Posts Tagged C.S. Lewis
The books I read in 2012 are listed below. Favorites included David Brooks’ The Social Animal, Charles Murray’s Coming Apart, Whittaker Chambers’ Witness, and, to no surprise, Fyodor Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov.
What did you read? What were some of your favorites?
My good friend RJ Moeller has conceived of a fun little project he’s calling his Social Media Book Club. For those following me on Twitter, you may have already noticed that I participated in the first go-around, reading and tweeting through C.S. Lewis’s The Great Divorce. The goal is to share the experience over social media, particularly Twitter, bounce questions, quotes, and observations off of each other, and develop a fun little community.
Today (11/29/12), we’ll begin reading our second title, G.K. Chesterton’s The Man Who Was Thursday. The themes of the novel are highly relevant to topics commonly discussed here at Remnant Culture —the limits of human knowledge and the allure of rationalism and materialism — and it’s a short book, so don’t be intimidated. We’ll be aiming to tackle a couple of chapters each day, and you can share your thoughts or questions any time of the day you like.
I encourage you to join us and share the experience on Twitter using the hashtag #MyManThursday. Some initial folks to follow are Hunter Baker, Joy Pullmann, Brandon Smith, Daniel Suhr, and, of course, RJ Moeller. You can download a free PDF of the book here, or read it in your Web browser here. For more about how the book club works, visit RJ’s blog.
If you’re still unsure about participating, I encourage you to whet your appetite on the poem that Chesterton uses to kick things off:
A cloud was on the mind of men, and wailing went the weather,
Yea, a sick cloud upon the soul when we were boys together.
Science announced nonentity and art admired decay;
The world was old and ended: but you and I were gay.
Round us in antic order their crippled vices came—
Lust that had lost its laughter, fear that had lost its shame.
Like the white lock of Whistler, that lit our aimless gloom,
Men showed their own white feather as proudly as a plume.
Life was a fly that faded, and death a drone that stung;
The world was very old indeed when you and I were young.
They twisted even decent sin to shapes not to be named:
Men were ashamed of honour; but we were not ashamed.
Weak if we were and foolish, not thus we failed, not thus;
When that black Baal blocked the heavens he had no hymns from us.
Children we were—our forts of sand were even as weak as we,
High as they went we piled them up to break that bitter sea.
Fools as we were in motley, all jangling and absurd,
When all church bells were silent our cap and bells were heard.
Not all unhelped we held the fort, our tiny flags unfurled;
Some giants laboured in that cloud to lift it from the world.
I find again the book we found, I feel the hour that flings
Far out of fish-shaped Paumanok some cry of cleaner things;
And the Green Carnation withered, as in forest fires that pass,
Roared in the wind of all the world ten million leaves of grass;
Or sane and sweet and sudden as a Read the rest of this entry »