December 12, 2006

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  Fire and Ice

  Today is John Jay’s birthday. He was the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and I’ve always thought he was quite interesting. One of these days I’m going to read a biography of him.  (Go HERE if for some reason you happen to be interested in learning a bit about him.)

  I finished Dante’s Inferno last night. Cross that goal off my list!  Although I usually don’t have any problem with books, I had to get the Cliff’s Guide for this one.  And, even with that, I was left wondering more than I was left understanding. Who ARE these people Dante encounters in hell?  Yes, some of them, the Greeks, I recognize. But, all the Italians left me puzzled. (Cliffs didn’t help too much with who they were, either.)  One of the most interesting points of The Inferno was that the center of hell, instead of being a burning pit of fire, is a lake of ice.   The imagery went along well with the Robert Frost poem we have for English this week.

  Fire and Ice
  by Robert Frost
  

  Some say the world will end in fire,
  Some say in ice.
  From what I’ve tasted of desire
  I hold with those who favor fire.
  But if it had to perish twice,
  I think I know enough of hate
  To know that for destruction ice
  Is also great
  And would suffice.

  Great poem, is it not?

  This morning, TGD and I signed our will. It’s our second will, but since the first only had us as having two toddlers, we thought it was time for an updated one. Tonight, the Hunter has his homeschool orchestra concert. He’s the principal (and only) trumpet and has a solo or two.
  

  I finished Charles Frazier’s newest book, Thirteen Moons. It’s similar to Cold Mountain in that it has a male narrator, an unrequited love, lots of history, and the mountains of South Carolina. This story takes place in 90 years, but much of it deals with the Cherokee Trail of Tears and the Cherokees left in the east after the removal.
  

  Frazier’s writing is wonderful. I was trying to think of a good way to describe it. Image coming across a rustic cabin in the woods, not a picturesque Hollywood one, but one with chickens, mud and a wood pile, and the smell of smoke.  Make it sturdy and well-cared for. When you enter the cabin, you find pine boards and raggedly clean quilts, the smell of smoke and bodies, and an original Monet on the wall.   His writing is simple, plain, realistic, and lovely.  “A day bruised blue” after a night of restless sleep–that’s writing that makes you sit up and take notice.
  
  A caveat: he is not a Christian, and neither are his characters. They act in ways and speak in ways which might offend.  It’s not explicitly foul, by any stretch, but there is some foul language and a non-married relationship.
  
  Now I’m reading another thirteen book!

  
  

  • 2:05 pm
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