lory_enterenchanted's Reviews (582)

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

Mrs Harris Goes to Paris - A fluffy entertainment that is decidedly of an earlier day. 

Mrs Harris Goes to New York - Even more unbelievable and more sentimental than MSGTP. My favorite part was when Mrs H visited various districts of old New York, in search of the elusive George Brown.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

This was sort of sweet, but nothing terribly special. The translation at times seemed clumsy and stiff, and the storytelling was odd - with its breaks from the action to tell us the backstory of the characters. I wonder how that would have been incorporated in the form of a play. 

The idea was not bad -- what if you could go back in time but couldn't really change the outcome in the future; is meaningful change still possible? -- and was worked out in a few different ways. But it was too quick and shallow to make much impression on me.

It was also not addressed what happens when one goes back to a point in time where one was already present in the cafe. What happens to the other "version" of you? Though other "rules" were repeatedly discussed, this classic time travel paradox got no attention, which seems strange.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

I love Joy Harjo's books. I feel as though I've found a spiritual teacher, an older-sister guide who can instruct me about the path I also want to follow: Poet-Warrior-Healer. So grateful for her eloquent, heartful, insightful words!

Some quotes I marked for sharing and contemplation:

A family is essentially a field of stories, each intricately connected. Death does not sever the connection; rather, the story expands as it continues unwinding interdimensionally.

My failures have been my most exacting teachers. They are all linked by one central characteristic, and that is the failure to properly regard the voice of inner truth. That voice speaks softly. It is not jugmental, full of pride, or otherwise loud. It does not deride, shame, or otherwise attempt to derail you. When I fail to trust what my deepest knowing tells me, then I suffer. The voice of inner truth, or the knowing, has access to the wisdom of eternal knowledge. The perspective of that voice is timeless.

East: A healer learns through wounding, illness, and death.
North: A dreamer learns through deception, loss, and addiction.
West: A musician learns through silence, loneliness, and endless roaming.
South: A poet learns through injustice, wordlessness, and not being heard.
Center: A wanderer learns through standing still.

When I listen, I am always led in the right direction. That doesn't mean the resultant path is easy. It might be the more difficult path. You may have to clear boulders, walk through fire after fire, or try to find footing in precarious flooding. You will play the wrong notes and write words that mean nothing to anyone else but you. And you may appear to have followed the wrong path even though it was the right path, as you fail over and over again.

I do not want to be haunted by that which I cannot speak. Or by that which is by nature unspeakable. 

Then speak.
Grow poetry in the debris left behind by rage.
Plant so there is enough for everyone to eat.
Make sure there is room for everyone at the table.
Let all of us inhabit the story, in peace.

Even when we are young, we know things. We know when we have broken a law. We don't always know how to put things back together.

Is this the nature of mothers and mothering? Does each generation carry forth the wounding that needs to be healed, from mother to mother, cooking pot to cooking pot, song to poetry, and poetry to beadwork, until one day in eternity we will understand what we have created together?

My family didn't understand my gift or me. I didn't fully understand it either. All I knew was that I had to go wherever it took me. Every place it took me I found something I needed, sort of an extended lifelong scavenger hunt game. I picked up a piece I needed in every location and I assumed that one day they would all fit together, and I would finally understand what it all means.

There is no story, [she] told them, without the hard parts.
The hard parts teach us how to live, so that we will know without a doubt what we carry.

Now, breathe.
And when you breathe remember the source of the gift of all breathing.
When you walk, remember the source of the gift of all walking.
And when you run, remember the source of the gift of all running.
And when you laugh, remember the source of the gift of all laughter.
And when you cry, remember the source of the gift of all tears.
And when your heart is broken, remember the source of the gift of all breaking.
And when your heart is put back together, remember the source of all putting back together.

To hear poetry in person is to experience poetry as it is traditionally meant to be experienced, that is, you feel it breathe and experience how it travels out dynamically to become part of the winds skirting the earth, even as we inhale and take the words into our bloodstream. To speak is to bring into being. Poetry can bring rain, make someone fall in love, can hold the grief of a nation. Poetry is essentially an oral art whose roots are intertwined with music and dance.

I believe every poem is ritual: there is a naming, a beginning, a knot or question, then possibly revelation, and then closure, which can be opening, setting the reader, speaker, or singer out and back on a journey.

Momaday's poem, and perhaps every poem, establishes itself as a kind of "I am" assertion. A poem exists because it says: "I am the voice of the poet or what is moving through time, place, and event; I am sound sense and words; I am made of all this; and though I may not know where I am going, I will show you, and we will sing together."

Her house was thick with song resonance. Through her eyes i came to see that all is spiritual and either we move about respectfully within it, or we are lost.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

Read for the #LoveHain readalong in 2023. This was essentially a Bronze Age culture-clash-slash-battle story transposed to a different planet. I wonder why Le Guin was not drawn to writing historical fiction? Anyway, it's not a bad tale. There are two components to the SciFi premise. One is that of a planet that takes 60 years to orbit its sun, and thus each season is 15 years long. The story begins at the time of preparing for winter, which is no joke. The other idea is that colonizers from the League of All Worlds (See Rocannon's World) have been left behind when their compatriots left to fight the big Enemy. They insist they immune to bacteria of this world, and that they can't mate with the native inhabitants, but is that true? Things seem to be changing, over 600 years of evolution.

So, it's interesting to play around with natural-scientific facts in this way, and imagine different possibilities. Based on current understanding it seems impossible that the colonists could sterilize themselves to the point of bearing no foreign bacteria into the new world, and not be affected by the bacteria found there; we can't function without our microbiota and we're in constant interplay with our environment on a microbial level. But this was not known at the time of writing.

The siege in the city was a bit boring, with a faceless barbarian enemy and alien snow monsters, meh. More interesting was the tensions between colonists and natives, which were touched on but not very much developed in an inter-species romance. In her introcution written years later, Le Guin acknowledges that she was just getting to understand that her field of science fiction was about the social sciences, and that would be strengthened in later books.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

I'm pretty sure this was assigned reading at some point in school, but I remember nothing of my reading then. Reading it now, I know it is one of the great novels of our time, perhaps the greatest war novel. It is a prophetic account of the turning point in human consciousness, the turning that we need to take up now and strengthen and fulfill: the recognition of how harmful, destructive forces work in us and need to be consciously faced and dismantled. Paul, the book's young protagonist, loses that battle, but by telling his story with such compassion and such unflinching honesty Remarque gives readers the opportunity to search their own souls and to wonder how such senseless war can be stopped there, at the root of our being.

Today, we know so much more than 100 years ago about trauma and how our bodies and brains respond to the kind of relentless threat and danger the young soldiers were pushed into. We know that merely talking about trauma does not heal it, much less pushing it aside and ignoring it, as the next generations tried to do. We know also about how vital human connections and love are to our survival, how comradeship became something to live for and to die for, much more than the senselessness of nationalism. All of this is demonstrated in Paul's raw, brave testimony. He could not find healing, except in the death he welcomed in the end, but we who have inherited his world have to go further.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

The Farthest Shore, third book in Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea sequence, was originally published in 1972. Picking it up for a reread today, in the splendid new Folio Society edition, I think how timely it seems, how close to our current condition, in the guise of a fantasy about a world that never existed. Can entering this world, through the bridge of imagination, art, and story, bring us any hope or guidance for our present dilemmas? 

It’s a world in the grip of a strange malaise, slowly being drained of the magic and meaningfulness that had formed the ground of its existence. Wizards are forgetting their spells, artisans their craft; even the great, powerful and dangerous dragons are losing the language that is woven into their being, the creative words of the Old Tongue. The springs of life are running dry, and all is turning to dust. 

Ged, whom we last met as a young wizard on a perilous quest in The Tombs of Atuan, is now Archmage, responsible for ordering and shaping the course of magic in Earthsea. Together with Arren, a young prince who has been sent to ask him for guidance, he sets out on another quest that will bring them both to the borders of life and death itself. 

We see mainly over the shoulder of Arren, who is instantly filled with a great devotion for the all-powerful mage who makes no display of power, and wants to follow and serve him. But his love is tested when their quest leads them only to scenes of ugliness, despair, and madness: people destroyed by the drugs they’ve turned to to soothe their anxiety and pain; islanders turned hostile and violent, against strangers and even each other. Wounded and adrift, paralyzed by doubt, they are saved by an encounter with a group of raft-dwellers, who rarely even set foot on the solid earth, and have not so far been touched by the malaise of Earthsea. 

The final scenes take place in the realm of the dragons, where the clues the pair have picked up along the way lead them to the source of illness, the vortex of fear and greed that must be healed if Earthsea is to be saved from falling into doom. 
 

Like all of the Earthsea stories, it’s told in beautifully simple yet rich language, full of archetypal resonance and vivid, unforgettable imagery. I felt myself to be walking with Arren and Ged through the unsavory streets of Hort Town, witnessing the tragic undoing of the weavers of Lorbanery, floating on the rafts of the Children of the Open Sea — and their quest became mine, too, their questions my questions. With all the power we have gained over life and death in our modern world, all our efforts to control our environment and defend ourselves from danger, we seem also to be losing what makes our existence true and meaningful, the life that springs up within life. Could it be that the key is not power, but surrender, or offering? As Arren says, “I have given my love to what is worthy of love. Is that not the kingdom and the unperishing spring?” 

Seven illustrations are again provided by David Lupton, whose murky, moody images, selectively brightened with tones of turquoise and gold, capture the darkness and danger of Arren and Ged’s adventure. My favorite aspect of the design of this series, though, is the binding designs; now that there are three volumes, we can see how they complement each other with their monochrome images laid over three different background tones, enlivened with silver and gold metallic highlights. They are striking and beautiful, whether looking at the full covers on display together, or just the spines lined up on the shelf. The titles are set in Dulcinea Serif, an unusual typeface that merges two historical styles, calligraphic uncial script and a classic Roman chiseled font, and seems just right for the elemental magic of Earthsea. 
 

In her afterword, Le Guin explains how the series evolved as she went along, finding her way: “I learn by going where I have to go,” she quotes from a favorite poem by Theodore Roethke. For many years The Farthest Shore was considered the final book of a trilogy, but after a long pause she returned to Earthsea with new discoveries and a shift of focus; I only hope that Folio won’t wait so long to bring us the rest of Earthsea.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

This take-off on David Copperfield goes off in quite a different direction, I feel -- much darker and bleaker than Dickens, in the latter part of the story. David wrestled with the poor choices of his youth, but rose above them, while Demon is nearly done in. 

It's interesting to see how mores have changed in 150 years, as the sexual morality that obsessed the Victorians is now a non-issue; drugs taking its place as the vector of evil. The class distinctions that are central to Dickens also lack a parallel in Demon's life; the whole population of Lee County seems to be considered a kind of class apart from the rest of America, and the book is a protest and an expose of the lot they have been unfairly handed down.

The relationship to the earlier novel, which I reread in preparation, is not always advantageous to Kingsolver. At first, it was clever and brought out interesting resonances, but later began to feel somewhat forced. I could imagine it being better to take the central characters and overall arc of Copperfield, and create entirely new secondary characters and plot strands, rather than contriving equivalents that are so far-fetched. However, it's too late for that edit.

The mood in general is much more cynical and bitter. Characters or relationships that brought some ethical light and soul warmth in Copperfield turn sour in Copperhead. The Micawbers, for example, who while impossible, untrustworthy spendthrifts did bring some affection into young David's life, turn into the McCobbs, who are portrayed much more negatively, as purely selfish opportunists. The Betsey Trotwood character, here a grandmother, sends Demon away because she doesn't want him around her house, and comes much less into the action. She never develops the love that transformed her in Copperfield, nor does she lose her fortune and become dependent on him -- a step in David's growth that in Demon is replaced by a descent into addiction, which would never permit him to take on such a responsibility. Even Mrs. Peggot (Peggoty) turns a cold shoulder to Demon when he's in need. Perhaps Kingsolver was trying to avoid Victorian sentimentality, but this also meant a loss of a certain amount of humanity in those characters. Sadly, that may accurately reflect the world we live in.

I also noticed, by contrast, how skilled Dickens was at giving us the sense of many different characters' voices, even within a first-person narrative. By the end of Copperhead, I was growing tired of the monotonous voice of Demon, who reported many events without even including direct speech, often giving them an almost throwaway quality.  Compare this with memorable moments in Dickens like Rosa Dartle's outburst, or the letters and speeches of Mr. Micawber. Mrs Gummidge's "lone lorn creetur..." Barkis is willin' ... it's all flattened out into Demon's vernacular, which has its own stylistic character but not much variety.

What does come across powerfully is the story of a young man, representative of so many ruined lives, who is nearly destroyed by the forces of exploitation, greed, and cruelty that have invaded his community. Life still struggles to endure, though, and love can still purify and heal. The ending is precariously hopeful, but the bleak reality that has been presented is an education and a wake-up call for all of us who need to recognize our complicity in this story. Every human child is our child, and everyone must work to restore justice and mercy to our human family, in whatever way may be open to us. On that, I think that Dickens and Kingsolver would agree.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

After my uncomfortable experience reading Autobiography of a Yogi, it was a relief to dive into poet Joy Harjo’s memoirs and encounter a completely different kind of spiritual teacher, an older-sister guide who can instruct me about the path I also want to follow: Poet, Warrior, Healer. I am so grateful for her eloquent, heartful, insightful words! 

Harjo has been through a great deal of suffering in her life, as her Native American parents fought and then split up when she was young, followed by her mother marrying an abusive white man whom she refused to leave. Young Joy had to fight hard to maintain her integrity and her creative fire, given all that was stacked against her in her family, as well as the forces oppressing her people. An important sojourn in a school that fostered her artistic gifts and connections to other Native American students and teachers helped to give her strength, but she quickly made some unwise relationship choices and had to learn more in the hard way. 

She wonderfully describes “the knowing,” an inner guide that, when she can listen to and be true to it leads her in the right direction. There are also points in her story where she doesn’t listen, and she pays the price. Following the wisdom of this “knowing” does not lead to an avoidance of suffering, but it does lead to deeper and more meaningful life. I tend not to trust any spiritual guidance that asserts otherwise, that claims to bypass suffering and make everything clear and simple. Harjo’s story is never simple or easy, but it is beautiful. 

Her writing style is often dreamlike, poetic, making jumps and drifting back and forth in time. Sometimes it loops around and considers the same events more than once, with different nuances. It’s definitely not a forward-driving, logical kind of narrative, so be prepared for that if you read it. But it weaves its own kind of spell, along with the poems and prayers that are incorporated into the story, and I loved every moment. 

Here are a few favorite quotes from Poet Warrior: 

My failures have been my most exacting teachers. They are all linked by one central characteristic, and that is the failure to properly regard the voice of inner truth. That voice speaks softly. It is not judgmental, full of pride, or otherwise loud. It does not deride, shame, or otherwise attempt to derail you. When I fail to trust what my deepest knowing tells me, then I suffer. The voice of inner truth, or the knowing, has access to the wisdom of eternal knowledge. The perspective of that voice is timeless. 

My family didn’t understand my gift or me. I didn’t fully understand it either. All I knew was that I had to go wherever it took me. Every place it took me I found something I needed, sort of an extended lifelong scavenger hunt game. I picked up a piece I needed in every location and I assumed that one day they would all fit together, and I would finally understand what it all means. 

To hear poetry in person is to experience poetry as it is traditionally meant to be experienced, that is, you feel it breathe and experience how it travels out dynamically to become part of the winds skirting the earth, even as we inhale and take the words into our bloodstream. To speak is to bring into being. Poetry can bring rain, make someone fall in love, can hold the grief of a nation. Poetry is essentially an oral art whose roots are intertwined with music and dance. 

I read about half of this, then skimmed the remaining advice. The author's life is too different from mine, I had a hard time relating.

Reviews and more on my blog: Entering the Enchanted Castle

I remember reading this when I was in France at age 19 and craving very long, English books. I devoured it then but don't believe I read it since. Picked it up this time in anticipation of reading Barbara Kingsolver's Demon Copperfield. What can I say about Dickens's masterpiece -- it creates a world of unforgettable characters, circling around the question of what makes a good person, a good life; how one comes through misfortunes without losing one's integrity. The heavy-handed moralizing around "fallen women" is the most jarring element, although to be expected for the time. I'm curious what Kingsolver does with this material.