2021 #17 The Pull of the Stars (Donoghue)

 

The Pull of the Stars by Emma Donoghue
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is not an easy read right now, not that it would ever be an easy read. But it is also the PERFECT read right now, in the way it reminds us that life is not 2020. It isn't 2021. It isn't 1918. Life is the maelstrom of our experiences -- messy, incomplete, unexpected, joyful, mournful. I might not recommend this book for expectant mothers, but truly a beautiful reflection on life that takes place over three days. The protagonist is who many of us are sometimes and who we sometimes wish we could be Donoghue shares lives without ceremony or overcharacterization--their stories are enough. Our stories are enough, and that is the lesson here.

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2021 #16: The Ways of White Folks (Hughes)

The Ways of White Folks by Langston Hughes
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

These may be short stories, but they are not short reads--nor should they be. Langston Hughes gives us a multi-dimensional look at racism through vivid characterization and writing that can be both acidic and tender. "Slave on the Block" looks at fetishization. "Home" and "The Blues I'm playing" should be required reading for music students--especially those studying the classical tradition. The final and longest story, "Father and Son" exposes the workings of classism and colorism, and is one of the most powerful short stories I have ever read. Throughout the book, questions of "home" and what that means seem to surface time and time again. This is one of the most important short story collections of the twentieth century, and is an essential inroad to understanding race relations in the U.S.

2021 #15: A Good Fall (Ha Jin)

 

A Good Fall by Ha Jin
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

There's a lot here: some whimsy, a lot of dark humor, some heartache...in other words, life. But here Ha Jin captures live with a hyper-consciousness of the experience of Chinese immigrants in the U.S. We are invited into struggles of love and life, often against the backdrop of Flushing in Queens, NYC, and sometimes the understanding is remote, and other times it is more visceral. "A Composer and his Parakeet" hearkens back to an older time of fables, while keeping a modern narrative. Other stories, such as "Choice" and "The House Behind the Weeping Cherry" demonstrate that necessity and circumstance can both blur lines and forge relationships. It is an excellent book for the nightstand, reading one story at a time. To read it cover to cover would likely be rather unwieldy, although it would likely highlight Ha Jin's overall message regarding immigrant experience. That the characters are dynamic and diverse is important unto itself, and this is a great offer to think about the many layers and facets of life that fly under the radar.

2021 #14: Clay's Ark (Butler)

 

Clay's Ark by Octavia E. Butler
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Reading this book was uncomfortable both in its 1980s sci-fi ethos and in reading it during a pandemic. That said, Butler's exploration of a tension between parasitism and symbiosis is really intriguing. I did find the character arcs to be on the weaker side, although the jumping between past and present is artfully done (and not gratuitous). The final showdown takes too long and seems sensationalist in its rampant violence, although I supposed there is a point to be made there. The humanity question is explored fairly well through some of the main protagonists, but one of the better aspects of the novel is that it redefines the protagonist role altogether. A worthwhile read, but I could have used more interrogation of the larger themes, and a little less sexual and bodily violence.

2021 #13: 10% Happier (Harris)

 

10% Happier: How I Tamed the Voice in My Head, Reduced Stress Without Losing My Edge, and Found Self-Help That Actually Works by Dan Harris
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Truly this is more of a memoir than a self-help book and I was glad of that. Harris is witty, and although his adverse reactions to the "touchy-feely" stuff have become a bit of a schtick for him, his practical application of his own come to... Buddha?...moments, is inspiring for its realness. The book is structured really well as it follows Campbell's Hero's journey more or less, although notably cycling back through departure here and there.

I came to the book AFTER learning about the app, which I have used daily for over a year, on the recommendation of my best friend. I've just recently started engaging with the podcast. Normally I'd be cautious of the enterprise of it all, but I do think Harris has keyed into something really important here. Enlightenment is not the goal, but finding the benefits of--as chapter 10 so elegantly notes-- "not being a dick" is more healthy than you might think. Harris walks us through many of the "typical" meditation experiences: reading/meeting Eckhart Tolle, reading/meeting Deepak Chopra...and chapter 7 takes us along for his first multi-day meditation retreat. For folks who squirm at the mere thought of a meditation retreat--this chapter is for you--and no, not because it might sell you on the idea of going to a retreat (it probably won't).

Harris's casual style and humble honesty about his own struggles is very effective in helping craft something that isn't a typical self-help book, but instead one of those stories to which almost everyone can find a way to connect. Some of the best nuggets are not about meditation, but about life--whether it is getting glued back to his iPhone directly after the retreat ("The habits of a lifetime reassert themselves with astonishing speed...." (150)), or noting the 90% challenges ("The ego, that slippery son of a bitch, would use fatigue as an opportunity to sneak past my weakened defenses." (204)). Harris's own self-consciousness is the real delight and lesson here---the memoir is an exercise in mindfulness, albeit not of the present moment. But if we can learn to seek out clarity of what is happening in the present moment, it bodes well for the future that will inevitably see these presents as pasts.

2021 #12: The Peppermint Tea Chronicles (44 Scotland Street #13--McCall Smith)

 

The Peppermint Tea Chronicles by Alexander McCall Smith
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

So, I did something I don't normally do -- I read a serial book out of order. I'm saying this upfront because I think it was a bit of a disservice to the book, but also, at the same time, it speaks well of the book that about halfway through, it didn't really matter any more.

So I had read Espresso Tales quite some time ago, without reading the first in the series and I can't really remember what impact that had on me. However, it does seem that my exposure to the characters in Volume 13 (The Peppermint Tea Chronicles) was less-than because I hadn't read 11 other volumes. I had relatively little interest in Bertie and his selfish mother, Matthew and Elspeth and their male au pair, or Angus and Domenica. However, I stuck with it and the characters who instantly drew me in were Big Lou and Ranald Braveheart Macpherson (maybe I have a bias for interesting names?). Of course I enjoyed the dry whimsy of Alexander McCall Smith's writing from the first pages, but it took me a bit to truly care.

But I'm glad I did--care, that is. For if I had not, I might have missed the stunning bits of subtext and commentary on our modern times. From Stuart's Portuguese shoes to a startling but overt reference to affirmative action polemics and class hierarchy in Chapter 58, I truly appreciated how McCall Smith creates figures that are representatives of something bigger than the story itself. Perhaps my biggest praise of this volume is that it has made it seem obvious and necessary that I must go back and read volumes 1-12. That is the best of all possible worlds for a book in a series.

On a side note, I would love to know more about the author's shoe...fixation? fascination? From Mma Makutsi in the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series to Stuart in 44 Scotland Street series, it feels like there may be fodder for a deeper exploration of shoes-as-trope in the author's oeuvre.

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2021 #10: The New Taste of Chocolate (Presilla)

 

The New Taste of Chocolate, Revised: A Cultural & Natural History of Cacao with Recipes by Maricel E. Presilla
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I bought this book several years ago, along with a molinillo at a (then) small and artisanal chocolate maker in Somerville, MA. I was drawn in by the cover, and didn't really engage with it much before buying it, assuming it would be a "coffee-table" book with recipes. Instead, this is an extraordinary account of the different historical and cultural contexts of cacao, with a clear explanation of the different types of plants, provenances, and uses by chocolate makers. The level of detail, particularly in the botanical section, is extensive, and Presilla manages to find a great tone that strikes a balance between journalism and historiography. This is not a book for chocolate snobs who have no interest in the beginning and end of the journey of cacao. The author offers nuanced advice for how to learn about and appreciate chocolate and is even-handed in her assessments: "...today even the largest commercial makers have hopped on the bandwagon for boutique-type labeling with identification of national origin. This information is helpful to a point, but it is not an infallible clue to quality. The fact that the cacao was grown in an exotic-sounding country says very little about the cacao itself--for instance, the variety or the particular region of origin within a country" (140). Presilla honors the rich traditions of using cacao amongst indigenous peoples in Mexico and South America and provides a very informed cultural understanding of the import of cacao in both anti-colonial and colonial contexts.

And then there are the recipes. Admittedly, one will likely need access to high quality chocolate, nibs, and or cacao beans, but Presilla offers some online sources for purchase (I have not checked these out). The photography is gorgeous, and indeed...it will not be long before I try Maya-Mediterranean Chocolate Rice Pudding of her "Imagined" Maya Turkey Soup-Stew with Cacao and Chiles.

This is a remarkable book-- "illustrated reference" is the description on the dust jacket, but I think that does not adequately describe what it offers. If you have interests in global cuisine and a cultural history of food, this should be part of your library. Definitely one of the most interesting books I have read in the genre.

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2021 #9: The Midnight Library (Haig)

 

The Midnight Library by Matt Haig
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

**** SPOILER ALERT*****

I wanted this to be a five-star rating after hearing so many good things about it. I found myself charmed by the premise, but ultimately it didn't really go where I thought it could/should, although the take-away "moral" of the story is a good one. I would have preferred that Nora actually LIVE the different lives, not just visit them--meaning I think it would have been a more creative endeavor if she wasn't cognizant of being in a parallel existence. I do understand that the cognizance was necessary for her learning (and for the end to work out), and maybe that's part of it. But from a purely literary point-of-view, I grew bored with the story of Nora trying to figure out who she was in this or that life, although, as I said, the allegory is not lost on me.

The book has an important message to share, and as all good fiction does, it asks the reader to situate themselves if the shoes of the protagonist. Perhaps what is most important is thinking about suicide and all the many factors that can influence a person's actions and how we are so often just bystanders to the struggle of others.

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2021 #8: Radical Hope -- A Teaching Manifesto (Gannon)

 

Radical Hope: A Teaching Manifesto by Kevin M. Gannon
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I first became aware of this book via a UDL (Universal Design for Learning) podcast. Kevin Gannon seemed to balance the feel-good hopefulness with both pragmatic and practical information, and this proved to be true in this teaching "manifesto." In truth, the "manifesto-ish" parts could use a sharper editorial pen in places, but there are so many worthwhile pull quotes, I can forgive the bits of er...emphatic repetition. The real overarching concept here is that education should be transformational, not transactional. Is that revolutionary thought? No, of course not. But what Gannon so skillfully achieves is helping the interested teacher remember WHY that's important and to help that teacher feel motivated to make it happen--otherwise known as HOPE.

There is a lot of radical hope in this book--for students, for teachers, for education as a field. But it isn't all about inspiration. Gannon substantively brings in pedagogical theory, addresses praxis (a la Paolo Freire, and offers opportunities for reflection (freewriting, journaling) as well as suggestions for real-life application. Chapter 1, dramatically titled "Classrooms of Death" (I may have rolled my eyes), explains that a pedagogy of radical hope includes a "moral imperative to create the type of inclusive and equitable learning spaces in which our students become critically conscious and actively engaged in their own education"(23). I always cringe when I see the words "moral imperative" because as most of us know, that is hardly a monolithic concept for us humans. But I think Gannon's use of such weighty language here serves its purpose--this isn't just headwork, but instead also very much heart-work. This is work that asks for a reinvestment and a revitalization of student-centered pedagogy. Middle chapters provide information about UDL and how to implement it, as well as constructing "a syllabus worth reading" (Chapter 7). Chapter 8, however, is where I really started to connect. Even just the chapter's title -- "Pedagogy is not a weapon"--really grabbed me in some visceral way. It isn't that I should need a reminder of that, but it did drive home how easily weaponized pedagogy can become. The chapter focuses on the purpose and value of the transformative work. Particularly helpful is Gannon's discussion of "Safe Spaces and Trigger Warnings", which he more aptly advocates as brave spaces and content warnings. He invites the reader to consider these things as "pedagogical tools that allow for genuine engagement and confrontation with ideas and material" (113) and posits that they are a necessity in providing the required structure and support for that engagement and confrontation. One of my favorite quotes? "You may think you're being clever by utilizing shock value as a teaching tool, but more likely you're just being an asshole" (113).

We all seem to collectively agree that being an asshole is not sound pedagogy, yet--there's a lot of asshole moves out there in the teaching world. Sometimes it is a lack of recognizing the immense privilege we might hold in teaching spaces. Sometimes it is brought on by the "performative aspect of academic conversations" (133) and severe cases of imposter syndrome. But whatever it is, ultimately Gannon says teachers must see themselves as collaborators, rather than occupying "opposite points of some academic spectrum" (146).

The pandemic has many teachers feeling beaten down after what has inarguably been an extremely challenging and tiring year. Exhaustion rarely leads to active and inspired change. But Gannon manages--in a mere 152 (small) pages--to not only light the spark, but offers ways to take steps forward. "Manifesto" is perhaps a disservice here because what Gannon really provides is a hand, a ready assist for those who may feel a bit lost when charged to "decolonize" or "diversify" or "unlearn". These are valuable aspects of the work, yes, but all too often radicalized to the point of becoming just another academic, performative contest. The real radical idea, it turns out, is in the hope that "eschews despair, but does so in a way that often relies upon the faith that our current thinking and actions will create a better future--even without understanding what that future will look like" (4). Radical hope means we see teaching as a lively, dynamic commitment to the ongoing and sustained work of student-centered praxis, naming and demolishing systems of inequity, and employing an "emancipatory pedagogical vision" (150) in what is routine and mundane, as well as that which is unexpected and extraordinary.

2021 # 7: The Valley of Horses (Auel)

 

The Valley of Horses by Jean M. Auel
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Spoilers only if you haven't read publisher summary/back of the book.

This honestly sits between two and four stars for me, and I had a similar ambivalence toward The Clan of the Cave Bear. As with the first book, there are many, many, many passages that are chockfull of anthropological detail and that is either a blessing or a curse, depending on the reader's mindset. What is positive is that Ayla gets a lot more character definition here simply by spending a few years by herself--we learn of her survival and adaptation and in so doing, get to know here more as a character, rather than a symbol of human development. But there are places where it starts to feel like a field guide to surviving alone in a cave, and this can be tedious if making fire with flint and dehydrating meat aren't your favorite pastimes.

The first 300 pages (or so) feature two storylines, and if you read the back cover blurb, you know that they will at some point join each other. This expectation marred the book for me somewhat as 300 pages was too long to wait, but not long enough for me to care enough about the characters other than Ayla. This isn't necessarily a fault of the book, but I wish I hadn't read the blurb. What's more, when the two storylines do...merge....there is, well... A LOT of sex. All of a sudden Call of the Wild turns into a Harlequin Romance. Seemingly, when not hunting, copulation is the no. 1 choice of activity. I'm not bothered by the vivid descriptions as much as it becomes the substantial narrative of the book and distracts from the far more interesting struggle of Ayla's sense of cultural identity. This struggle, through conversation with Jondalar, was for me, the most interesting part of the book, and the commentary on racism and bigotry, although rather obvious, is important for our historical and present consciousness.

The book could be shorter to be sure...trying to maintain the narrative of a journey in one storyline, and a survival epic in another, is a challenge. There are multiple tribes of folks to keep track of, and Auel describes everything with assiduous detail. Just as you get hooked on the secondary storyline, however, she whisks you back to "meanwhile...back at the ranch..", ok....cave. If you really enjoyed Clan of the Cave Bear, this is a worthwhile sequel. Ultimately, however, it tries to be a lot of different things, and not always successfully. I'm intrigued enough to read The Mammoth Hunters in the hope that it gets more into the anthropological differences and socialization aspects promised by the preview. But ultimately, not every book has to be a "saga" and I feel the self-conscious attempts by the author to be "epic" diminish a lot of what is valuable in these books.

2021 #6: Best Practices for Teaching with Emerging Technologies (Packansky-Brock)

 

Best Practices for Teaching with Emerging Technologies by Michelle Pacansky-brock
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This book is highly informative, engaging, and also balanced--even for skeptics like myself. If you are a teacher adamantly opposed to social networking or any web-based and public applications, you may want to skip this one. However, even those who are cynical about good old Web 2.0 might find value in the broader take-aways regarding student engagement. As Pacansky-Brock stresses in the introduction: "The point here is that "online" is a culture to young people. Yet to most colleges, it is a delivery method" (7). It will be interesting to see what impact the pandemic has on the third edition of this book. Indeed, a "next edition" there must be, because not all technologies can be still considered emergent, and some, of course, have probably faded away into the ether of "cool and awesome" apps. This second edition is from 2017, and while I have not conducted an audit of all the sites and apps she mentions, I'm reasonably confident not all of them are available anymore.

Pacansky-Brock most strongly advocates for using VoiceThread, and to be sure, she is at an advantage teaching art history, which is easily curated and viewed by students online. Her aim is true -- these are tools to help build community, and to that end, they should be used thoughtfully and carefully, without burdening students.

The other big piece of this is accessibility. Pacansky-Brock's work has been touted by UDL (Universal Design for Learning) advocates, and as many of these emerging technologies do allow for greater access and different modalities, it is easy to see why. I struggle sometimes with the concept that using multiple modalities is ALWAYS a road to greater accessibility, particularly if they are engaged simultaneously (for example, I have a very difficult time listening in a Zoom meeting AND reading what shows up in the chat). She advocates for a "backchannel" (e.g. live Tweeting) as a form of participation and as Derek Bruff would have it, a form of "active" listening. My own experience is different --- I find that I listen perhaps more selectively (rather than actively), hoping to have a good sound byte to comment on or share with the world at large. Other suggestions for participatory learning activities I've found to be very useful, such as collaborative slide decks. And it is this spirit of collaboration that seems to drive most of Pacansky-Brock's suggestions: "...these learning activities in Voice Thread are peer-to-peer, so the students are doing more than submitting an assignment; they are working together to create content from which the group learns" (129).

What was one of the more compelling and interesting ideas for me was connected to DS106, an open online course through the University of Mary Washington. Evidently the course includes an "Assignment Bank" to which students submit ideas for assignments and class participants may rate the difficulty of the assignment by giving it one to five stars. Then, for a particular section of the course, participants are asked to complete x number of stars-worth of web assignments. I'd really love to know more about how this works out in terms of equity in workload --are ten 1-star activities truly equal to two 5-star activities? (152 -153). Are the learning objectives balanced out? I have lots of questions and Pacansky-Brock does not necessarily provide answers.

Ultimately that's ok, but it does get tricky to "experiment" with these emergent technologies if one wants to also build a solid foundation (the guidance of Chapter 1). My sense is that Pacansky-Brock would recommend only trying one or two tools for a class at a time and she does recognize that packing a course with these participatory activities can have the exact opposite effect. The book hovers between a survey of technologies and a "best practices" manual, the latter of which needs to be extracted a bit with a step back from the myriad apps and case studies that the book offers. Chapter 2 is probably the most valuable in this regard ("Toward Participatory Pedagogy") as it highlights theoretical foundations that can be applied in moving from a general "Instruction Paradigm" to a "Learning Paradigm" which borrows from the work of Barr and Tagg in a 1995 article published in Change Magazine. Generally speaking, Pacansky-Brock's work is balanced in terms of experiential and theoretical knowledge, and some instructors may find it possible to skim through basics of the "essential toolkit" and the like. While I remain skeptical of technological saturation, I do feel it is responsible pedagogy to know what tools are out there, and Pacansky-Brock's work helps provide a glimpse into possibilities for both online and blended learning.

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2021 #5: Caste - The Origins of our Discontents (Wilkerson)

 

Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

There is a lot to unpack here. And I think we need to understand who this book is for. If you are someone who wants a hyper-intellectual, full of statistics, comprehensive study of caste, this is not the book you are looking for. If, on the other hand, you want to read a book that ties lived experience in with an expansive, but not comprehensive, look at the power of caste, then this is an essential read.

I learned a lot--mostly about the ways that the Nazis used US segregation, miscegenation laws and our institutionalized racism as a model, but how the "one-drop rule" was too much even for them: "While the Nazis praised "the American commitment to legislating racial purity, "they could not abide"the unforgiving hardness" under which "; an American or woman who has even a drop of Negro blood in their veins' counted as blacks," Whitman wrote." (88). If you aren't aware of the one-drop rule and its history (in play much more recently than you might think), check out the revised anniversary edition of Why Are All The Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Beverly Daniel Tatum.

Wilkerson tells us that caste, "like grammar, became an invisible guide" (18), and that complacency is casteist (79). It is an uncomfortable walk through history and an uncomfortable leaning into the present day. That's why it is so important. Wilkerson employs her skills as a journalist to utilize personal stories to amplify and illuminate well-researched truths. If you are in the dominant caste, you will find moments that may make you examine yourself and how you uphold the caste system in the way you wield your privilege, assume your superiority (see the eighth pillar of Caste, Part III of the book), and how "fear" is sometimes a privilege of the dominant caste and really about protecting status.

What is perhaps most important to the understanding of caste is to see how it self-perpetuates and invests in a continual and multi-tentacled process of de-humanization. Purity is constantly defined by the dominant caste, and even supposed "freedoms" can be disguised attempts to uphold the system, inasmuch as they should be things that are "granted" at all.

I did a four-week long book group read and I'm hoping to do a second one this summer because this book needs to be read and talked about. There is value, of course, to reading in isolation, but I'd encourage those of us who are in the dominant caste to gather others together and dig into this book. You are sure to find sentences that punch you in the gut, because Wilkerson is an extraordinarily skilled writer, yes, but also because this book asks us not to see ourselves as different than offending "outliers", but to understand how we uphold the system in myriad ways.

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2021 #4: Enlightenment Orpheus (Vanessa Agnew)

 

Enlightenment Orpheus: The Power of Music in Other Worlds by Vanessa Agnew
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This is basically *almost* five stars for me. It is a feat when a book you are reading purely for information/learning, ropes you into a topic you didn't know you cared about. The book is quite the undertaking as it takes the topic of eighteenth-century Orphic discourse and applies it to historiography and reception. The first chapter, "Argonaut Orpheus" focuses on Charles Burney's travels through Europe -- particularly Germany-- but also brilliantly weaves in Cook's voyages to Polynesia to make a larger point about how ideas regarding music's agency were greatly impacted by these travels. The second chapter, "Music's Empire" highlights the political implications, but also how the political and economic thoughts of the Enlightenment shaped theories of monogenesis (among others), as well as establishing hierarchies of instrumentation and texture in Western musical discourse. I found the third chapter, "Anti-Orpheus" slightly less compelling, but I think this was more because I was reading with an end-goal in mind, and this chapter was less relevant to that goal. I will go back and re-read this at some point for leisure, because I'm sure I will get even more out of it. Although it was published in 2008, I think the book resonates even more now, as we encounter some of the same patterns and myth-making while we reckon with the deficiencies of the canon and the hegemonic narratives that surround it.

2021 #3: The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake (Bender)

 

The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I likely would have given this five stars, but the ending was a bit of a let-down. It just seemed too abrupt, too much of an important realization that is just left there, hanging. Aside from that, however, this is a wonderful -- if somewhat heartbreaking--story. Bender mixes the surreal with the all-too-real in a very genuine and compelling way. Having grown up in Los Angeles, the familiar surroundings made the more surreal elements seem like the surprise tang from the cornichons in Rose's paté sandwich -- bright contrast, but supposed to be there.

It can be read as a quirky surrealist tale, but I think that misses the important layer and the lessons about our human-ness. In any group of people, we can almost count on someone who tastes the nuances of life, someone who lives a life of avoidance in fear of the unknown, and those who wish to blend in with the scenery. They are all there, and Bender reminds us of our own potential to taste, to avoid, and to be absorbed.

2021 #2 The Clan of the Cave Bear (Auel)

 

The Clan of the Cave Bear by Jean M. Auel
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It took a bit for me to get into this one, but once it became centered on Ayla and her journey/growth, I became engrossed. The book engages with Cro-Magnon and Neanderthal anthropology without hitting you over the head with it, although certain moments are fairly obvious. The paternalism of the clan is rather disagreeable for modern sensibilities, but I don't think it is supposed to be otherwise (and it is likely accurate from an anthro perspective). Auel's descriptive writing is excellent and there were moments where you forget that woolly mammoths no longer walk the earth. I found the explanation of the clan's language truly artful and well developed and it isn't a far leap to realize that, at least historically, gesture and dance were more rooted in language than speech.

I'm glad I finally read this classic and look forward to The Valley of Horses.

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2021 #1 The Abolition of Man (C.S. Lewis)

 

The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

For me, the mark of a good thinker and writer is one with whom I can meaningfully engage even if I disagree with them. This is most assuredly the case with C.S. Lewis. This highly debated works is quintessential Lewis in its wit (see the opening chapter), its encyclopedic knowledge, and its unapologetic anchor in Christian theology. When I read Lewis it feels like a bit of a dance, except that we very much switch off who leads. I step forward and say, "you are appropriating the Tao" and then he steps forward and says, "but am I wrong about eugenics?" He twirls me around with comments like: "...the modern situation permits and demands a new sexual morality: the old taboos served some real purpose in helping to preserve the species, but contraceptives have modified this and we can now abandon many of the taboos" (33) until I realize that he certainly does not agree that women have a choice when it comes to their own bodies.

It is important to realize that these lectures (originally commissioned by the University of Durham) were delivered in 1943, so Lewis's warnings against technological power and creation of an "artificial Tao" are easily understood. Even when he puts aside some of his more fanciful philosophical footwork, he makes statements that resonate profoundly today (and perhaps for evermore): "I am very doubtful whether history shows us one example of a man who, having stepped outside traditional morality and attained power, has used that power benevolently" (66).

It is a potent defense of natural law. I say this not because I agree with him, but because there is a lot here that rings true and has played out in the 80 years since these lectures were published. I wonder what he might think of education today, given his allowance for emotion and and magic as part of his objective truth (or, more accurately, Truth). Certainly if debates that crowd our societal stage today were conducted with the same level of knowledge and thoughtfulness, we'd likely be making more progress (defined broadly). Reading Lewis moves us away from collecting sound bytes and invites us to invest in the true realities of the human condition.