Friday, September 28, 2007

Hooligan


I just finished Hooligan: A Mormon Boyhood, a memoir by Douglas Thayer. This book was published by Zarahemla Books (my friend Chris Bigelow), which, along with Parables, represents my hope for the future of Mormon lit. I have some reservations about some of the things Zarahemla has produced, but I would unhesitatingly recommend Hooligans to anyone and everyone, and have already purchased copies to give as gifts (so don’t go out and buy it, Dad).

I chose this book because I am already familiar with Thayer’s work, particularly Under the Cottonwoods, a collection of short stories that truly changed my entire outlook about Mormon fiction the first time I read it. In fact, I have been re-reading it in preparation for reading Hooligans. Unfortunately, this led to my biggest disappointment with Hooligans, which is that the memoir ends as childhood ends. Thayer’s powerful short stories deal often with a young protagonist who has recently returned from a mission or military service. I was disappointed not to get any autobiographical commentary about that time period in Thayer’s life. In terms of Thayer’s fiction, there was one passage that rang familiar:
We shot only sparrows, never robins or other songbirds, which we knew was wrong somehow, although our parents did not forbid us. Perhaps it was an intuitive knowledge passed down from one generation of boys to another (92).
(The shooting of songbirds is an important foreshadowing in one of Thayer’s short stories, “The Rabbit Hunt.”) I wanted more insights into the life that led to the fiction, but the book says it is a memoir of “a Mormon boyhood,” so I can’t fault it for being just that.

The organization of the book is rather loose, with each chapter being a narrative of different aspects of growing up in Provo during World War II. Reading each chapter is like listening to grandpa reminisce for an hour or so—just like it, in fact, with a conversational voice that is highly readable. And, just like listening to grandpa, there is a little bit of duplication; once or twice I came across comments or anecdotes that had already been mentioned earlier. I’m not a big fan of the chapter titles, which are simply a list of topics that appear in each chapter. Once, at least, a topic is mentioned in a title that was not discussed in the chapter (Chapter One lists “Babylon,” which is covered in Chapter Two).

The only grammatical mistake I find in the entire book is in the very first sentence. (“. . . a splendid place to grow up for my friends and I.” Yikes!) So if that kind of thing bugs you, know that it’s the only one and the rest is smooth sailing. There are only a couple of typos throughout the book.

OK, now that the negative stuff is out of the way, I have to say that this book is absolutely a delight to read. Besides the nostalgia that it must carry for those who remember childhoods like Thayer’s, the sheer joy of the book is found in its observations through the eyes of an innocent child. Here are some examples:
We knew that the Heber Creeper whistle woke up sleeping ward members at five in the morning, which, we were told, was the reason there were so many kids in the Sixth Ward, but we didn’t understand that reasoning (9).

The side of Webster’s grocery store had a big painted sign of a camel, and a package of Camel Cigarettes, and the sign said [“]I’D WALK A MILE FOR A CAMEL.” In my younger days, I thought it meant they’d give you a real camel if you’d walk a mile, which I thought very generous, although I didn’t know what I’d do with an animal like that if I had one (21-22).
The naivety applies to life in general and religion in particular:
When you were twelve, you were ordained a deacon, which meant you could pass the sacrament and collect fast offerings to help the ppor, and you were entitled to the ministering of angels. I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but I kept my eyes peeled (96).

But most delightful is the combination of a child’s view of religion mixed with the other aspects of childhood, such as hunting and fishing:

I knew that Jesus liked fishermen and that he knew where the best fishing was and told fisherm[e]n where to throw their nets, which made me like him. I became very concerned about catching a lot of fish, which I knew took faith and even prayer, just like gaining strength to overcome your sins (19).

The long curl of [fly] tape covered with stuck dead black flies was a visual daily warning of a kind, but you were never sure of what, probably something to do with sin. Sin, as we boys well knew, was a very sticky proposition and was best avoided, depending of course on how much fun was involved (26).

The biggest strength of the book is that although all of the reminiscences are firmly grounded in sensory details, I can still pick up the overarching feelings of what it’s like to be a child, new to the world and its philosophies. Thayer accurately and movingly conveys both the joys of childhood (swimming at night with water and moonlight sliding over your skin, sitting by the coal stove in winter) and it’s perplexities and lonelinesses. Especially moving to me is the aching of this small boy for a father who would take him hunting. Thayer’s genius is in never saying, “I was sad about that,” but we feel it through his memories of watching the other boys go off with their fathers.

Its honesty and beauty make this book a prize, and I’m really happy for Chris in being able to pick it up. If he can continue to publish such high-quality, universally appealing books, I think he’ll see financial success (and be able to continue publishing some of his more—what was the word, Chris? edgy?—books with the money it might bring in). I hope Chris is able to invest in some advertising for this one, because Hooligan is the perfect gift book: not empty but not offensive.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Green-eyed Monster (and I don't mean Shrek)

This year I have discovered a new weakness in myself. It is the sin of envy. I hadn’t dealt with it much before, because I am comfortably well-off and have enough for my needs and lots of my wants. But this year I lost something that I wish I still had (my health) and it has made me have some very uncharitable feelings towards others.

Which others? People who look like they don’t take care of themselves (sure, add “judging by appearances” to my list of sins), people who are out jogging looking healthy and happy. People who seem to take it for granted that they feel great. People whose biggest problems are emotional and not physical (I’m starting to sound nasty now). I am consumed by envy.
I’ve started to believe that my envy of healthy people is my greater problem (greater than being sick, I mean). I have got to get to a point where I can get over this. Because who knows how long I’ll be sick? This could be the rest of my life. And I don’t want to spend it feeling so ornery towards other people. And towards God for letting them have something I don’t have.

I’ve tried to analyze the root of envy. Do I really think that God is being unfair? No, of course not. Because there are lots and lots of people sicker than I or more miserable than I am in other ways. Of course it’s not unfair for me to have a little trial all my own. Believe it or not, there have even been times in the past when I have been envious of other people who had bigger trials than I did! “When are you going to send mine?” I’d wonder. “Don’t I get a chance to grow, too?” I really did feel that way sometimes.

So if it’s not that I think it’s unfair—what then? Do I think God loves them more than He loves me? (Particularly the people who USED to be sick but who got miraculously healed.) No, of course not. If there’s one thing I have a testimony of, it’s that the worth of a soul is great. I am as precious to God as you are, or as the lady down the street is. I know He cares about me.

I’ve come to the conclusion that my envy comes from a lack of faith in God’s wisdom that all these things shall work together for my good. Because if I truly, truly believed that, I really think I could let go of this tension about what I don’t have.

So what do I need to do to get that testimony? I know that God COULD remove this burden if it were right to do so. I have not lacked faith in that at all. So, since He is all-powerful, and I have faith that He CAN do it, the fact that He has not must mean that there is a purpose in it. How can I improve my faith in this, and rejoice that I am being cared for and carried to where I need to be?

Friday, September 21, 2007

Poetry: Approaching the Veil

Someone asked me why I don’t put my own poetry up here more often. After much probing self-analysis I have come to the conclusion that it was pure, shallow selfishness that was keeping me from sharing more poetry here. The logic went like this:

I should be careful about putting poetry here because I want to be published. Some publishers are reluctant to publish something that has already been published, and they might consider this as publishing.

and

I really want to be published so that lots of people can see my stuff. Partially because I think I speak to some people and also because I crave fame and approval.

therefore

I will hog all my stuff to myself in the hopes that someday I’ll get the chance to share it under the label of a publication which proves that “people who know something about poetry” agree that my stuff is worth publishing and sharing.

thus (and here’s the faulty logic)

I am keeping my stuff hidden instead of sharing it, supposedly because I want to share it.

Hmmm.

Well, anyway, I am trying to squelch my pride. If people want to read my stuff (badly enough that they would actually ASK about it), I should let them, by golly! Who is it that I am saving it for—people who MATTER????? Who matters more than the people who care about me and/or who are hungry for what I’m saying?

So, I apologize. You, my dear, loyal blog-readers (most of whom I can’t identify because you don’t comment but I know you’re out there because I see you in the stats) deserve to see what I’ve been writing, even before it gets the approval of some all-powerful status-granter in the form of an official publication. I will mend my ways.

So for today, I will give you “Approaching the Veil,” which was the very first poem I wrote as an adult (and therefore is my inaugural foray into writing). I can look at it now and see its flaws, but it was a good beginning for me, I think. I felt very proud of the tanka structure (several stanzas of haiku) at the time, although I know a little more about haiku now and realize it wasn’t all that appropriate. Nevertheless, it helped me make a beginning.

Though a good poem should speak for itself and suffers from too much introduction, I still want to tell you a little about this one. I tried to combine two different, powerful situations into one. One was my mother’s eagerness to get beyond the veil (well, die) after she had a beautiful near-death experience, and the other was my first experience at the temple, which was very deeply moving to me. The ladies who helped me were elderly and beautiful, and I still remember how they looked into my face as they whispered their words of holiness.

This was published in Orson Scott Card’s Vigor newsletter and, later, Irreantum (I think. I haven’t kept very good track. Maybe it was Exponent II.) Shortly after it appeared in one of those publications, I got a nice e-mail from someone I didn’t know asking if she could read it in her big meeting of temple-workers. That was really cool.

Approaching the Veil
by Darlene Young


I lean on tiptoe,
Taut, poised at the edge,
Eyes prickled with stars.

Spirit percolates.
I am brimming, wakening,
Fresh-whetted and ripe.

You, god-whisperers,
Hover like angel mothers,
Priestesses of light.

My lips follow yours,
Invocation and blessing,
Strange sounds of power.

A pause, and I hear
Through your reverence for the Words,
Sounds of rushing wind.

Then
Holy escorts
Midwives to the quickening
Reach, grasp, launch

I am beautiful, aflame,

Burnished bright and fierce.
Alleluia my birthcry,
I greet pentecost.

Happy Day

Check this out:



Can't quit grinning.

Oh, and here's another goody for today:

The Guys' Rules

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

I never thought I’d be saying this . . .

. . . but I have a confession to make: I have made the leap. I no longer prefer milk chocolate to dark chocolate. I guess I’m a grown-up now.

(It was those Truffettes de France that did it.)

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Werewolves and Adoration

[Spoiler Alert: If you haven't read New Moon, beware. If you've read it but not Eclipse, you're OK.]

I just finished Eclipse, the third book in Stephanie Meyer’s vampire series. I have to say that the books keep getting better, in my opinion. The writing is better, and I am definitely more engaged each time. I was downright depressed when I finished this book: I wanted more, more, more! I read that some people are upset because they don’t think the book upholds Deseret Book values, etc., etc. I guess there’s always someone getting upset about something or other. I wasn’t bugged by the book (although it was definitely more mature than the other two).

I really like the character of Jacob Black. He’s the one I’d fall in love with. I’ve been trying to analyze why that is—what is it that’s attractive about him? (Especially in the last book, in which he acts pretty adolescent.) And I think it’s the werewolf thing. There’s something really sexy about a man who has a wild side—“wild” meaning “potential for great power.” It makes a woman feel protected. It gives her something to wonder about, lends a sense of mystery.

All this has something to do with why I’m glad my husband isn’t much interested in my writing. Stay with me here—I’ll try to explain how it relates.

When I was dating, sometimes I became involved with guys who adored me. It was a nice feeling, being adored. I liked being around those guys (and still do). But I found myself unable to have much of a relationship with them. Because they liked me too much. It seemed like whatever I was interested in, they became interested in. My favorite music became theirs. They wanted to study me and be there with me in everything. I found myself feeling lonely in the relationship because, really, there was only one of us in the relationship--he guy had disappeared. The sense of OTHER that is necessary to me in a relationship was missing.

Bella is adored by two guys. She would have the same problem as I did EXCEPT that these two guys happen to have more to them than she can ever fathom. They have another side (a wild side) that she will forever be outside of (well, unless she goes to extremes and becomes a vampire herself, in which case I can’t imagine her being as satisfied after all with Edward). Because of their, um, differences, these two guys will always be OTHER. I think that is why they are so attractive to Bella, and to millions of young girls everywhere. The relationship feels so much more valuable when the person adoring you is somewhat separate and mysterious.

So I’m glad that my husband isn’t like me. He actually really does treat me with adoration--I feel very cherished. But I kind of like that there are some parts of me that he tolerates and supports without truly understanding. Because that means that there are two of us in this relationship. There are things about him that are different from me, and I like finding more.
Which leads me to question some of my previously-professed beliefs. I’ve always been critical of the Mr. Darcy theory of romance: that we need some sort of a sense of mystery in order for real romance to remain. As you recall, I wrote a post about it, and about how I didn’t think that was the basis of a lasting relationship. How can you become one if you don’t truly understand each other? Mystery would get in the way of that one-ness, wouldn’t it? But maybe I need to re-think that. Being one shouldn’t require being THE SAME.

While we’re on this subject, I will tell you that I find it extremely sexy when my husband gets really angry (when the werewolf comes out). Now, if you know my husband, you know that he is the farthest thing there is from a werewolf. I can only say this (that I like it when he’s angry) because he hasn’t gotten that way with ME. But one time he got that way with a person he thought was threatening my safety and I REALLY LIKED IT. So there you go. I like Jacob Black. I like my husband. I like men who can be werewolves when necessary, to protect their women.

Something just occurred to me. I wonder if this appreciation for the other-ness of my spouse contributes somehow to the easy acceptance I have always felt for the fact that he holds the priesthood and I don’t. Hmmm. I’ll ponder that one and get back to you.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Book Report

With fall in the air it’s time to report on some reading. Currently, I am licking my fingers over a tasty little book called Proving Contraries: Essays in Honor of Eugene England. I am LOVING this book. I wish it would never end. It’s just like sitting down with AML friends, having a good yap (barbaric yawp?) about the world and literature.

I finished Almost Sisters, by Nancy Anderson, Lael Littke and Carol Hoffling Morris. I had heard good things about this book: stuff like “It’s typical Deseret Book fiction for women, only done better than usual.” Maybe it was better than usual—I don’t usually read LDS “women’s fiction,” so I wouldn’t know. It wasn’t too bad, but not all that great. It was very long (or seemed so), and very detailed about the lives of three women who become friends at BYU’s Education Week. They have their struggles and sometimes resolve them. The characters were interesting, and so were their struggles, but I missed a sense of arc to the story. It felt like “a few years in the lives of some women” more than a solid story. So I was a little disappointed. Apparently, it is the first in a trilogy entitled “The Company of Good Women.” Maybe the arc comes through the trilogy. I hope so.

I finished The Seat of the Soul by Gary Zukav, which Angela recommended to me. It’s very new age-y, but full of a lot of truth. I love and believe the concept of everything coming down to fear vs. love. If I can live in love, abide in it, be present in it, then I can be happy and free and true to the real me. Anytime fear enters the picture, I am not in the present any more. I love the idea of listening to my instincts. This concept reminded me of The Bonds that Make Us Free, which postulates that our true selves are actually charitable, vibrant, loving beings, and any time we are not acting that way we are just losing touch with our true selves. (A little different from the “natural man” concept, no?) What I know for sure is that when I feel tension in my body, I can trace it back to some way that I am living contrary to what I deep down know I should be doing. And, in fact, when I trace things that far, I see that I’m actually not even doing what I want to be doing most, or being who I want to be. And I can do this tracing, if I’m willing, even about little irritations.

I read the last Harry Potter and, although I’m still a little confused about some of the details, I have to say that I enjoyed this one as much as or more than any of the others. I don’t have much patience for the little subplots in a lot of them (Dobby, Grawp). This one seemed more straightforward story, and it kept me going the whole way.

I read, but didn’t finish before I had to return it, Ingathering by Zenna Henderson who was, at least at some point in her life, LDS. Thanks to Johnna for recommending this one. I’m always looking for good sci-fi (as opposed to empty sci fi, which I find most of it to be). This is good stuff because it deals in real, human issues instead of just basing a plot around sci-fi elements. (Sounds like my definition of good LDS fiction as well.)

I just started re-reading Douglas Thayer’s Under the Cottonwoods in anticipation of reading Thayer’s autobiography (as soon as Chris mails it to me!). I loved this book the first time and am enjoying it just as much now. He really is one of the best authors the church has.

Speaking of fantastic LDS books, I hope everyone plans to buy a new book that will be coming out from Deseret Book next fall written by Segullah chics! Including me! It will be my first time being published in book form. Sure, I’ll only have three or four poems in it, but it counts, doesn’t it? For those of you who are keeping track, the poems of mine that will probably be in it (you never know—a few of them might not make it through editorial) are “First Babysitter,” “Umbilical Cord,” “To Jon on the First Day of Kindergarten,” “Giver and Given,” “Big Brother,” and “Inheritance.” Wahoo!

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Autumn Time

I love fall. I adore fall. I wish fall were six months longer. I love the light, which is different somehow and I can’t figure out why. It must be slanting from a different angle. Or maybe it’s that, with the cooler weather, the light seems less yellow because it is not burning me up. It’s wider, fatter somehow. I love the leaves changing and the feeling of going back to school (wish I were). My husband, the eternal boy of summer, doesn’t share my love of fall. To him, it feels like impending doom. He never loved school, but always loved baseball season, so I guess his feelings are understandable. I won’t start feeling the impending doom feeling until after Christmas. Then I head into my three-month tunnel of gloom. But NOT THIS YEAR because I will be on a cruise in February! Yeah! And I hope to buy a sunlamp sometime as well.

But, anyway, back to fall. As I mentioned earlier, my garden runneth over and I just have to tell you about this fabulous lunch I had last week. I made homemade tomato soup (and the recipe is below). And then I made a grilled cheese sandwich with feta and parmesan and cheddar on sourdough bread. We are talking HEAVEN here, my friends. And if you’ll come over and visit me, I’ll make the same for you.



Basil Tomato Soup ala Darlene

A whole bunch of fresh garden tomatoes pureed in your food processor
1 can chicken broth
15 fresh basil leaves, minced (thanks to my step-mother for planting basil in my garden!)
1 t. sugar
1 t. oregano
Onion pwdr to taste (or throw in some dehydrated onions)
½ c. sour cream
½ c. half & half (which we always have on hand since it’s what my 6-yr-old DRINKS)
½ c. butter (yes, alas, a whole cube)


Bring tomatoes and broth to a boil, reduce heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Add basil and sugar and spices. Turn heat to low; stir in creams and butter. Cook until butter is melted.