writing

Book Break: Captivity and Freedom

/ J. Thorp / 3 Comments

I recently completed two biographies of great Americans, set roughly two hundred years apart. Both books tell stories of oppression, resistance, and the struggle for freedom. Both are great books, in very different ways. I’ll offer a few quick thoughts on each, but in short: read them!

American Cicero: The Life of Charles Carroll
by Bradley J. Birzer

American Cicero tells the story of the bastard son of a wealthy colonist who is sent abroad for a Jesuit education, is formally named his father’s heir, and returns home to Maryland to become one of the early advocates for independence from Britain and one of the foremost shapers of the fledgling American republic. If you aren’t a history buff, you may not know (and if you aren’t a Roman Catholic, you may be surprised to learn) that in his day, Charles Carroll was well educated and capable (not to mention from the wealthiest family in the colonies) and could neither vote nor serve in public office — because of his “papist”tendencies and “Romish” influences. He is also portrayed as a devout Englishman who nevertheless saw independence as a necessary fresh start for the English constitution and English law, which were being usurped and corrupted by the government elected to uphold them.

Carroll initially took the public stage by writing under a pen name in the newspapers of his home colony of Maryland (the most anti-Catholic of the lot in his day), earned the trust and admiration of Washington, Franklin, and others among the founders, and outlived them all — and relatively few have heard his name. Here is a man who, with all his money, couldn’t buy a vote (and would never have tried); who advocated against democracy and in favor of a republic based on his reading of history and the times; and who drew on the ancient Greeks and Romans and his own faith tradition, as well as contemporary thinkers, to propose limits on the power of both the government and the “mob” in order to preserve those rights. In my review of Triumph: The Power and Glory of the Catholic Church, I asked if the author’s apparent preference for the monarchies of old was personal, or somehow tied to the Church — I think you can begin to see a sensible philosophical connection here, in Carroll’s dismay at the more populist, democratic leanings of some of his contemporaries. (This is not your high school’s American history!)

The author is the Russell Amos Kirk Chair in American Studies, Professor of History and Director of the Hillsdale College Program in American Studies,  and is also the author of  J. R. R. Tolkien’s Sanctifying Myth: Understanding Middle-Earth. Birzer tells the story as much as possible though Carroll’s own public writings and private letters, and this is an academic history, so it is not a breezy read.  Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know this relatively unsung Founding Father. I enjoyed Birzer’s ability to connect Carroll’s thinking to his education and core values.  This book is well worth the effort!

For additional perspective on the book and the author, check out this interview with Ignatius Insight.

Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption
by Laura Hillenbrand

This is a true-life tale of Gumpian proportions: a young misfit from a working-class Italian family (complete with a doting mother and an impeccable older brother) graduates from thieving prankster to Olympic track star and meets Hitler in the 1936 Olympics. A gifted athlete (on track to be the first man to break the four-minute mile) has his athletic career cut short by World War II and becomes a bombardier on a B-24 in the Pacific Theater, surviving a temperamental plane, numerous missions, and long odds while enjoying the celebrity of being both an athlete and an airman. A World War II veteran endures weeks adrift in a life raft with two wounded comrades, battling starvation and dehydration, sharks, madness, and occasional strafing, only to come ashore in Japanese territory and become a prisoner of war. A POW is singled out by the Japanese for his celebrity and made to endure physical, mental, and emotional tortures for more than two years of captivity. A survivor of Japanese prison camps returns home and marries a vibrant, blue-blooded beauty despite warning signs that the war has taken a psychological toll.

Any one of these story lines could make a novel or a movie in itself — the fact that all of them really happened to one man is almost too much to be believed. Louis “Louie” Zamperini is still alive, 96 years old and active decades after he should have been dead so many times. He comes from an earlier time when track stars and airmen were celebrities, and, like Norman Borlaug, is an unsung Great American who should help us redefine “hero.”

Louis Zamperini

This is not a book for the young or faint of heart — the treatment of POWs by the Japanese is brutal and horrifying, and the book includes scenes of inhumanity you may not soon forget. In this respect, it called to mind two other books I wrote about not long ago — James Clavell’s Shogun and Shusako Endo’s Silence. I recall past conversations with previous generations about how veterans of the World Wars came home and went about their lives, but veterans of later wars began to report emotional scars and psychological impacts. The implication, in some of these conversations, was that men have softened — but Unbroken makes a distinction, based on historical data, between the mental health of POWs in the European theater and POWs in the Pacific theater. This led me to ponder whether, in wars with Eastern cultures, Westerners are encounter philosophies with such different rules (or no rules at all) that we are, in fact, ill-equipped to deal with them.

The author, Laura Hillenbrand, does great work writing a biography you can’t put down, with a level of historic detail that does not diminish the readability of the book, but lets you know that she did her homework. Internet evidence suggests Louie Zamperini’s story may soon become a movie. Don’t wait for the movie — you’ll miss the chance for a fresh read of an exceptional book.

Serious About Writing…

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

Back in early December, I announced that I was suspending this blog and taking it off-line. I likened my writing career thus far to standing on my head for show: requiring modest skill; impressive at first, then amusing, before becoming repetitive, uncomfortable, and unnatural. I even went so far as to declare, “ I won’t call myself a writer again until I write something worthwhile, and I don’t know what it will be.”

Those who know me well know I have a tendency to take myself entirely too seriously. I was in a bad spot at the time: way too busy at work, home, and church; unable to make a satisfactory start on the annual Christmas letter; and unhappy in my work. Some several things needed to give — but this blog was not one of them.

As a full-time husband, father, and director of communications, this little corner of the internet is one of the few places I actually do write stuff that people read. The people who matter most to me are here, but they aren’t the only ones — consider that this tiny, rhyming prayer is the most viewed post on my site, in large part due to readers (or skewed search results) from Russia. A favorite web site of mine, The Art of Manliness, posted an article awhile back entitled, “How a Man Handles a Miscarriage.” I read the post and the appreciative comments, before adding a comment of my own and sharing a bit about our little Jude. Men came and read, and though they left no comments, who knows whom it touched?

In fact, if I want to be truly serious about writing, I would not permit myself to be limited by the potential for monetary gain. A few weeks ago I was looking through the Catechism of the Catholic Church to see specifically what the Church teaches about property rights — and learned that while she makes no bones about supporting the right to private property, she is insistent that we steward our property and talents for the greater good:

“In his use of things man should regard the external goods he legitimately owns not merely as exclusive to himself but common to others also, in the sense that they can benefit others as well as himself.” The ownership of any property makes its holder a steward of Providence, with the task of making it fruitful and communicating its benefits to others, first of all his family.

Goods of production — material or immaterial — such as land, factories, practical or artistic skills, oblige their possessors to employ them in ways that will benefit the greatest number. Those who hold goods for use and consumption should use them with moderation, reserving the better part for guests, for the sick and the poor (CCC 2404 and 2405).

I read and re-read it: Goods of production, including practical or artistic skills, “oblige their possessors to employ them in ways that will benefit the greatest number … reserving the better part for guests, for the sick and the poor.”

A “serious” writer , then, should speak the truth, regardless of gain or loss, for the good of those who need to hear or whomever will listen.

It’s good to be back.

Farewell (For Now)

/ J. Thorp / 4 Comments

As a boy, I liked to stand on my head. It was only natural, I suppose — I was built like a caramel apple, more stable when inverted. First I learned to hunker down with my hands on the floor and my knees behind my elbows, then tip forward into a head-and-hands tripod, and slowly extend my skinny legs. I would wobble and sweat and then do my best to make my final tip-over seem controlled and intentional.

As I got stronger, I kept my legs together and controlled my descents. As I got stronger still, I would start by lying on my belly with my hands in pushup position, the elevate my hips into pike, smoothly drawing my toes along the floor until my torso was inverted, then open like a jackknife to point them at the ceiling.

After that, I began to time myself. The well-worn carpet in my childhood living room provided little cushion, so at first this was not easy. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes or more. I learned to relax unnecessary muscles and shift my weight slightly to my hands to relieve the pressure on my head. It got to the point that I could watch TV to pass the time.

Then I stopped. It wasn’t that I had “maxxed out,” strained my neck, or switched to handstands. It was fun to learn, fun to perfect, fun to challenge myself for awhile — but I just didn’t see much sense in it anymore. Today, I can still stand on my head on demand (and I do so now and again, just to prove it to the kids). But I feel better with my feet beneath me.

I’ve told myself and proclaimed on this blog that I am a writer, and that I’m working on a book. I have done a fair amount of reading, and very little writing. Aside from our annual Christmas letters, I write virtually nothing of interest to anyone I love. I am not a writer, but a director of communications. I am also a father and a husband, and blessed to be so — but most of my waking hours are spent standing on my head for a living, looking at the world in a way that’s begun to feel unnatural. I do it because I can, I do it on demand — but it doesn’t seem to make sense anymore.

In the parlance of my peers, I need to “re-tool.” I don’t know what’s next. I won’t call myself a writer again until I write something worthwhile, and I don’t know what it will be. But I am eliminating distractions, one by one. This blog, though I have loved it, is one of the things that will go.

This is my last post for the foreseeable future. This blog will taken offline soon. If you wish me well, wish me luck.

Book Break: The Santa of Oz?

/ J. Thorp / Leave a comment

A quick review today: as part of my ongoing reading in support of my writing, just before Christmas I checked out L. Frank Baum’s The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus and began to read it to the family. It’s a delightful book with an essentially pagan take on The Old Man’s origins and his status as a saint. It tracks his rescue from a hungry lioness by the nymph Necile when he was an abandoned infant in the Forest of Burzee (the lioness is later made to nurse the child and becomes his friend); it explains the origins of his unusual powers; the “why” behind the reindeer and little people who help him; and what motivated his mission on behalf of children in the first place.

As you might expect from the creative mind behind the Wizard of Oz, Baum’s story is delightful, quirky, and dark at times, but never too dark for children. His writing “voice” is distinctive, and I found it lent itself quite well to reading aloud. This book is a completely unique take (to my knowledge) on the Santa Claus legend, which is why I wanted to read it…but while it is kid-safe, parents may wish to read it first to see how it jives with the experience of Santa Claus in their own homes. It could also be a fun read for older kids who are beginning to question their beliefs; again, however, parents should peruse it first. The edition I read (a Signet Classics paperback, pictured) included an introduction and an afterword (the latter by a Jewish man who, as a boy, was against the very notion of Santa Claus) that make for interesting reading for adults, but might cause greater confusion for youngsters. All in all, our kids enjoyed it well enough, but afterward, Trevor said, “I think it was just a story he made up.”

Book Break: Orbiting the Giant Hairball

/ J. Thorp / 2 Comments

Today I finished another of my boss’s books, recommended to me by our research assistant, Ben, who was responsible for sorting the boss’s library as we moved from Morrill Hall to the Humphrey. I’d seen the book before, and it looked like a gimmicky, gifty book someone would use to decorate a shelf or display as light bathroom reading. It featured multiple styles of fonts, “handwriting,” and illustration, and bore the oddball title, Orbiting the Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool’s Guide to Surviving with Grace.

“I think you should take a look at this,” Ben said, when I raised a skeptical eyebrow upon seeing it again, in his hand. “It’s actually pretty good.”

I took it, exhaled, skimmed the opening poem by Rumi, glanced at the whimsically illustrated table of contents and a two-page spread that looked like a grade-school painting, and started to read. And read, and read, and read.

The author, Gordon MacKenzie, worked 30 years at Hallmark, and this book is his attempt to show adults how to recollect their creative genius; to flush (or even remove) their PC, company-line filters and begin to really innovate and invent again…like when they were kids. For 30 years, he worked for a great “hairball” of a corporation, and for much of that time, he managed to orbit the hairball, close enough for mutual benefit, far enough to never be sucked into the mess and stifled. The book is, at times, a little New Age-y, but it’s inspiring, nonetheless. Here’s a guy who tends to say the things we wish we said, who pushes the envelope of acceptable behavior, gives the wrong answers, writes his own rules…and time and again, shows that it pays, both in terms of profit and personal fulfillment.

I’ve been that guy only once that I recall — when I applied for my former job at a Minneapolis marketing firm. The job posting was quirky and creative (somewhat moreso than the job, as it turned out); I wrote a solid but straightforward cover letter to accompany my resume. I was trying to stretch my experience a bit to cover the position described, and a friend read my cover letter and said, “This isn’t going to do it.” She told me that, since I didn’t have the qualifications they were looking for, I should show that I could market myself in the same way they were selling themselves in their ad. I went home and thought, “What do I know about branding?” Immediately I thought about my rancher friend Jinglebob, and wrote a completely different letter, excerpted here:

You aren’t looking for me. The anthropology degree is all wrong—I studied people, not business. My work history skews journalistic, with infrequent forays into student recruitment and fundraising. Where I come from, branding involves a flame, a red-hot iron and singed hair. It’s difficult work, and it scars.

That said, it’s not so different from what [COMPANY] does. Your clients want what every rancher seeks—a brand that leaves an indelible mark that the world will recognize and associate with its owner. It’s hard work, sure, so you do what any good foreman would: hire the best hands and stoke the fire.

My friend read the new letter and grinned. “This. Is. It.” she said. “They may love it; they may hate it, but they will definitely remember it.”

I had abandoned the way you apply for a job and had done something new. It paid off — both the HR manager and the hiring manager called me, stumbling over each other to set up a flight and an interview. I had successfully re-written the rules, and “The Hairball” had given me the benefit of the doubt, and a shot. That never happened, before or since.

I’ve tried the revise that letter in applying for other jobs, but it doesn’t work. I’ve tried to build writing routines and exercises to spark consistent writing that moves me as much as, for example, last year’s Holiday Letter, but everything sounds forced and derivative. It’s frustrating…and then, as I neared the end of MacKenzie’s book, one of his main points struck me like a ball-peen to the forehead — rang my head like the ginormous bell that it is: Once creativity is routine, it is not creativity. You cannot do something completely different, over and over again.

The cover letter accomplished its intended purpose; I can ask no more of it. Should I need another, I must again give birth. Which is hard work. But worth it.

Blogger’s Note to His Bride: You’ve noticed I’ve been goofier lately. It’s the fumes from the rocket fuel, keeping me just clear of the Hairball.