The Call of the Wild, by Jack London

I was struck by the wisdom of God in pronouncing the Sabbath day a day of rest. Many of the problems of fatigue and disorganization in this book could have been solved and even turned for the better by observing the Sabbath. Buck, as our main character is known throughout most of the novel, is quite literally run until he gives out. He starts as a house dog, king of his domain, and learns his place and how to survive in the wild.

Buck's adjustment to survival in the wild involves "the decay or going to pieces of his moral nature, a vain thing and a handicap in the ruthless struggle for existence. (p24)" The problem with this is that there is no line drawn then, and dogs are torn apart by other dogs, or teased mercilessly until their spirits break. So it is with man, and the morality must exist and bar us from crossing those lines.

At one point Buck has an "ideal master. Other men saw to the welfare of their dogs from a sense of duty and business expediency; he saw to the welfare of his as if they were his own children, because he could not help it. And he saw further. He never forgot a kindly greeting or a cheering word, and to sit down for a long talk with them... was as much his delight as theirs. (p76-77)" What a model for parenthood! Should we not, as parents, be unable to help the love and care we give, and delight in discussion with our children! How they will love and honor us if we could but be so respectful and loving.

Though Buck is not close to death at the time this quote is given, it struck me as a sort of eulogy, complex and beautiful:

He was older than the days he had seen and the breaths he had drawn. He linked the past with the present, and the eternity behind him throbbed through him in a mighty rhythm to which he swayed as the tides and seasons swayed. (p79)

(Spoiler alert, through the end:) There are two levels of "wild" addressed in this book, the first a transition from a domestic home (the 'law of love and fellowship') to survival as a sled dog (where the 'law of club and fang' rules). Buck eventually finds love and fellowship in the northern sled dog lands, and I think it is this return to peaceful living that enables him to hear within himself the call of the true wild, that of the dogs who have been running the earth fending for themselves since creation. He follows a wolf for quite some time, but then remember his master and the love and fellowship they share. He turns back.

For the better part of an hour the wild brother ran by his side, whining softly. Then he sat down, pointed his nose upward, and howled. It was a mournful howl, and as Buck held steadily on his way he heard it grow faint and fainter until it was lost in the distance. (p99)

So Buck is not able to embrace the wild until his fellowship with man ceases to exist. What a blessing that in the true gospel of Jesus Christ we are able to take our families back with us when we return to God.

Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte

An abyss of blackness, child abuse, and misguided souls, with twinkling lights of beauty and peace scattered throughout. The writing is powerful and the resolution stirring and complete. When life is stormy it is hard to see the precious bits of goodness in it, but they are the only thing to get us through.

Mrs. Dean, a housekeeper, is the primary narrator of the story. On page 76 the new master of the house asks her to tell the story, observing that she has

"no marks of the manners which I am habituated to consider as peculiar to your class. I am sure you have thought a great deal more than the generality of servants think. You have been compelled to cultivate your reflective faculties for want of occasions for frittering your life away in silly trifles."  

Mrs. Dean attributes it to having

"undergone sharp discipline, which has taught me wisdom; and then, I have read more than you would fancy ... you could not open a book in this library that I have not looked into, and got something out of also."

As a bit of background for this quote (p183), Edgar Linton really is significantly "less" than Heathcliff, who has depth and breadth that Edgar is neither interested in, nor comprehends. Also, Emily Bronte is sometimes accused of being too flowery or overbearing in these moments when speakers bare their souls, but her characters are larger than life, the epitome of themselves, and I never wanted for belief (or at least, I knew the characters absolutely believed). It may be a disservice to provide this quote to readers who haven't enjoyed the first portion of the novel, for you surely cannot appreciate it nearly as much if you had read it in context, but I include it here for myself too. Heathcliff is speaking:

"You think she has nearly forgotten me?" he said. "Oh, Nelly! you know she has not! You know as well as I do, that for every thought she spends on Linton, she spends a thousand on me! ... And then, Linton would be nothing, nor Hindley, nor all the dreams that ever I dreamt. Two words would comprehend my future--death and hell: existence, after losing her, would be hell. Yet I was a fool to fancy for a moment that she valued Edgar Linton's attachment more than mine. If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. And Catherine has a heart as deep as I have: the sea could be as readily contained in that horse-trough, as her whole affection be monopolized by him! Tush! He is scarcely a degree dearer to her than her dog, or her horse. It is not in him to be loved like me: how can she love in him what he has not?"

Mrs. Dean has enough respect for both parties, interestingly enough, that on page 207 when she observed

"on the floor a curl of light hair, fastened with a silver thread; which, on examination, I ascertained to have been taken from [Catherine's locket]. Heathcliff had opened the trinket and cast out its contents, replacing them by a black lock of his own. I twisted the two, and enclosed them together."

Again, this quote (p213) is not much exaggerated:

"He's not a human being," she retorted; "and he has no claim on my charity. I gave him my heart and he took and pinched it to death, and flung it back to me. People feel with their heart, Ellen: and since he has destroyed mine, I have not power to feel for him."

I took some time to ponder the truth of this statement, then the power of the atonement. Feeling is only possible again when our heart has been changed by the Savior.

There are several reviews published in the back of the novel. I found this unsigned review (p435) from The Examiner in January 1848 to be meaningful:

We ... willingly trust ourselves with an author who goes at once fearlessly into the moors and desolate places, for his heroes; but we must at the same time stipulate with him that he shall not drag into light all that he discovers, of coarse and loathsome. ... It is the province of the artist to modify and in some case refine what he beholds in the ordinary world.

This again refers to how true the characters are to their own form - nothing is hidden of the alcoholism or the verbal, emotional, and physical abuse doled out. As my first paragraph stated, this book is sometimes an abyss of blackness, child abuse, and misguided souls, but twinkling lights of beauty and peace are scattered throughout, most notably in the form of kind or wise souls and the beauties of nature. Light and goodness are ours for the taking, even while in a storm.

How to talk so Kids Will Listen & Listen so Kids will Talk, by Faber and Mazlish

www.fabermazlish.com

An excellent book with very relevant strategies. The authors raised 6 children between them and never used a time out. That is very appealing to me, though I haven't been able to switch gears quite yet. I recommend, as they do, taking time to read each chapter and implement the skills (I've had the book about 10 weeks now). If you need a refresher (or are in a hurry) you can read through the cartoons and checklists and be back on your feet with the program in a few minutes.

"Practical, sensible, lucid... the approaches Faber and Mazlish lay out are so logical you wonder why you read them with suach a burst of discovery." -Family Journal 

I agree with that statement completely. Everything in the book is common (or uncommon) sense, and based on respecting everyone. This method works for all ages and works along with Love and Logic, my favorite way to approach children from my teaching years.

Loved it!

Fahrenheit 451, by Ray Bradbury

The poor man, Montag, has an awful life, but maybe everybody in the book does. (Everyone uses sleeping pills, at any rate.) Such is the truth in any dystopian novel though. This one particularly highlights the importance of every person being educated and loving learning, especially through books. Montag is a fireman, in a time when houses are fireproof. His job is to go burn those houses that have books inside them. This did not start as a government mandate though, the people gradually stopped using books and eventually turned against them. Fahrenheit 451 is the temperature at which paper burns.

One day on the way home he meets his new neighbor, Clarise, who is the only happy person in the novel. She lives in a world her own and actually sees things around her and thinks. After they've known each other awhile, they have this exchange:

"Why is it," he said, some time, at the subway entrance, "I feel I've known you so many years?"

"Because I like you," she said, "and I don't want anything from you. And because we know each other."

An older man in the community who grew up with books and still loves them describes the three things missing from the people in that day. Lack of these three things led to the demise of the printed word: quality books, the leisure to digest them, and the right to carry out actions based on what we learn from the interaction of the first two. During the discussion on those three points this gentleman says "Books can be beaten down with reason. But with all my knowledge and skepticism, I have never been able to argue with a one-hundred-piece symphony orchestra..." I love that quote. Music is so powerful, but it is also ephemeral. The truth cuts both ways.

Later when Montag has some time to slow down and think, "He saw the moon low in the sky now. The moon there, and the light of the moon caused by what? By the sun, of course, and what lights the sun? Its own fire. And the sun goes on, day after day, burning and burning. The sun and time. The sun and time and burning. Burning. The sun and every clock on the earth. It all came together and became a single thing in his mind. After a long time... he knew why he must never burn again in his life. The sun burnt every day. It burnt Time. The world rushed in a circle and turned on its axis and time was busy burning the years and the people anyway, without any help from him. So if he burnt things with the firemen and the sun burnt Time, that meant that everything burnt! One of them had to stop burning. The sun wouldn't, certainly. So it looked as if it had to be Montag and the people he had worked with... The world was full of burning of all types and sizes." What do I burn? How do I burn? What things in my life do I need to alter to become, instead, one who does "the saving... the putting away... the keeping"?

At one point Montag leaves the city and finds a kind of fire he never knew: "That small motion, the white and red color, a strange fire because it meant a different thing to him. 

It was not burning. It was warming. 

... He hadn't known fire could look this way. He had never thought in his life that it could give as well as take. Even its smell was different."

There are several afterwards by the author in the book. He discusses censorship and other 'burning' of his own works, and shares his thoughts on digression, which I found interesting and will share here. "Digression is the soul of wit. Take philosophic asides away from Dante, Milton, or Hamlet's father's ghost and what stays is dry bones. Laurence Sterne said it once: Digressions, incontestably, are the sunshine, the life, the soul of reading! Take them out and one cold eternal winter would reign in every page. Restore them to the writer--he steps forth like a bridegroom, bids them all-hail, brings in variety and forbids the appetite to fail." This caused me no little reflection, and I am resolved to notice the use of digression more in my reading.

The Three Musketeers, by Alexandre Dumas

What delightful intrigue! And the four men are such honorable fellows, except when they're not, and they always tell the truth, except when they don't, and the subject of a mistress enters into 90% of the conversations, it seems, and it was normal at this time period. One of the explanatory notes on this topic was very interesting to me, stating that the eldest son inherited the family fortune (which I knew) and that his wife then proceeded to support the younger sons of other families through her affairs (which makes perfect sense from a financial distribution perspective, and is simply appalling from a moral perspective.) But now I have those perspectives.

The most striking and fascinating character to me was Lady de Winter, also known by many other names, who is vile to the core and seeks only for her own betterment. She's an incredible judge of character, superbly observant, and unbelievably shrewd. And she uses all her skills to serve herself alone. I enjoyed watching her mind work, especially as she found a religious target and took on the semblance of his religion to ruin him. She is a remarkable case study of the need for the spirit of discernment.

In chapter 7 Porthos, one of the three Musketeers, hires a lackey (servant) for d'Artagnan. The lackey was "found on the Tournelle Bridge, making rings by spitting into the water. Porthos had decided that this occupation was proof of a reflective and contemplative nature, and he had hired him immediately, without any other recommendation." Which tells you something of Porthos' nature, but also is foreshadowing of the usefulness of the lackey.

On page 276 d'Artagnan is contemplating Athos' person and temperament, and says he has "that unalterable evenness of temper which made him the most pleasant companion in the world." Remaining calm in cases of danger and keeping a level head in cases of excitement are both valuable. But does having an unalterably even temper make one the most pleasant companion? I don't agree with Dumas on this point.

At one point d'Artagnan is meets two women, loving one and barely noticing the other. The one he loves (Milady) disdains him; the one he barely notices (a servant) worships the ground he walks on. He asks this servant to carry a letter with awful news to Milady, and the servant runs as fast as she can to deliver it. Dumas then states "The heart of the best woman is pitiless toward the sorrows of a rival." (p.359) After pondering this for awhile, I decided that for the most part, it is true. When two women are seeking the same man, it is incredibly difficult to have charitable feelings toward the opponent.

Later on d'Artagnan's skill and value in the service of the king are noticed, and the cardinal tries to bribe d'Artagnan, offering his heart's desire (and life long goal, and father's final wish for him, etc) if d'Artagnan will leave the service of the king. D'Artagnan graciously declines. He "turned to leave, but at the door his heart almost failed him and he nearly turned back. Then the image of Athos's noble and severe face crossed his mind: if he agreed to accept the cardinal's offer, Athos would refuse to give him his hand--Athos would disown him. It was this fear that restrained him, so powerful is the influence of a truly great character on everyone around it." Enough said.

Let me return to the observation that these men are the most honorable of all, except when they're not.