Greetings!
You may have noticed that today is newsletter number 99. Next week we turn 100. If you’ve ever thought of sharing this newsletter with anyone, this is the week. I have a nice giveaway to subscribers planned for next week.
Look, I even gave you a button:
As ever, I’m really grateful for everyone here who continues to read, share, and comment, either here online or in person.
The Part Where There’s an Essay: Loving it Later
Last week, I received in the mail a copy of my alumni magazine from my alma mater. I usually leaf through it but don’t spend much time on it. Social media has overtaken the former function of the alumni magazine: the last few pages, featuring updates on your classmates. Before Facebook, we used to find out about marriages, babies, new jobs, and relocations from the pages of a magazine.
One announcement caught my eye this time: the obituary of an old professor of mine. I only had him for one class, for my English concentration: “Theology and Oxford Christian Writers.”
If I remember correctly, this gentleman had studied under a teacher who was taught by CS Lewis. So we used to joke that we were great-grandchildren of the man himself. We read a few by Lewis (Mere Christianity, Perelandra, and some essays), Dorothy Sayers, and some others. Most famously on campus, though, was the fact that this was the class where you got to read the entirety of The Lord of the Rings. Students, more often men than women, would line up to take this class for that specific reason.
Reader, I am ashamed to say this experience was lost on me.
I wasn’t ready to appreciate “The Greatest Novel of the 20th Century” yet. I remember struggling through the chapter “The Council of Elrond” especially. I couldn’t keep everyone’s names, races, and homelands straight — to say nothing of the undercurrent of motivations and old rivalries that might exist.
I left too much reading to too little time. I didn’t enjoy it at all. I was swamped with other classes, too, as junior year for education majors is notoriously the year where you don’t sleep very much. In my spare time, I was creating unit studies for imaginary students, learning how to conduct reading evaluations, and learning statistics for Ed majors (yuck).
All that being said, I could have — I should have — done better. Fortunately, I still have my notes from the class, and no matter how little I got from the reading, I did take very good notes.
Fast forward ten years, and I was ready and willing to dive into the story with abandon. It’s now on my list of favorites, at the top on some days. I have memorized quotes. I haven’t gone to the depths that some people have1, but I do know the basic list of characters, locations, and details. I know how the films differ2. I return to the book when I need a bit of comfort and familiarity.
Reading is a relationship with a work. If you are discouraged that your children or students don’t seem to be connecting with their reading, don’t lose hope. You might be laying the groundwork for them to love it later. The real grandeur of reading is when our hearts and souls intersect at the right moment with the right piece. This doesn’t happen every time, and we shouldn’t expect it to.
The same goes for you. It’s OK to put something down and pick it up again another time…or never pick it up again at all.
For the Anglophiles
Here’s a brief bit about thatched roofs3. According to the info here, these masterpieces often last thirty years or more.
Reads & Listens of the Week
We are big fans of Nate Bargatze’s comedy, so we cheered when we learned that he’s been asked to host Saturday Night Live this weekend.
A Virginia woman was feeling sad. Her doctor prescribed her a cat. This lady ended up buying a cat, three ears of corn, and a canteloupe for $3.
I enjoyed Alissa Wilkinson’s take on the ending of Killers of the Flower Moon, plus how it reflects Scorsese’s larger themes recently. (spoilers) “…his late work is almost painfully reflective, introspective in a way that invites viewers to look inside themselves, if they’re willing.”
Lastly, I wanted to include this in case anyone missed it. This is outside the Tel Aviv Museum: “Empty Shabbat Table,” featuring 203 empty chairs, one for each hostage taken on 10/7. A good example of what art can do.
To everyone we love we give a knife. The knife is shaped to pass through the bones of our chests like a key in a lock. Nothing else can cut our hearts so deeply. ― Daniel Nayeri, The Many Assassinations of Samir, the Seller of Dreams
let’s face it, it’s a part-time job for some. Or full-time.
a moment of silence for movie Faramir.
it’s OK to sing about Trogdor here if you’re of a certain age.
Those footnotes. 👌
🐉