The Hate U Give, by Angie Thomas

I am in awe of Angie Thomas’s accomplishment with this book. It has a moral without being moralistic and a message that creeps into your consciousness through believable, likable, and courageous characters, a complex and compelling storyline, and a city you can almost hear and smell, even though we have no idea where it actually is. 

This is a book about the importance of speaking out, despite the very real risks it presents. It’s also about community, with interconnected themes of belonging and loyalty woven with race, police brutality, and black identity.

That’s a lot to pack in, but Thomas does it so elegantly the reader falls in love with these amazing people facing a decision: Can they go on as usual or is it time to challenge the power structure? In this case, that structure includes the police department and district attorney on the one hand and a drug lord and his minions on the other. Caught between these two, which do you align with? What happens when the answer is “neither”?

At the center of the story is Starr, a smart and perceptive Black teenager who sees her childhood friend Khalil killed by a police officer after a traffic stop for a bad brake light. She struggles with her responsibility to Khalil, her community, family, and ultimately to herself. She’s terrified of telling the truth, which implicates both the officer and the drug kings, but she finally realizes she has no choice.

Starr straddles two different communities with different cultures and language. In the neighborhood, she is the grocer’s daughter, who sometimes works in his store. At her school in a ritzy white neighborhood, she is only as cool as she needs to be. She’s in that school because her parents know she will not get the education and opportunities she needs and deserves if she stays in the local school. She’s not a total fit in either place.

She has to leave parts of her behind when she goes to school—her language, her stories, and certainly the fact that she was in the car when Khalil was killed. If the white kids know too much, she fears, they’ll see her as a ghetto kid and dismiss her. Eventually, loyalty to her community and trust from her white friends help her speak out.

Thomas began this book when she was an undergraduate in creative writing at Belhaven University in Jackson, Mississippi. She says she chose to write it as a young adult novel to make it more accessible and relatable—and she succeeded.

The book was inspired by the Black Lives Matter movement, and the title comes from rapper Tupac Shakir’s THUG LIFE philosophy (and tatoo), an acronym for The Hate U Give Little Infants F*cks Everybody. Shakir says, "What you feed us as seeds, grows and blows up in your face." When you force kids to live in a community that offers few opportunities besides drug dealing, you allow children to grow up broken and angry.  But those are our kids, even if they don't look or act like us—or we like them—and their world is connected to ours. Nothing happens in a vacuum. Ideally, we would be motivated to help black children get the same benefits as white because that is simply part of a just society. But THUG LIFE reminds us that, no matter our motivation, our inaction will come back to hurt us all.—Pat Prijatel

Near the Exit, by Lori Erickson

Being shown the world through the eyes of thoughtful people who are keen travelers and also engaging writers is a big treat to someone who doesn’t travel (me). Near the Exit: Travels with the Not So-Grim Reaper is a wonderful read and a thought-provoking discussion of death and death rituals. 

As a huge fan of the movie Coco, I really enjoyed visiting the largest annual Day of the Dead celebration in Chicago with Erickson. Likewise, ancient Egyptian sites; nursing homes; the New Zealand Maori; Aztecs and Mayan ruins; funeral homes; the spiritual center in Crestone, Colorado; Assisi; and the Sacred Stone Circle at Harvest Preserve in Iowa City were each, in their way, fascinating destinations for conversations about death. After reading this book, I think I may be able to react to nursing homes with more peace and grace.

My favorite section of book is near the end, when Erickson describes what she saw at Eremo delle Carceri (a hermitage overlooking Assisi): 

Just outside the building is a statue of Francis that’s the happiest depiction of a saint I’ve ever seen. It shows him lying on the ground, his hands behind his head, his sandals kicked off and ankles crossed, a contented smile on his face. Christianity might produce more saints if we pictured them like this, rather than carrying the tools of their martyrdom.

Erickson goes on to say:

When it came time for him to die, he wanted them (his brothers) to place his naked body on the ground, not long, just about the length of time it took someone to walk a mile.  . . . maybe he knew that after his death his bones—and his message—would become the property of the church, which would inevitably try to corral and domesticate the wild spirit he’d unleashed. Before that happened, he would have one last moment of communion with the earth he loved so much. It is said when Francis died, a chorus of larks wheeled and swooped above him for a long time, singing him home.

I’m not sure why that passage is so appealing. Maybe because it shows such a vibrant, living membrane between the spiritual and the physical–which is, indeed, something I sometimes, in lucky moments, feel. 

Humans are apparently the only one of God’s creatures who grapple with their own mortality. In Near the Exit, Erickson shows us a way to circle closely to the inevitable and look at it without too much unease.—Sharelle Moranville

Becoming, by Michelle Obama

In a nutshell, Becoming is a remarkable and inspirational story of an extraordinary woman. The book is a coming-of-age story; a love story of a pair of opposites; and a political saga by a woman who was skeptical, if not downright scornful of politics, but who became one of the most popular first ladies in American history.

In telling her story, Michelle takes readers by the hand on an intimate tour of everyday African-American life and ambition, while recounting her rise from modest origins to the closest America has to nobility.

Gracefully written and at times laugh-out-loud funny, she invites readers into her world, chronicling the experiences that have shaped her from her childhood to the White House. 

I particularly liked the titles of the three sections of the book. The first third (Becoming Me), covers her childhood, growing up in lower middle class in southside Chicago, with parents who made their high expectations clear. Despite her family’s challenges and her ‘female blackness’, she managed to go to Princeton, then Harvard Law, and then to work at a prestigious law firm where she met Barack, fell for him and his wanderlust, while Barack was grounded by her traditionalism.

In the second section (Becoming Us), she covers their marriage, marriage counseling, raising two down-to-earth daughters under an unforgiving media glare, winning the 2008 Iowa caucuses, and making it to the White House. But she never takes any of it for granted. On the contrary, her tone is one of wonderment as to how this all happened. Over and over again, from high school to the White House, she asks, “Am I good enough?”

She closes the last third of the book (Becoming More), talking about the stress of being in the spotlight, her desire to make an impact as First Lady, and the opportunity to offer her vision.  She knew that she would be held to a different standard, her every gesture scrutinized. 

Her story is not full of Washington gossip and political score-settling, though she does lay bare her contempt for Trump, who she believes put her family’s safety at risk with his false birther conspiracy theory. 

Becomingis a warm, wise, revelatory and intimate, deeply personal coming-of-age story of a strong-minded girl who grew up to become one of the most powerful and influential black women in America. Her memoir sold more than 1.4 million copies in its first week and quickly became the best-selling book of the year. 

Through it all, her outlook is optimistic, her voice clear, witty, candid and insightful. She talks straight, with an openness and honesty rarely seen. She is gifted in her ability to express her emotions with meticulous attention to details, writing with tremendous insight and sensitivity from beginning to end. I loved it.— Kenn Johnson

Where the Crawdads Sing, by Delia Owens This

This is an intriguing murder mystery, woven through the painfully beautiful story of

Kya, a young girl abandoned and left to survive on her own in the marshes of North

Carolina.

Kya is no stranger to the beautiful but treacherous marshes. Deserted when she

was just six years old, eventually “Marsh Girl” learns to survive, thrive and find

solace in the beauty of the nature all around her.

Kya, lives in a shack with her dirt-poor family “squeezed together like penned

rabbits”: a caring but worn down and helpless mother, a cruel, abusive father and

four older siblings. One by one they desert Kya, saving themselves from the

frequent, vicious beatings of their father, who is the last to desert her. Her mothers’

leaving is the most heart-breaking and frightening for Kya. “Ma” leaves, letting the

door slam with finality behind her. No good-by. Not even a wave to her 6-year-old

daughter. Finally, Kya is truly alone, except for the beautiful sea gulls who swoop

and dive in to eat the grits she tosses to them each evening.

She becomes a wild child, living completely on her own in the marshes with the

seagulls, snow geese, doves and crows as her only companions. She takes herself

to school, but stays for just one day because of the cruel mocking from her

classmates. So most of what she knows she learned from the creatures with

whom she shares the swap. Nature nurtured, tutored, fed and protected her when

no one else would.

She grew up navigating the family’s motorboat through the marshes and is able to

dock near the small general store where she can buy simple supplies, mostly grits,

which she cooks with scrambled eggs, cornbread, biscuits and sometimes beans

just like her mother fixed.

Kya grows older and develops into a tall, skinny, tanned teenager with hair as black

and “thick as crow wings.” She begins to long for companionship, and thinks “If

anyone would understand loneliness the moon would.” She becomes increasingly

aware of the older boys she sees in town. And they begin to notice her, especially

Chase Andrews, the handsome only son of wealthy parents. She also becomes

good friends with another young man,Tate. Tate loves and becomes protective of

her, especially as he sees the questionable attention Chase pays to Kya. Tate tells

Kya that his father taught him that “A real man is one who cries without shame,

reads poetry with his heart, feels opera in his soul and does what is necessary to

defend a woman.” Kya opens herself to Chase and Tate and to a new life.

And then...the story develops into a murder mystery and a very unpredictable

ending. As my fellow St. Timothy’s Book Club readers and I discussed this book

(which we all loved) - we agreed NOT to discuss the ending until all members had

finished the book. It’s that unpredictable and that well done. So I certainly can’t

disclose, or even hint at it, to you, Blog readers. I’ll just say it’s definitely worth the

wait.

Crawdads is a wonderful, very well-told story with beautiful language and gentle

descriptions of nature woven throughout. And there is wonderful poetry that

appears, often when least expectedly. You might want to pay attention to it. It’s

beautiful, well-written and more important than you might expect.

A word about the author, Delia Owens. She is a wildlife scientist who has coauthored

three international best-selling, award-winning nonfiction books about her

life as a wildlife scientist in Africa. She is much admired and respected for her

extensive writing about nature. She holds a BS in Zoology from the University of

Georgia and a PhD in Animal Behavior for the University of California at Davis. This

is her first fiction book. We hope it is not her last.

About the title “Where the Crawdads Sing”- Kya said her Ma used to encourage

her to explore the marsh. “Go as far as you can, way out yonder where the

crawdads sing.” Google couldn’t help me learn if crawdads really do sing. But I

did learn that they are like small, very tasty lobsters. Maybe it’s better if they don’t

sing. Could ruin our appetite for lobsters—Gail Stilwill

Next Books

Next Books

Non-Fiction

Books with 1 or more votes (number of votes)

Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek, by Annie Dillard (3)

All the President's Men, by Robert Woodward and Carl Bernstein (2)

Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality, by Donald Miller (2)

Sunday Mornings in Plains, by Jimmy Carter (2)

The Hidden Life of Trees, by Peter Wohlleben (2)

Walk in a Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino, by Joyce Rupp (2)

The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch (1)

The World is Flat, by Thomas Friedman (1)

Fiction

Books with 1 or more votes (number of votes)

Sky Bridge, by Laura Pritchett (2)

The Bean Trees, by Barbara Kingsolver (2)

Circe, by Madeline Miller (1)

Music for Chameleons, by Truman Capote (1)

The Devoted, by Blair Hurley (1)

The Great Alone, by Kristin Hannah (1)

The Orchardist, by Amanda Coplin (1)
Idaho, by Emily Ruskovich 

Books Added

Fiction

A Better Man, by Louise Penny

Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin

Lockdown, by Laurie R. King

The Burgess Boys, by Elizabeth Strout
The Overstory, by Richard Powers

The Reluctant Fundamentalist, by Mohsin Hamid

Non-Fiction
Profiles of Courage, by John F. Kennedy

Songs of America, by Jon Meacham and Tim McGraw 

1984, by George Orwell

Among the influential texts of the 20^thcentury, Nineteen Eighty-Fouris an exceptional work that grows more haunting as its futuristic purgatory becomes more real. After political satirist George Orwell watched as the Soviets created an authoritarian state much like Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany,  in 1949 he published his nightmarish vision of a totalitarian, bureaucratic world in the future, and together with Animal Farm, they have sold more than any two books by any other 20^thcentury author.

1984 describes a Dystopia, the antithesis of a Utopia, where Big Brother makes Stalin, Hitler, and Mussolini look like sissies. His world is divided into three states, originated from the ashes of World War II: Oceania (the Americas, British Isles, and Australia), Eurasia (the rest of Europe and Russia), and Eastasia (the rest of the world). Continuous war between those three is required to keep the society’s order and peace. WAR IS PEACE

I first read this book when I was in the eighth grade, but I’m not sure why we were required to read it at that age.  I wish I could recall the substance of the discussions by my group of hormonally-challenged teens, but now think that this is a book that is better understood and appreciated long after your first pimple. So, I decided to re-read the book as an adult, hoping I could gain a better appreciation of the classic. Well, it did more than that – it absolutely floored me.  “We shall meet in a place where there is no darkness” sent chills up my spine.

The book is in three parts. The first describes Winston Smith’s predictable life as an unimportant party member.  The second is his life with Julia involving courage, love/lust, and betrayal. And, the final part is about the consequences of those actions, and the methodology of converting political prisoners to embrace Big Brother before disposing of them.  

In the end, Smith is broken, not only physically, but mentally, and after torture of unimaginable dimensions, he completely surrenders, body and soul, to Big Brother. But, in the end, they fix him and he’s happy again – or something -- an idea I don’t believe I was able to fully appreciate in middle school.

The brilliance of the novel is Orwell’s prescience of modern life – the ubiquity of television and cameras, the distortion of language, and his ability to construct the possible nightmare and danger of a society without civil liberties and a government with complete control. His idea that truth can be arranged through media (fake news, e.g.) is perhaps the most relevant idea for us today. The part of the  horror of 1984 is that his future is recognizable in 2019, where our President Trump attempts, through manipulation and propaganda, to maintain control simply for satiating his own power hunger. Truly, in this era of “alternative facts’ and an increasing racial intolerance take on society, today’s reality has caught up with 1984.

But, the book is far from perfect. Orwell is a much better theorist than he is a writer. While not a particularly good novel, 1984 is a very good essay, and its ideas are greater than any book. It is bleak, grim, dreary, frightening and upsetting. His characters lack depth, the rhetoric is sometimes didactic, and I believe most writers would have avoided including the lengthy Goldstein treatise, snappily titled “The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivisim”, which alters the novel like a scar disfigures a face.

But all that doesn’t matter, because he got it right.  Simply put, 1984 is unquestionably the most memorable and disturbing novel ever. I have always thought that one of the most important qualities of science fiction is that it frees the author to take controversial, politically charged issues, and create a possible future, and in doing so is able to present a compelling and critical argument for change.  With apologies to Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, and Arthur C. Clarke, no one has ever done a better job than Orwell.

It was a hard read, but a MUST read. But, remember – Big Brother is watching!!! — Kenn Johnson

Exit West, by Mohsin Hamid

What if our borders weren't physical? What if migrants could just suddenly show up in your living room or city park or backyard? Or in the church hall? No long lines, no showing papers, just displaced people popping up in your life after their own lives had disintegrated where they were?  

In this intriguing book, Mohsin Hamid explores this question and, along the way, demonstrates what it looks like to become a refugee, to have your own world slowly fall apart as you try to live a normal life that becomes less possible every day. 

Two sweethearts, Nadia and Saeed, are young professionals in an unnamed Middle-Eastern country, typical middle-class citizens—she’s in insurance and he’s in marketing and they met at a seminar. But terrorists have taken over the city and it becomes increasingly unsafe. Hamid shows us the day-to-day changes, how the couple’s world gets smaller and smaller as terrorists gain strength. After Saeed’s mother is killed by a stray bullet, the couple decides to leave.

Their unique method of escape is through magical horizontal doors that take people from one country to another. It’s a difficult process—getting access to the doors is mysterious and entails knowing the right people and being able to pay the right fee. Going through them is turbulent and painful, looking a bit like being born, and in a way it is: Those who go through the doors become new people in lands new to them.

The idea for the doors, Hamid said in an interview with the PBS News Hour, was inspired by smart phone screens.

[R]ight now, most of us have a little black rectangle in our pocket or our backpack or our purse. And when we look at it, our consciousness goes far, far away from our bodies, like magically appearing somewhere else, looking at your phone, and suddenly you're reading about the moon or Mars or Antarctica. And I thought, what would happen if your body could move as easily as your mind can move? I think technology is obliterating geographic distance. And so the doors in a way give life to that. 

Hamid considers himself a lifelong migrant—from Pakistan to California, then back, then to London and back. He knows the migrant experience can be terrifying and, at times, deadly, because we do not focus on the fact that people who want to enter our countries are just that: people. But when migrants literally show up on our doorsteps we have to stop dealing with them as abstractions, as legal arguments and look them in the eye instead. Again, talking to the News Hour he says:

[W]e have become so focused on the story of how somebody crosses the border, how did you cross the Mediterranean in a small boat, or how did you cross the U.S.-Mexico border, crawl underneath the barbed wire?And we think that people who have done that are different from us. It makes us imagine that that's all their life consisted of, and that's very different from us.  

But once you take away that part of their story, you're left with people who are just like us, actually, that any of us can have this experience. And so hopefully taking away that part of the story doesn't minimize the importance in the real world that that happens, but reminds us that that is not what makes these people who they are. They are people just like us. 

Hamid also shows that we are all migrants in one way or another. In one of the many vignettes that pop up throughout the book he introduces us to a woman who has stayed in the San Francisco area her entire life, while the world has radically changed around her. His conclusion:

“We are all migrants through time.”

Nadia and Saeed migrate through time and through space, facing anti-migrant attitudes in the Greek Island of Mykonos, London, and Marin County, California. Ultimately, the refugees are accepted, if not always welcomed, sometimes after riots, usually after chaos. Eventually the different cultures learn to live alongside one another, creating a new culture, which is a mash of the old. The initial acceptance comes, as usual, through foods.

The book is not for those who want a literal and linear progression of plot and a clear sense of time and place. Hamid’s writing style can take a while to get accustomed to—most paragraphs are one sentence long, and the sentences can be a bit rambling. Yet this style matches the storytelling sense of the book and makes it more real. And the doors are shown before they are actually explained, so there are a few moments early in the book when the reader is not entirely sure what is going on. And the vignettes of unrelated people can be confusing. 

Hamid creates characters whose struggle is believable, relatable, and scary as hell. Every person who says migrants should go back to where they came from should have to read this book. — Pat Prijatel

On Trails, by Robert Moor

Deacon Jeanie Smith used On Trails as inspiration for her sermon on 

the Second Sunday After Pentecost, June 23, 2019.  

Our St. Timothy’s book club is currently reading a book entitled On Trailsby Robert Moor.  I have to confess, as a person who isn’t truly drawn to nature, to hiking, to the outdoors generally, that I am amazingly enchanted by this book.  Here is this guy who has grown up only truly feeling at home walking in the wilderness, who has, for heaven’s sake, hiked the entire Appalachian Trail, who writes a book that enchants even me!  So, the first thing I’ll say is that I highly recommend this book to you!

One of the things Moor says about trails is that they are constantly evolving, streamlining is the word he uses. It’s not just the trailblazer that we have to admire, who forges a path through the wilderness.  It’s the trail followers who not only reinforce the trail but who move it to cut corners, to avoid pitfalls, to straighten the way forward.

Moor talks in the introduction to his book about the metaphor of path in virtually all major religious.  Buddha’s eight-fold path to enlightenment, Zoroaster’s paths of enhancement, the Hebrew word for law, halakhah, which means “the walking,” the Arabic word for Islamic law, shariah, which translates to “the path to the watering hole.”  This is true for Christianity as well for the earliest followers of Jesus were not called Christians but “people of the way.”  

Moor says, “[P]aths, like religions, are seldom fixed.  They continually change – widen or narrow, schism or merge – depending on how, or whether, their followers elect to use them.  Both the religious path and the hiking path are, as Taoists say, made in the walking.”

I like to think that we here in the Episcopal Branch of the Jesus Movement are right in step with that notion of constantly evolving our understanding of the path.  Our church is said to rest on three legs, like a stool. Those three legs are scripture, tradition and reason.  We use our experience and our reason to enhance and grapple with our reading of Scripture and to mold our traditions to make the path meaningful to us in our own time and place.

When we read Scripture, particularly a passage like the gospel reading we have before us today, we usually come at it with some lack of knowledge -- such as who the Gerasenes were or where Jesus was at the time and who he was interacting with – but also with our own cultural assumptions.  In this case, we know that this story appears in all three synoptic Gospels, but in Luke’s and Mark’s case, it is in the country of the Gerasenes and in Matthew’s Gospel the same story is said to have taken place in the country of the Gadarenes. The two places aren’t far apart. What’s important to know here is that Jesus has crossed the Sea of Galilee and is in territory of non-Jewish people, Gentiles.  So we are beyond Jesus’ own understanding of his work as being only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

As to our own cultural assumptions, I’d say most of us are at least skeptical about the entire notion of demon possession.  I don’t know many of you who would acknowledge actual possession by demons as being something that forms the basis of our understanding of human beings.  We certainly might use a metaphor of demon possession to talk about something like addiction, say, but most of us would probably say that being possessed by a demon or an unclean spirit is a very old-fashioned and uneducated understanding.  Today we might describe this man that Jesus encounters as a person who has a serious mental illness.

Certainly if we were confronted today with the man in our story, we might well steer clear of him.  We’d surely keep our children as far away as we could.  He is described as wearing no clothes, living in the tombs, being kept under guard, bound with chains and shackles from which he would break free and escape into the wilds. And here is Jesus, not shrinking back from meeting this man, but actually holding a conversation with the demons that possess him. 

One of the first things we notice is that Jesus sees the man distinct and apart from the demons that possess him. In modern terms, we might, if we were brave enough to interact with such a person, see a crazy man or an insane person – not necessarily as a man who has a mental illness.  And the wording is important here for it either validates or denies this person’s identity as a human being, a person not totally defined by his illness but distinct from it.  A person like me, as worthy as I am.

For Jesus, we are all individual human beings made in the image and likeness of God.  Some of us have illnesses or conditions that circumscribe our lives in ways that are entirely visible to the rest of us.  My guess is that all of us have some conditions that circumscribe our lives in ways that are not visible to others.  But those conditions, visible to others or not, are not the definition of who we are in God’s eyes.  We would all do well to remember that.

The next thing that I notice is that Jesus converses directly with the demons.  They seem not only to respect his authority, but to be pretty convinced that they have to do whatever Jesus tells them to do.  Our text says, “They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.”  And that the demons begged Jesus to let them enter the herd of swine.  

What on earth are we to make of this? Well, probably that God has power over even the worst of the demons that plague our lives, just as Jesus had power over the demons in this story.  But that seems to me a bit simplistic.  It smacks, to me, of the form of Christianity that says just pray to Jesus and whatever ails you will be fixed.  And, if it isn’t fixed, well, you just didn’t pray hard enough.

That just doesn’t seem to me to be the way God works in the world that I know.  Some people have cancer or schizophrenia and they pray really, really hard and their cancer goes into remission or the schizophrenia symptoms seem to go away.  Others pray equally hard without those same results. 

For me, the power of this story comes in the fact of this man’s, this non-Jew’s, coming to Jesus and laying his whole self, ailment and all, at Jesus’ feet, asking for help.  When we come to this altar, to God, with what ails us, physical, mental, circumstantial or whatever, and we open ourselves to God’s healing, healing comes.

That is not to say that curing comes. As Mary has often reminded me, healing and curing are not the same things.  We may desperately want curing that doesn’t come at all.  Healing sometimes comes in the form of peace in the face of continued, advancing illness, of a new normal, even of death. 

It’s hard work to get to the place where we can fully lay ourselves and what troubles us before God.  For me, that’s a lifelong process full of my stumbling and grasping and desire for control over my own life and destiny.  When we truly let go and let God, as the saying goes, we not only give up control, but we give up our idea of what the “right” answer is.  When we pray for peace, for that deep inner peace we so often refer to in our prayers, that’s what we’re asking for.  We’re asking to lay it all before God, giving up our own control and listening for God’s work in our lives. — Jeanie Smith

Our Recommendations for Next Books

Non-Fiction

1984 by George Orwell

All The President's Men by Robert Woodward and Carl Bernstein
Behold the Dreamers by Imbolo Mbue
Blue Like Jazz: Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality by Donald Miller
Faith: A Journey for All  by Jimmy Carter
Help Thanks Wow: The Three Essential Prayers by Anne Lamottt
Pilgrim at Tinker's Creek by Annie Dillard

Sunday Mornings in Plains by Jimmy Carter

The Bully Pulpit, by Doris Kearns Goodwin
The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After by Clemantine Wamariya

The Hidden Life of Trees, by Peter Wohlleben

The Last Lectureby Randy Pausch

The World is Flat, by Thomas Friedman
This Fight Is Our Fight: The Battle to Save America's Middle Class, by Elizabeth Warren

Walk in a Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino, by Joyce Rupp

Fiction
Circe by Madeline Miller
Death Comes for the Archbishop,by Willa CatherThe Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver

Idaho, by Emily Ruskovich

I Thought You Were Dead by Pete Nelson
Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy by Gary D. Schmidt
Loving Frank by Nancy Horan 

Music for Chameleonsby Truman Capote
Sky Bridge by Laura Pritchett
The Orchardist by Amanda Coplin
The Girl from Venice by Martin Cruz Smith

The Map of True Places by Brunonia Barry
The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah
The Swimmer by Joakim Zander

I Shall Not Hate, by Izzeldin Abuelaish

“Let my daughters be the last to die. Let this tragedy open the eyes of the world.  Let us ask each other, ‘Where are we going?  What are we doing?’  It’s time we sat down and talked to each other.”

Izzeldin Abuelaish is a Palestinian physician who lives in Gaza and who works in an Israeli hospital.  In this magnificent book, he chronicles the difficulties of those who live in Gaza, from lack of water and civic works to massive restrictions on movement to the physical dangers of the violence that is perpetrated on both sides of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

As the above quote implies, Abuelaish’s three daughters and his niece all perished when his home was struck by shells from an Israeli tank. He says, “Anger is fine, but we must all find the inner strength not to hate.”  This remarkable man is not blind to the violence that is committed and sustained by his own people and how that violence affects those in Israel.  But he also clearly and careful documents that there is hatred and violence on the other side as well.  And that the violence and the hatred that is engendered by this violence must cease.

In his Epilogue, Abuelaish states, “This book is also about freedom. We all must work toward freedom from disease, poverty, ignorance, oppression, and hatred.  In one horrifying year, my family and I faced tragedies that mountains cannot bear.  But as a Muslim with deep faith, I fully believe that what is from God is for good and what is bad is man-made and can be prevented or changed.”

May all of us, Muslim, Christian and Jew, come to this same understanding, and with that understanding become committed to work for freedom.—Jeanie Smith

Behold the Dreamers, by Imbolo Mbue

Imbolo Mbue, herself an immigrant from Cameroon, has written a story focusing on two couples, one an immigrant family from Cameroon and the other, their upscale employers in New York City.  Mbue starts her story in the fall of 2007 and weaves a tale that combines the difficult decisions that many immigrants must face with the looming financial crisis.

As the book opens, Jende Jonga has just been hired as a chauffeur by Clark Edwards, a top executive for Lehman Brothers.  This job enables Jende to bring his wife, Neni, and their 6-year-old son to New York, where Neni finds temporary work for Edwards’ wife, Cindy, at their summer home in the Hamptons.

All, of course, does not go smoothly.  Jende does not have his green card and has been assured by his “cousin,” acting as his immigration lawyer, that it is only a matter of time.  Together they craft an exaggerated story to document Jende’s claim of dire danger to himself – from Neni’s family in Cameroon -- that will, hopefully, convince the immigration authorities to grant him asylum status.  In the meantime, Neni uncovers and documents Cindy’s drinking problem.

At the collapse of Lehman Brothers, Jende loses his job and with it, the Jongas’ ability to pay the rent on their modest apartment.  The financial squeeze leads Neni to take steps of her own that come as a surprise both to the reader and to Jende.

Throughout, Mbue shines her light on how these marriages work, and don’t work. Cultural differences play an important part, as we watch the Jongas through the lens of a strongly patriarchal background against the Edwards in a modern America where Cindy finds herself as a very wealthy stay-at-home mother/professional volunteer not quite in step with the times. Patterns of communication and non-communication, honesty and deceit, and saving face are woven together to craft a compelling story.

 The ending was both disappointing to me and, strangely at the same time, inevitable. But however I was feeling at the time I read the conclusion of this book, I found the whole book eminently readable and insightful.  Mbue has a strong voice and her characters are well drawn and true to human form, with their flaws and strengths, their compassion for one another and their casual disregard.  I cared about these people.  And, for me, that’s one mark of a good novel. — Jeanie Smith

An American Marriage, by Tayari Jones

Celestial and Roy have been married a little over a year when he is falsely accused of rape and sentenced to 12 years in prison. They’re both smart, educated, ambitious, highly focused, and African-American. He’s a marketing pro, she’s an artist. He’s her muse, she’s his inspiration.

            In An American Marriage, Tayari Jones follows the couple through Roy’s incarceration, building up layers of background stories to question just what marriage is and how being American, especially African-American, defines it.

            We learn about both sets of parents and their jagged paths toward one another, and we begin to understand how and why Celestial and Roy chose one another. Andre, who has loved Celestial since they were babies, is always a bit on the sidelines, adoring her even while introducing her to Roy and celebrating their marriage.

            Eventually we meet Roy’s “Biological”—the ne’er-do-well drifter to whom he is biologically related, even though the man he calls Big Roy has always been his real father. Jones deftly shows us that there is more than one way to be a father.

            Why do people choose who they marry? What draws people together and why do some marriages last and some not? Do we choose the partners we want or those we need? Does that matter?

            This is a story of affluent Americans who face challenges typical of many couples, but who also have the issue of race as a threat in the shadows. Roy is clearly innocent, yet it takes his lawyer five years to work past the bigoted local justice system to get him cleared. Then he returns to find what home now looks like, to deal with a brittle spirit that has endured evils he never knew existed, and a life without the mother he adored. 

              Celestial has moved on and, in her defense, she asks Roy, “Would you have waited for me for five years?”

            “This wouldn't have happened to you,” Roy replies. She is, after all, not a black man. But what Roy doesn't understand is the way in which being a woman has forced Celestial into a style of thinking and acting that confines her at the same time it defines her creative spirit. She is also broken.

            Ultimately, they both find a level of comfort and, perhaps, end up where they should have been in the first place. 

            Celestial and Roy are alternately charming and annoying, selfish yet giving. An American Marriage offers plenty of questions but no easy answers. It’s worth reading twice—once to get the story, once to get the characters. —Pat Prijatel 

Foolish Church, by Lee Roorda Schott

Pastor Lee visited with the Books, Brews, and Banter group this April. We talked about her inspiring book and how we might apply her wisdom to our own lives.  Below are three individual reviews of her book, which are also posted on Amazon's page for the book.

This powerful book is somewhat scholarship (footnotes and an extensive bibliography), somewhat how-to (discussion questions at the end of each chapter, plus helpful, practical appendices), and somewhat a memoir of Pastor Lee Roorda Schoot's leading a church inside a women's prison. But most of all, it's a passionate argument to make our churches really real—not just shiny, happy places where the nice people go periodically.

In a well-paced, anecdotal style, Pastor Lee convinces the reader (at least this reader) that if we open our churches (with wise and necessary boundaries) to ex-offenders, we also open our hearts and minds in a way that benefits each of us and the whole community.

FOOLISH CHURCH: MESSY, RAW, REAL, AND MAKING ROOM isn't just a book about welcoming ex-offenders. It's a book about welcoming ourselves and the worst things we have ever done. About acknowledging life's messiness. And making room.—Sharelle Moranville

  

"Pastor Lee," as the inmates at the Iowa Correctional Facility for Women at Mitchellville call her, gets down to the raw and messy sides of being part of a church today. Are we welcoming? Inclusive? Judgmental? Do we accept one another's scars (and our own), or are we looking for a sanitized community that's an idealized version of ourselves? In clear, direct and inspirational prose, Schott shows us the way to the church community we could be, using her relationship with women inmates as a model. A book well worth reading for any faith community. — Pat Prijatel

Foolish Church is a relatively short book that is long on wisdom about how to build more caring communities with room for people the church has often overlooked. Her message is a powerful, yet simple message that applies to all of us.  It is a plea to move beyond an assembly of the upright and proper, to make room for those on the edges of respectability. 

One quote that really resonates is “how do we become churches that build boundaries, but not walls.” Are we welcoming, inclusive, judgmental, or looking for a sanitized community? I believe that those are also questions that should be heeded by our President in making our country one that builds boundaries, not walls. —Ken Johnson

News of the World, by Paulette Jiles

In today’s world, we get our “news of the world” instantly, and literally, at the touch of our fingers—on computers, iPads, iPhones, TVs, car radios, and if you still read them, newspapers.  

But a century before all that sophisticated, fun and sometimes overwhelming communications technology worked its way into our modern world, citizens were hungry for news of their states and of the world.  

Enter Captain Jefferson Kidd, a grizzled elderly widower who has lived through three wars and  fought in two of them.  He made his living in Texas as a printer until he lost his business during the War Between the States.  In 1870, at the age of 71, the Captain finds a new way to make a living and enjoy the freedom of the road.  He travels from town to town and state to state, giving live readings from newspapers to audiences who are hungry for news of the world and who are willing to pay 20 cents to have him read it to them.   

He enjoys his rootless, solitary existence.Then in Wichita Falls, he is offered a $50 gold piece to deliver a fiesty, 9-year-old orphan girl to her family.  Four years earlier, a band of Kiowa raiders killed her parents and sister, but spared the little girl and raised her as one of their own.  She was recently rescued by the U.S. Army.  Now the grizzled old man and the lost little girl both have to learn to take care of each other and find their place in the world. Joanna tries to escape every way and every chance she gets, including throwing her shoes away. But slowly they begin to form a bond during their 400-mile journey, and begin to trust each other.

Jiles is a wonderful writer, telling an imaginative story. Her descriptions make both characters and their environment alive and believable.  I loved every creative twist and turn of this book and couldn’t wait to see what happened to the Captain and Johanna.  — Gail Stilwill