Time for a new and very visible thread!
It would be useful to say a little what the book's about.
It would be useful to say a little what the book's about.
Last edited:
What are You Reading Now?
- Thread starter jpmcwjr
- Start date
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Just finished this one. Ordered book 2 of the series, should be here in a few days. 
Just finished reading ‘The Weight of Ink’ by Rachel Kadish. Fantastic book. Currently reading a farewell to arms by Hemingway.
Working through The Silmarillion again. Damn you Tolkien for making such good material.
"In this revelatory work, Barbara W. Tuchman examines not only the great rhythms of history but the grain and texture of domestic life: what childhood was like; what marriage meant; how money, taxes, and war dominated the lives of serf, noble, and clergy alike."
Fascinating stuff.
This looks really interesting, I am definitely going to look into it. I've found myself more and more interested in quotidian/domestic history of late, and this looks like it is right in that mold.
I am currently reading "The Praktikos and Chapters on Prayer" by Evagrius Ponticus. It is a work by a 4th century desert monk that laid the groundwork for much of the spiritual practices of monks up until modern times. I am also reading the fourth Harry Potter book to my son.
Mountain Man: John Coulter, The Lewis & Clark Expedition and the Call of the American West by David Weston Marshall
A fascinating account of his explorations of the American west, focusing more on his time after the Lewis and Clark expedition. Well written and very enjoyable to read.
A fascinating account of his explorations of the American west, focusing more on his time after the Lewis and Clark expedition. Well written and very enjoyable to read.
My father helped build the Gemini capsules so this era of space flight has always held a special fascination for me.
Working on two right now. My garage book is "Welcoming Gifts: Sacrifice in the Bible and Christian Life" by The Right Rev. Archimandrite Jeremy Davis.
My indoor book is "An Extraordinary Peace: St. Seraphim, Flame of Sarov" by Archimandrite Lazarus Moore.
Enjoying both so far!
My indoor book is "An Extraordinary Peace: St. Seraphim, Flame of Sarov" by Archimandrite Lazarus Moore.
Enjoying both so far!
Just started reading this…not too bad so far. He was a strange & fascinating character for sure.
️
Only into the first few chapters but it is very similar to "Water for Elephants" in a lot of ways if you've read that one. The main character is a dust bowler whose family succumbed to the dust bowl pneumonia. He heads east to New York to find work as a dock worker with the only family he has left. Shortly after his arrival in New York a terrible hurricane rips through the area resulting in nearly killing him, and definitely taking his cousin...the last bit of his family and the only job security he has. In the aftermath of this storm, still in a daze he wanders to the dock to witness the arrival of a pair of giraffes who've just arrived on a ship from Africa. A bewildering and also somehow inspiring moment for him. He is drawn to these wondrous creatures and so follows thier convoy without knowing exactly why.
The story is part fiction and part true. The story of two giraffes surviving a hurricane while crossing the Atlantic en route to the San Diego zoo is true, and recieved a lot of press in the 1930s. The book is good so far...but as I've said, I'm only a few chapters in.
Re-reading "Denial of Death" by Ernest Becker. It's been about 20 years since the last time I read it. It's about Existential Psychology. I leant it out to a former student of mine about 10 years ago, who was a retired math teacher, and he said he read the whole thing, and got nothing out of it. I'd still recommend it, but it has a lot of shit in it that many people might rather not know or think about. For me, it still contains some pay dirt. YMMV.
Actually rereading. One, a book about Appalachian pottery - I collect it in its various forums.
And then I pulled out some old issues PC for light reading material. Chose these mainly because I'm stumped on what to read next.
And then I pulled out some old issues PC for light reading material. Chose these mainly because I'm stumped on what to read next.
I used to be able to recite it all from memory, the same as my mother, grandmother, and dear old friend Jack could, but today I have to cheat and read it several times first.
The best cold weather poem, in literature:
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Xxxx
The best cold weather poem, in literature:
The Cremation of Sam McGee
BY ROBERT W. SERVICEThere are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."
On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."
Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursèd cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'tain't being dead—it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."
A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."
Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows— O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."
Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked"; ... then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.
Xxxx
La peste by Albert Camus in Spanish 
Spanish is my another hobby.
Spanish is my another hobby.
The York Patrol:
The Real Story of Alvin York and the Unsung Heroes Who Made Him World War I's Most Famous Soldier
The Real Story of Alvin York and the Unsung Heroes Who Made Him World War I's Most Famous Soldier
I have to admit, though... it isn't very good. The combat is confused and full of extraneous detail, and the primary events were glossed over in a couple of pages.
I finished Faith Alone: the Heart of Everything by Bo Giertz. It is the story of two brothers, a Catholic priest and a scribe, navigating the tumultuous civil war (and resulting unification) in Sweden in the 1500’s. This coincides with the reformation movement sweeping through Europe, which further complicates everything.
In this historical fiction, Giertz tackles deep theological questions of faith, grace and glory as well as the intersection of religion, faith, politics, war and family. All wrapped up in historically correct locations, events and individuals. The issues seem especially relevant to me with what I have witnessed here in the US the last 4 years.
The book is “meaty” with period correct terms and practices that don’t have a modern equivalent and Swedish words that don’t translate directly to English so put your thinking caps on.
In this historical fiction, Giertz tackles deep theological questions of faith, grace and glory as well as the intersection of religion, faith, politics, war and family. All wrapped up in historically correct locations, events and individuals. The issues seem especially relevant to me with what I have witnessed here in the US the last 4 years.
The book is “meaty” with period correct terms and practices that don’t have a modern equivalent and Swedish words that don’t translate directly to English so put your thinking caps on.