washing the after-dinner dishes. And when their favor didn't come Daniel would go outside to mope, or back to his room, feeling as discarded as the beer cans his father carelessly tossed about.
Daniel wanted a dog. Someone who would be glad to see him when he came home from school and who would lay on his bed at night, eager to hear about the day's events. But the realities of his parents' financial straits denied their son this one extravagance. “Dogs cost money,” his father said. “And if you take a look around you'll see that money ain't something that we have just laying about.”
So Daniel spent most of his time alone, dreaming of the day when he could make enough money to have a dog of his own--and take control of his life. And maybe, even make his parents proud.
Growing up alone, gave Daniel ample time for study.
After high school, he attended Ole' Miss on an academic scholarship and excelled in academic achievement. But his father often chided the boy for not wanting to work with his hands and his mother told him he might be reaching for heights that were beyond his ability. The desire to gain their approval began to wane, though, as he grew into manhood and became increasingly independent. But when his mother suddenly died, all desire to gain his parents approval died with her.
He left for Chicago shortly afterward, leaving his father to bury his grief-- real or genuine--in the same way he had buried everything else.
Later, when Daniel earned his MBA, his father did not attend the graduation ceremony, did not call, did not even send a card. The father son relationship officially ended, long before his father died in an alcoholic stupor three years later.
After graduation, it wasn't long before Daniel secured a position with the Chicago office of Capshaw-Crane and began to focus his efforts on climbing the ladder of success. At times it seemed inevitable that he would miss a step, slip up, and fall back to the disaster of his childhood, landing solidly on a pile of empty beer cans in a house of despair. But like the market, he would make the corrections necessary to maintain balance--even if not perspective.
Elvis woofed.
“Not fast enough, huh?” Daniel ran faster; the Lab kept pace.
Borden's concentration on the things in life that were important, on his career, his health, and his financial stability had clearly paid off.
Growing up, he had been lonely. Now he had Elvis. Growing up, he had been hungry. Now, although he chose not to indulge, he could dine in the finest restaurants in a city known for its unique culinary style. Growing up, he had lived in squalid surroundings, awakened as often by the sound of mice playing in his room as he was by his parents' seemingly never-ending arguments. Now he lived in Bayou Bay one of city's premiere residential areas.
Daniel had taken control. He was secure.
Until he noticed the van, again, parked alongside the street with its engine idling and exhaust spewing from the tail pipe. There was no doubt that this was the same van that had been parked on his street, just a few doors down from his house.
“We've seen that before, haven't we boy?”
Elvis continued to pull on the leash. The van was parked along the same side of the street as which they ran, with its nose pointed westward. It was a black panel van with a single red pinstripe encircling it.
It didn't fit. Didn't belong. And yet, here it was, a mile from where it had been parked just a few minutes before.
“This way, boy,” Daniel said, heading for the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street and away from the idling vehicle.
Elvis followed his master's lead, giving him a confused look, but maintaining the pace that would soon bring them parallel with the van. From his vantage point, Daniel could see that the side windows were covered in an opaque film that eliminated any chance of observing who was inside. But as they came alongside the van, Daniel began to slow, finally coming to a complete stop. Elvis gave his master another confused look.
“What have we got here, boy?” Daniel said, leaning forward, straining to get a better view of the van.
A low growl began to form in the dog's throat. As though he had just discovered the out of place vehicle and the possible threat it posed.
“You too?” Daniel said. “I don't like the-“
“Black Lab,” a voice said.
Daniel spun around to find that Elvis was facing to the right, opposite of where the van was parked.
“They're nice dogs,” the voice said. “I used to have one myself.”
Daniel focused on the shadows to his right. Barely visible, but silhouetted against the yard light behind him, a tall man emerged, dressed in pajamas and a bathrobe. He was carrying a garbage can.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”
Daniel exhaled. “That's okay. It's just that my dog and I never see anyone out at this hour.”
The man set the garbage can down at the curb. “And you wouldn't have this time either, if I could've remembered to do this the night before.” He reached to pat Elvis on the head. “The wife and I are leaving for vacation today and I needed to get this stuff out so it wouldn't pile up. We're going to be gone for a couple of weeks.”
The van pulled away from the curb with only its parking lights on. Daniel made a note of the license plate.
“Do you know them?” Daniel asked.
The man turned to watch as the van disappeared around the corner.
“No, can't say I do. But I wouldn't worry.”
“Why's that?”
He stooped to pat Elvis' head again, before extending a hand. “Hubert Johns.”
“Daniel Borden. And this is Elvis.”
“Elvis, huh? Well, he's sure a beauty. Aren't you boy?” He scratched behind Elvis' ear.
“Why shouldn't I worry?” Daniel asked.
“I'm head of the neighborhood crime watch. If there's anything going on around here, I'm usually the first to know.”
“Are there things going on around here?”
“You mean like burglaries and that sort of thing? No, pretty quiet. And we try to keep it that way.” He nodded to the house across the street. “There are some kids that live there. Teenagers. But they're good kids. A little loud sometimes with their music and all, and their mother lets them keep some pretty late hours, but they've always been polite.” He patted Elvis again. “Most likely the van was some of their friends.”
“Yeah,” Daniel said, feeling a little foolish. “Probably some friends of theirs.”
The man put both hands in the pocket of his robe. “You okay? You sound kind of rattled.”
Daniel laughed. “I'm fine. The van was just sitting there with its engine running. It unnerved me a bit, that's all.”
“I don't remember seeing you at the meetings. Are you a member of the watch?”
Daniel shook his head. “No, I'm afraid not. I tend to keep pretty busy and I don't have-“
“Don't have what? Time?” Hubert chuckled. “I was a cop for thirty years. If they were up to something, I would've noticed it. After thirty years of dealing with every piece of garbage there is, you get to a point where you can smell trouble,” he tapped his nose. “Know what I mean?”
“I guess so.”
“You ought to consider joining the neighborhood crime watch. You never know when you might be a victim.”
“I'll sure think about it.”
“You do that.”
Elvis began to tug at the leash. There wasn't a lot of time left to run and Daniel was wasting it.
“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Daniel said. “Sorry that we haven't met before.”
Johns nodded as he looked about the neighborhood. “Too many people keep to themselves. That's never a good thing. Two people working together are always better than one working alone.”
“Right.” Elvis began to pull hard on the leash.
“But I wouldn't worry about that van. Probably just some kids smoking dope or something.” He nodded toward the eastern horizon. “Besides, the sun is coming up now. If it was somebody that was going to do something, they waited too late.”
Daniel watched as the glow that had just started when he left the house, began blossoming into a new day. “Yeah. Probably nothing to worry about.”
Monday, February 23, 2009
Review: Now You See Him by Eli Gottlieb
About the Book: The deaths of Rob Castor and his girlfriend begin a wrenching and enthrallingly suspenseful story that mines the explosive terrains of love and paternity, marriage and its delicate intricacies, family secrets and how they fester over time, and ultimately the true nature of loyalty and trust, friendship and envy, deception and manipulation.
As the media takes hold of this sensational crime, a series of unexpected revelations unleashes hidden truths in the lives of those closest to Rob. At the center of this driving narrative is Rob's childhood best friend, Nick Framingham, whose ten-year marriage to his college sweetheart is faltering. Shocked by Rob's death, Nick begins to reevaluate his own life and his past, and as he does so, a fault line opens up beneath him, leading him all the way to the novel's startling conclusion.
My Review:The danger of putting too many good endorsements on a book is that the expectations for the book are high. So when I opened this book, I expected to be blown away.
And I wasn't. That's not to say it's not a good read. The prose is very rich, there were times when I just wanted to stop and savor the words. But the beautiful words weren't anchored by characters I cared about or a story that kept me turning the pages.
The book is very much the examination of Nick's soul and life. With the loss of his best friend, he feels he's lost himself. So every relationship in his life gets examined, as he tries to figure out how things turned out the way they did. This sort of slow examination, while telling the story of what happened to Rob in parts, does lend itself to some nice insights but since I never was able to feel anything for the characters or manage to care about what happened to Rob it didn't really have much of an impact on me. Having said that, if you enjoy getting lost in the all the wonderful ways that words can be used, this is a quick read you might enjoy. Check it out here.
Rating: 3/5
Things You Might Want to Know: There's some foul language and sex.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Sunday Salon: My Theory on the Best-Selling Nature of James Patterson Books
First of all, don't misunderstand. I read them, too, and enjoy them, so this is not a slam on James Patterson or his fans. But then I read other books and I think...why? Why is James Patterson such a best-selling author? His books are good escapist reading, they are fast compulsive reading, but...huh?
But I think I get it now.
I gave a James Patterson book to one of my students. I keep some paperbacks on hand that I got off freecycle to give to my students (all adults) as their reading improves and they find themselves more interested and willing to spend leisure time reading. Trust me, it's one of the greatest feelings in the world! Anyway, this particular student is still struggling, but when I offered her a book, she said sure! And took two. A romance novel and a James Patterson Women's Murder Club book.
When she came back and said she had finished the romance novel and was halfway through the James Patterson book and was enjoying the James Patterson book more than the romance novel. I was stunned. But let's consider why it might be so:
Short Chapters
If reading is difficult for you, nothing is more inviting than short chapters. Instead of feeling like you have a lot to accomplish through the read, the sense of accomplishment is achieved much quicker when the chapters are just a few pages long. It's rewarding right away.
Thriller/Mysteries
These books plunge you right into the action and invites you to see how it will all resolve. There's a reason to keep reading even if it's hard...you have to know what's going to happen!
Basic Vocabulary
Chances are, you're not going to run into many words you aren't familiar with during a James Patterson book. This makes the whole reading experience much easier and even inviting. Even someone who doesn't speak English as their first language would find the vocabulary to be at an approachable level.
The thing is, when it comes to reading, we are not all on an even playing field. Reading is more difficult for some people than others. The above characteristics make James Patterson's books more appealing to the person who is not likely to read much else, but is still interested in being entertained or trying to read more books. Therefore, the potential audience for James Patterson's books is much larger than say for the Dan Simmon's Drood. As I thought about this issue, I became thankful that there are books available that don't seem so daunting to the person less likely to read for pleasure. I became thankful for James Patterson and his short chapters. And I became all the more anxious to see reading education improve.
Do you enjoy books by James Patterson? Is there another author who you wonder why they are a best-seller? Maybe we can examine some more!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
This Week in Links
It's that time again! Some links you might enjoy! Mostly book related this week as I'm having to seriously cut down on time spent reading blogs.
News
You might think 3 billion dollars in federal funding would make a difference towards homelessness, but are you right? You might be surprised.
Seth weighs in on the new airport security and I have to say..I agree with him. El-creepola indeed!
Giveaways
Trish, proving her coolness again and again, is giving away a slanket. You should definitely check this giveaway out and learn just what a slanket is!
Twilight News
Yes, I just added a potential new category for you Twilight fans! Tracy brings you the latest in the continuning saga of the Twilight films. The drama oh the drama!
Book News and Chatter
Loved this article about persuading adults to read YA, since there are still many adults refusing to see the light. ;)
Liz discusses what books there are for Catholic children...I have to say this is an issue near and dear...if I were rich I would spend my days finding ways to fund the writing of books for children in every country so they could see themselves in the pages. I think of books with children of different faiths as part of that goal.
Tess Gerritsen offers up some advice to writers on what not to write about and Boswell and Books talk about different titles for different countries. (plus an interview with Chris Cleave)
This story reminds me of the importance of the freedom of speech and Kristin reminds us that it used to be much harder to be a writer with a gentle tribute to Christopher Nolan.
Ever wonder what kind of books get donated to the library? Wendy shares the scoop.
Book Reviews
The rate at which I add to my TBR pile is alarming. But here are some reviews some of my fellow bloggers would love for you to check out.
Jen reviewed The Sonnets and pointed out that she normally skips over poetry and songs in books..how about you? Go tell Jen what you do!
Beth reviewed this food memoir that looks really good. It seems to touch on many different aspects of the whole eating experience!
Speaking of food, Wendi reviewed Confetti Cakes for Kids..and while I don't have any little ones of my own, the picture of that cake made me hungry! Looks like a fun book.
Marta discovered a new favorite book of all time with While My Sister Sleeps by Barbara Delinsky...I guess I'll have to check it out at some point!
Meanwhile, Kathy reviewed Very Valentine by Adrian Trigiani. I have never read anything by Trigiani though I know she's quite a popular author. Kathy's great review certainly made me want to read this one, though!
Just for Fun
Jen gave us some Oscar eye candy and I discovered that Shelly is not nearly as addicted to blogging as I am!!!
Friday, February 20, 2009
Faith 'n Fiction Saturday: Biblical Fiction...what's your take?
Welcome to Faith 'n Fiction Saturday. If this is your first time participating, please read this post. It will tell you everything you need to know!
Today's Topic
One of area of Christian fiction that is thriving is Biblical Fiction. Biblical fiction, in case you don't know, is when an author takes a story from the Bible and imagines more of the details. Tosca Lee's Havah would be a recent example of Biblical fiction.
What I want to know today is how you feel about Biblical fiction. Have you ever read any Biblical fiction? Did you enjoy it? Do you think Biblical fiction helps us to understand people who lived during Biblical times better or do you think that it's unnecessary? Have you ever read any Biblical fiction that offended you?
My Answer
I love Biblical fiction so long as it doesn't distort the account in the Bible. So little information is provided about most people in the Bible, that if an author wants to do the research and provide "it could have happened like this" scenarios than I enjoy it. The first such book I ever read was The Red Tent. The Red Tent is not Christian fiction, but it's about Dinah the sister of Joseph (of the technicolored deamcoat). I both loved and hated this book. I thought the explanations that Diamant came up with were very likely. In fact, after reading the book and going back to read the Biblical account I realized that many things could have been the way she described. What I didn't like was that Joseph was not painted in a good light. I have always loved Joseph, and didn't like his potrayal at all. But many other aspects of the book could very well have happened as she imagined. She masterfully brought the time period to life.
Your Turn
Just answer the questions above on your blog, link back here, and then come back and drop your answer in the Mister Linky! Be sure to add your permalink and not the general url to your blog.
Book Excerpt: Tuck by Stephen Lawhead
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
and the book:
Thomas Nelson (February 17, 2009)
Stephen R. Lawhead is an internationally acclaimed author of mythic history and imaginative fiction. His works include Byzantium, Patrick, and the series The Pendragon Cycle, The Celtic Crusades, and The Song of Albion.Stephen was born in 1950, in Nebraska in the USA. Most of his early life was spent in America where he earned a university degree in Fine Arts and attended theological college for two years. His first professional writing was done at Campus Life magazine in Chicago, where he was an editor and staff writer. During his five years at Campus Life he wrote hundreds of articles and several non-fiction books.
After a brief foray into the music business—as president of his own record company—he began full-time freelance writing in 1981. He moved to England in order to research Celtic legend and history. His first novel, In the Hall of the Dragon King, became the first in a series of three books (The Dragon King Trilogy) and was followed by the two-volume Empyrion saga, Dream Thief and then the Pendragon Cycle, now in five volumes: Taliesin, Merlin, Arthur, Pendragon, and Grail. This was followed by the award-winning Song of Albion series which consists of The Paradise War, The Silver Hand, and The Endless Knot.
He has written nine children's books, many of them originally offered to his two sons, Drake and Ross. He is married to Alice Slaikeu Lawhead, also a writer, with whom he has collaborated on some books and articles. They make their home in Oxford, England.
Stephen's non-fiction, fiction and children's titles have been published in twenty-one foreign languages. All of his novels have remained continuously in print in the United States and Britain since they were first published. He has won numereous industry awards for his novels and children's books, and in 2003 was awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Humane Letters by the University of Nebraska.
Visit the author's website.
Product Details:
List Price: $26.99
Hardcover: 464 pages
Publisher: Thomas Nelson (February 17, 2009)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1595540873
ISBN-13: 978-1595540874
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Wintan Cestre
Saint Swithun’s Day
King William stood scratching the back of his hand and watched as another bag of gold was emptied into the ironclad chest: one hundred solid gold byzants that, added to fifty pounds in silver and another fifty in letters of promise to be paid upon collection of his tribute from Normandie, brought the total to five hundred marks. “More money than God,” muttered William under his breath. “What do they do with it all?”
“Sire?” asked one of the clerks of the justiciar’s office, glancing up from the wax tablet on which he kept a running tally.
“Nothing,” grumbled the king. Parting with money always made him itch, and this time there was no relief. In vain, he scratched the other hand. “Are we finished here?”
Having counted the money, the clerks began locking and sealing the strongbox. The king shook his head at the sight of all that gold and silver disappearing from sight. These blasted monks will bleed me dry, he thought. A kingdom was a voracious beast that devoured money and was never, ever satisfied. It took money for soldiers, money for horses and weapons, money for fortresses, money for supplies to feed the troops, and as now, even more money to wipe away the sins of war. The gold and silver in the chest was for the abbey at Wintan Cestre to pay the monks so that his father would not have to spend eternity in purgatory or, worse, frying in hell.
“All is in order, Majesty,” said the clerk. “Shall we proceed?”
William gave a curt nod.
Two knights of the king’s bodyguard stepped forward, took up the box, and carried it from the room and out into the yard where the monks of Saint Swithun’s were already gathered and waiting for the ceremony to begin. The king, a most reluctant participant, followed.
In the yard of the Red Palace—the name given to the king’s sprawling lodge outside the city walls—a silken canopy on silver poles had been erected. Beneath the canopy stood Bishop Walkelin with his hands pressed together in an attitude of patient prayer. Behind the bishop stood a monk bearing the gilded cross of their namesake saint, while all around them knelt monks and acolytes chanting psalms and hymns. The king and his attendants—his two favourite earls, a canon, and a bevy of assorted clerks, scribes, courtiers, and officials both sacred and secular—marched out to meet the bishop. The company paused while the king’s chair was brought and set up beneath the canopy where Bishop Walkelin knelt.
“In the Holy Name,” intoned the bishop when William Rufus had taken his place in the chair, “all blessing and honour be upon you and upon your house and upon your descendants and upon the people of your realm.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said William irritably. “Get on with it.”
“God save you, Sire,” replied Walkelin. “On this Holy Day we have come to receive the Beneficium Ecclesiasticus Sanctus Swithinius as is our right under the Grant of Privilege created and bestowed by your father King William, for the establishment and maintenance of an office of penitence, perpetual prayer, and the pardon of sins.”
“So you say,” remarked the king.
Bishop Walkelin bowed again, and summoned two of his monks to receive the heavy strongbox from the king’s men in what had become an annual event of increasing ceremony in honour of Saint Swithun, on whose day the monks determined to suck the lifeblood from the crown, and William Rufus resented it. But what could he do? The payment was for the prayers of the monks for the remission of sins on the part of William Conqueror, prayers which brought about the much-needed cleansing of his besmirched soul. For each and every man that William had killed in battle, the king could expect to spend a specified amount of time in purgatory: eleven years for a lord or knight, seven years for a man-at-arms, five for a commoner, and one for a serf. By means of some obscure and complicated formula William had never understood, the monks determined a monetary amount which somehow accorded to the number of days a monk spent on his knees praying. As William had been a very great war leader, his purgatorial obligation amounted to well over a thousand years—and that was only counting the fatalities of the landed nobility. No one knew the number of commoners and serfs he had killed, either directly or indirectly, in his lifetime—but the number was thought to be quite high. Still, a wealthy king with dutiful heirs need not actually spend so much time in purgatory—so long as there were monks willing to ease the burden of his debt through prayer. All it took was money.
Thus, the Benefice of Saint Swithun, necessary though it might be, was a burden the Conqueror’s son had grown to loathe with a passion. That he himself would have need of this selfsame service was a fact that he could neither deny, nor escape. And while he told himself that paying monks to pray souls from hell was a luxury he could ill afford, deep in his heart of hearts he knew only too well that—owing to the debauched life he led—it was also a necessity he could ill afford to neglect much longer.
Even so, paying over good silver for the ongoing service of a passel of mumbling clerics rubbed Rufus raw—especially as that silver became each year more difficult to find. His taxes already crushed the poor and had caused at least two riots and a rebellion by his noblemen. Little wonder, then, that the forever needy king dreaded the annual approach of Saint Swithun’s day and the parting with so much of his precious treasury.
The ceremony rumbled on to its conclusion and, following an especially long-winded prayer, adjourned to a feast in honour of the worthy saint. The feast was the sole redeeming feature of the entire day. That it must be spent in the company of churchmen dampened William’s enthusiasm somewhat, but did not destroy it altogether. The Red King had surrounded himself with enough of his willing courtiers and sycophants to ensure a rousing good time no matter how many disapproving monks he fed at his table.
This year, the revel reached such a height of dissipation that Bishop Walkelin quailed and excused himself, claiming that he had pressing business that required his attention back at the cathedral. William, forcing himself to be gracious, wished the churchmen well and offered to send a company of soldiers to accompany the monks back to the abbey with their money lest they fall among thieves.
Walkelin agreed to the proposal and, as he bestowed his blessing, leaned close to the king and said, “We must talk one day soon about establishing a benefice of your own, Your Majesty.” He paused and then, like the flick of a knife, warned, “Death comes for us all, and none of us knows the day or time. I would be remiss if I did not offer to draw up a grant for you.”
“We will discuss that,” said William, “when the price is seen to fall rather than forever rise.”
“You will have heard it said,” replied Walkelin, “that where great sin abounds, great mercy must intercede. The continual observance and maintenance of that intercession is very expensive, my lord king,”
“So is the keeping of a bishop,” answered William tartly. “And bishops have been known to lose their bishoprics.” He paused, regarding the cleric over the rim of his cup. “Heaven forbid that should happen. I know I would be heartily sorry to see you go, Walkelin.”
“If my lord is displeased with his servant,” began the bishop, “he has only to—”
“Something to consider, eh?”
Bishop Walkelin tried to adopt a philosophical air. “I am reminded that your father always—”
“No need to speak of it any more just now,” said William smoothly. “Only think about what I have said.”
“You may be sure,” answered Walkelin. He bowed stiffly and took a slow step backwards. “Your servant, my lord.”
The clerics departed, leaving the king and his courtiers to their revel. But the feast was ruined for William. Try as he might, he could not work himself into a festive humour because the bishop’s rat of a thought had begun to gnaw at the back of his mind: his time was running out. To die without arranging for the necessary prayers would doom his soul to the lake of everlasting fire. However loudly he might rail against the expense—and condemn the greedy clerics who held his future for ransom—was he really prepared to test the alternative at the forfeit of his soul?
Part I
Come listen a while, you gentlefolk alle,
That stand this bower within,
A tale of noble Rhiban the Hud,
I purpose now to begin.
Young Rhiban was a princeling fayre,
And a gladsome heart had he.
Delight took he in games and tricks,
And guiling his fair ladye.
A bonny fine maide of noble degree,
Mérian calléd by name,
This beauty soote was praised of alle men
For she was a gallant dame.
Rhiban stole through the greenwoode one night
To kiss his dear Mérian late.
But she boxed his head till his nose turn’d red
And order’d him home full straight.
Though Rhiban indeed speeded home fayrlie rathe,
That night he did not see his bed.
For in flames of fire from the rooftops’ eaves,
He saw all his kinsmen lay dead.
Ay, the sheriff’s low men had visited there,
When the household was slumbering deepe.
And from room to room they had quietly crept
And murtheréd them all in their sleepe.
Rhiban cried out ‘wey-la-wey!’
But those fiends still lingered close by.
So into the greenwoode he quickly slipt,
For they had heard his cry.
Rhiban gave the hunters goode sport,
Full lange, a swift chase he led.
But a spearman threw his shot full well
And he fell as one that is dead.
1
Tuck shook the dust of Caer Wintan off his feet and prepared for the long walk back to the forest. It was a fine, warm day, and all too soon the friar was sweltering in his heavy robe. He paused now and then to wipe the sweat from his face, falling farther and farther behind his travelling companions. “These legs of mine are sturdy stumps,” he sighed to himself, “but fast they en’t.”
He had just stopped to catch his breath a little when, on sudden impulse, he spun around quickly and caught a glimpse of movement on the road behind—a blur in the shimmering distance, and then gone. So quick he might have imagined it. Only it was not the first time since leaving the Royal Lodge that Tuck had entertained the queer feeling that someone or something was following them. He had it again now, and decided to alert the others and let them make of it what they would.
Squinting into the distance, he saw Bran far ahead of the Grellon, striding steadily, shoulders hunched against the sun and the gross injustice so lately suffered at the hands of the king in whom he had trusted. The main body of travellers, unable to keep up with their lord, was becoming an ever-lengthening line as heat and distance mounted. They trudged along in small clumps of two or three, heads down, talking in low, sombre voices. How like sheep, thought Tuck, following their impetuous and headstrong shepherd.
A more melancholy man might himself have succumbed to the oppressive gloom hanging low over the Cymry, dragging at their feet, pressing their spirits low. Though summer still blazed in meadow, field, and flower, it seemed to Tuck that they all walked in winter’s drear and dismal shadows. Rhi Bran and his Grellon had marched into Caer Wintan full of hope—they had come singing, had they not?—eager to stand before King William to receive the judgement and reward that had been promised in Rouen all those months ago. Now, here they were, slinking back to the greenwood in doleful silence, mourning the bright hope that had been crushed and lost.
No, not lost. They would never let it out of their grasp, not for an instant. It had been stolen—snatched away by the same hand that had offered it in the first place: the grasping, deceitful hand of a most perfidious king.
Tuck felt no less wounded than the next man, but when he considered how Bran and the others had risked their lives to bring Red William word of the conspiracy against him, it fair made his priestly blood boil. The king had promised justice. The Grellon had every right to expect that Elfael’s lawful king would be restored. Instead, William had merely banished Baron de Braose and his milksop nephew Count Falkes, sending them back to France to live in luxury on the baron’s extensive estates. Elfael, that small bone of contention, had instead become property of the crown and placed under the protection of Abbot Hugo and Sheriff de Glanville. Well, that was putting wolves in charge of the fold, was it not?
Where was the justice? A throne for a throne, Bran had declared that day in Rouen. William’s had been saved—at considerable cost and risk to the Cymry—but where was Bran’s throne?
S’truth, thought Tuck, wait upon a Norman to do the right thing and you’ll be waiting until your hair grows white and your teeth fall out.
“How long, O Lord? How long must your servants suffer?” he muttered. “And, Lord, does it have to be so blasted hot?”
He paused to wipe the sweat from his face. Running a hand over his round Saxon head, he felt the sun’s fiery heat on the bare spot of his tonsure; sweat ran in rivulets down the sides of his neck and dripped from his jowls. Drawing a deep breath, he tightened his belt, hitched up the skirts of his robe, and started off again with quickened steps. Soon his shoes were slapping up the dust around his ankles and he began to overtake the rearmost members of the group: thirty souls in all, women and children included, for Bran had determined that his entire forest clan—save for those left behind to guard the settlement and a few others for whom the long journey on foot would have been far too arduous—should be seen by the king to share in the glad day.
The friar picked up his pace and soon drew even with Siarles: slim as a willow wand, but hard and knotty as an old hickory root. The forester walked with his eyes downcast, chin outthrust, his mouth a tight, grim line. Every line of him bristled with fury like a riled porcupine. Tuck knew to leave well enough alone and hurried on without speaking.
Next, he passed Will Scatlocke—or Scarlet, as he preferred. The craggy forester limped along slightly as he carried his newly acquired daughter, Nia. Against every expectation, Will had endured a spear wound, the abbot’s prison, and the threat of the sheriff’s rope . . . and survived. His pretty dark-eyed wife, Noín, walked resolutely beside him. The pair had made a good match, and it tore at his heart that the newly married couple should have to endure a dark hovel in the forest when the entire realm begged for just such a family to settle and sink solid roots deep into the land—another small outrage to be added to the ever-growing mountain of injustices weighing on Elfael.
A few more steps brought him up even with Odo, the Norman monk who had befriended Will Scarlet in prison. At Scarlet’s bidding, the young scribe had abandoned Abbot Hugo to join them. Odo walked with his head down, his whole body drooping—whether with heat or the awful realization of what he had done, Tuck could not tell.
A few steps more and he came up even with Iwan—the great, hulking warrior would crawl on hands and knees through fire for his lord. It was from Iwan that the friar had received his current christening when the effort of wrapping his untrained tongue around the simple Saxon name Aethelfrith proved beyond him. “Fat little bag of vittles that he is, I will call him Tuck,” the champion had said. “Friar Tuck to you, boyo,” the priest had responded, and the name had stuck. God bless you, Little John, thought Tuck, and keep your arm strong, and your heart stronger.
Next to Iwan strode Mérian, just as fierce in her devotion to Bran as the champion beside her. Oh, but shrewd with it; she was smarter than the others and more cunning—which always came as something of a shock to anyone who did not know better, because one rarely expected it from a lady so fair of face and form. But the impression of innocence beguiled. In the time Tuck had come to know her, she had shown herself to be every inch as canny and capable as any monarch who ever claimed an English crown.
Mérian held lightly to the bridle strap of the horse that carried their wise hudolion, who was, so far as Tuck could tell, surely the last Banfáith of Britain: Angharad, ancient and ageless. There was no telling how old she was, yet despite her age, whatever it might be, she sat her saddle smartly and with the ease of a practiced rider. Her quick dark eyes were trained on the road ahead, but Tuck could tell that her sight was turned inward, her mind wrapped in a veil of deepest thought. Her wrinkled face might have been carved of dark Welsh slate for all it revealed of her contemplations.
Mérian glanced around as the priest passed, and called out, but the friar had Bran in his eye, and he hurried on until he was within hailing distance. “My lord, wait!” he shouted. “I must speak to you!”
Bran gave no sign that he had heard. He strode on, eyes fixed on the road and distance ahead.
“For the love of Jesu, Bran. Wait for me!”
Bran took two more steps and then halted abruptly. He straightened and turned, his face a smouldering scowl, dark eyes darker still under lowered brows. His shock of black hair seemed to rise in feathered spikes.
“Thank the Good Lord,” gasped the friar, scrambling up the dry, rutted track. “I thought I’d never catch you. We . . . there is something . . .” He gulped down air, wiped his face, and shook the sweat from his hand into the dust of the road.
“Well?” demanded Bran impatiently.
“I think we must get off this road,” Tuck said, dabbing at his face with the sleeve of his robe. “Truly, as I think on it now, I like not the look that Abbot Hugo gave me when we left the king’s yard. I fear he may try something nasty.”
Bran lifted his chin. The jagged scar on his cheek, livid now, twisted his lip into a sneer. “Within sight of the king’s house?” he scoffed, his voice tight. “He wouldn’t dare.”
“Would he not?”
“Dare what?” said Iwan, striding up. Siarles came toiling along in the big man’s wake.
“Our friar here,” replied Bran, “thinks we should abandon the road. He thinks Abbot Hugo is bent on making trouble.”
Iwan glanced back the way they had come. “Oh, aye,” agreed Iwan, “that would be his way.” To Tuck, he said, “Have you seen anything?”
“What’s this then?” inquired Siarles as he joined the group. “Why have you stopped?”
“Tuck thinks the abbot is on our tail,” Iwan explained.
“I maybe saw something back there, and not for the first time,” Tuck explained. “I don’t say it for a certainty, but I think someone is following us.”
“It makes sense.” Siarles looked to the frowning Bran. “What do you reckon?”
“I reckon I am surrounded by a covey of quail frightened of their own shadows,” Bran replied. “We move on.”
He turned to go, but Iwan spoke up. “My lord, look around you. There is little enough cover hereabouts. If we were to be taken by surprise, the slaughter would be over before we could put shaft to string.”
Mérian joined them then, having heard a little of what had passed. “The little ones are growing weary,” she pointed out. “They cannot continue on this way much longer without rest and water. We will have to stop soon in any event. Why not do as Tuck suggests and leave the road now—just to be safe?”
“So be it,” he said, relenting at last. He glanced around and then pointed to a grove of oak and beech rising atop the next hill up the road. “We will make for that wood. Iwan—you and Siarles pass the word along, then take up the rear guard.” He turned to Tuck and said, “You and Mérian stay here and keep everyone moving. Tell them they can rest as soon as they reach the grove, but not before.”
He turned on his heel and started off again. Iwan stood looking after his lord and friend. “It’s the vile king’s treachery,” he observed. “That’s put the black dog on his back, no mistake.”
Siarles, as always, took a different tone. “That’s as may be, but there’s no need to bite off our heads. We en’t the ones who cheated him out of his throne.” He paused and spat. “Stupid bloody king.”
“And stupid bloody cardinal, all high and mighty,” continued Iwan. “Priest of the church, my arse. Give me a good sharp blade and I’d soon have him saying prayers he never said before.” He cast a hasty glance at Tuck. “Sorry, Friar.”
“I’d do the same,” Tuck said. “Now, off you go. If I am right, we must get these people to safety, and that fast.”
The two ran back down the line, urging everyone to make haste for the wood on the next hill. “Follow Bran!” they shouted. “Pick up your feet. We are in danger here. Hurry!”
“There is safety in the wood,” Mérian assured them as they passed, and Tuck did likewise. “Follow Bran. He’ll lead you to shelter.”
It took a little time for the urgency of their cries to sink in, but soon the forest-dwellers were moving at a quicker pace up to the wood at the top of the next rise. The first to arrive found Bran waiting at the edge of the grove beneath a large oak tree, his strung bow across his shoulder.
“Keep moving,” he told them. “You’ll find a hollow just beyond that fallen tree.” He pointed through the wood. “Hide yourselves and wait for the others there.”
The first travellers had reached the shelter of the trees, and Tuck was urging another group to speed and showing them where to go when he heard someone shouting up from the valley. He could not make out the words, but as he gazed around the sound came again and he saw Iwan furiously gesturing towards the far hilltop. He looked where the big man was pointing and saw two mounted knights poised on the crest of the hill.
The soldiers were watching the fleeing procession and, for the moment, seemed content to observe. Then one of the knights wheeled his mount and disappeared back down the far side of the hill.
Bran had seen it too, and began shouting. “Run!” he cried, racing down the road. “To the grove!” he told Mérian and Tuck. “The Ffreinc are going to attack!”
He flew to meet Iwan and Siarles at the bottom of the hill.
“I’d best go see if I can help,” Tuck said, and leaving Mérian to hurry the people along, he fell into step behind Bran.
“Just the two of them?” Bran asked as he came running to meet Siarles and Iwan.
“So far,” replied the champion. “No doubt the one’s gone to alert the rest. Siarles and I will take a stand here,” he said, bending the long ashwood bow to string it. “That will give you and Tuck time to get the rest of the folk safely hidden in the woods.”
Bran shook his head. “It may come to that one day, but not today.” His tone allowed no dissent. “We have a little time yet. Get everyone into the wood—carry them if you have to. We’ll dig ourselves into the grove and make Gysburne and his hounds come in after us.”
“I make it six bows against thirty knights,” Siarles pointed out. “Good odds, that.”
Bran gave a quick jerk of his chin. “Good as any,” he agreed. “Fetch along the stragglers and follow me.”
Iwan and Siarles darted away and were soon rushing the last of the lagging Grellon up the hill to the grove. “What do you want me to do?” Tuck shouted.
“Pray,” answered Bran, pulling an arrow from the sheaf at his belt and fitting it to the string. “Pray God our aim is true and each arrow finds its mark.”
Bran moved off, calling for the straggling Grellon to find shelter in the wood. Tuck watched him go. Pray? he thought. Aye, to be sure—the Good Lord will hear from me. But I will do more, will I not? Then he scuttled up the hill and into the wood in search of a good stout stick to break some heads.
