Before this series comes to a close, I’d like to thank everyone for their support this year. Cheers to the friends and family who accepted many a raincheck, let me bounce ideas off them, and encouraged me to focus on my writing. My main 2019 goal was to be more diligent in the small things, believing that those will build to the big things. And they have. There is always “further up and further in” but that’s measured mostly in steps, not leaps. Maintaining a central place where I can keep my portfolio handy and share my personal writings was a small but important transition into a more professional stance. It’s been so fun. For accountability’s sake, my goal for the new year is to continue to increase in diligence and discipline. I’d like to expand my portfolio. I’d like to make more music. I’d like to grow in vulnerability and traffic more of my thoughts in the marketplace of ideas. 2020 is only going to be as good as our trust in God is strong. Beyond resolutions, hopes, and ideas is the ambiguity of tomorrow and the unchanging faithfulness of the God who’s holding it.
With that said, here are my final ten reads of 2019:
31. Markings – Dag Hammarskjold
Swedish economist and diplomat Dag Hammarskjold kept this private journal of reflections and axioms from 20 years old until a month before his death. More a Christian mystic than theologian, Hammaskjold enjoyed the writings of medieval mystics such as Meister Eckhart and many of his ruminations on the ideas of his predecessors are found here. Overall, the journal plays with themes of self-sacrifice, purity of heart, the nuances of will and intention, and the tension of maintaining a personal faith on a public stage. This book is a great gift idea for a graduate, maybe, or at least to keep on your night stand for a low-commitment nightly browse. A couple excerpts stood out the most:
“Your cravings as a human animal do not become a prayer just because it is God whom you ask to attend to them.”
“Life only demands from you the strength you possess. Only one feat is possible – not to have run away.”
“Is life so wretched? Isn't it rather your hands which are too small, your vision which is muddled? You are the one who must grow up.”
“It is not we who seek the Way, but the Way which seeks us. That is why you are faithful to it, even while you stand waiting, so long as you are prepared, and act the moment you are confronted by its demands.”
32. Room to Dream – David Lynch, Kristinne Mckenna
If you bring up Twin Peaks with me, buckle up- I am borderline obsessed. As it follows, I adore David Lynch. Granted much of his work can be rather disturbing and often inaccessible for a casual viewer but if you follow him down the rabbit hole, you’ll experience a sensory tapestry that traffics story in a deeply poetic way. All of Lynch’s work is imbued with meaning, whether that meaning is readily understood or not, and it’s his sensitivity for the totality of a moment that keeps me enraptured. Room to Dream is the most unique blend of autobiography/biography I’ve ever read. Each section begins as biography by Kristinne McKenna, which is masterfully written. The way she weaves her interviews with Lynch’s family, friends, and collaborators throughout each narrative keeps the momentum going without betraying the soul behind them. The second part of each portion finds Lynch responding to McKenna’s biographical portion. This gets dicey at times. Lynch is blunt in what he remembers and what he doesn’t and it’s a testament to our subjective interpretations of an objective reality. To paraphrase Scott Adams, we’re not always ‘watching the same movie’. Lynch talks about his creative process a little, but what’s really wild is how he often spends his entire write-up blowing up a very small moment McKenna mentioned in hers. A quick diner meeting breezed over by McKenna is given four pages by Lynch. But this is how he operates: everything is loaded. Reading about the production of Twin Peaks and films like Wild at Heart and Blue Velvet were engaging and made me want to explore more of Lynch’s work. I watched Blue Velvet for the first time as a result. As a Christian I am very hard-pressed to recommend it. The film is vulgar, explicit, and at moments deeply disturbing. In all honesty, it took me two days to complete because of its heavy nature. Artistically however, Lynch is really at his best in Blue Velvet. If you can plow past the abrasive topcoat, there are scenes, dynamics, tensions, images, and soundscapes that are blinding with beauty. Chock it up to an exploration of total depravity. As much as I’m thankful for David’s work and creativity, I pray for him like crazy.
33. Persuasion – Jane Austen
Despite being raised by Anglophile parents and further influenced by my Austenite aunts, this was my first true Austen read. I know. The latest penguin edition has an incredible illustration for its cover and I got sucked in- sad to admit aesthetics were the deciding factor. But I can’t say I was surprised to find that the contents outweighed the cover. Everyone is right. Austen is phenomenal. Though I still stand by Sense and Sensibility as being my preferred Austen story, I can safely assert that Persuasion stands at a very close second. If you don’t swoon over Wentworth, I don’t understand you and cannot help you. That man is the better Darcy. I won’t be dissuaded.
34. Brighton Rock – Graham Greene
I’d venture to call Graham Greene the British Flannery O’Connor. These Catholic writers, man. They understand religious tension so, so well. Brighton Rock is a winding tale of gangsters, sociopaths, and spiritual anxiety set in 1930’s Brighton, East Sussex. I didn’t know anything at all walking into this and I don’t want you to either. But that would make for a poor review so I’ll just say this: There is a good religious fiction out there. You’re most likely not going to find it at Crossways or Alpha and Omega. It’s not in the Christian Fiction section of Barnes and Noble. It’s probably not what your great-aunt got you for Christmas. You’re gonna find it buried in the fiction section of seedy bookshops in the city. It’s probably already on your shelf. Martin Luther didn’t actually say that genius line about how ‘Christian shoemaking is good shoemaking, not just etching little crosses on the shoes’, but nevertheless that statement is true. Read work that speaks to our human condition, that points beyond our understanding, causes us to remember, and pushes us towards surrender. All that to say, Brighton Rock might do nicely.
35. The Faust Act: The Wicked and The Divine #1 – Kieron Gillen, Jamie McKelvie, Matt Wilson
Not much to say here but that this was a chore to read. It’s an interesting concept- gods and goddess sort of reincarnating themselves each generation and walking among us- but it fell flat for me. These characters were more like powerful beings than the gods and goddesses of modern and ancient history. Jehovah was also tellingly absent. Vulgar for vulgarity’s sake and overall mediocre writing, I won’t be bothering with the next volume.
36. The Last Battle (Narnia #7) – C. S. Lewis
It’s so hard to finish a phenomenal book, let alone a series. I know I’ll read these again for years to come, but the initial run through is over. Narnia of course is a staple within Christian literature, so if it’s not my recommendation that does it for you, it’s only a matter of time. While The Last Battle has a reputation of being theologically dicey, I think much of that has been inflated over the years. Naturally it would have been helpful for Lewis to employ more nuance (if only to quiet the clamor of those who struggle to read the more controversial parts critically), but the story is enough as it is. Depravity, loyalty, betrayal, selfishness and gluttony, and a quite brilliant eschatology are all at play in the last days of Narnia. The last few pages had me curled up on my couch, longing for such a better world. But Aslan’s country is promised. It’s only a matter of time.
37. In A Lonely Place – Dorothy B. Hughes
Film noir is eternally cool. What is more iconic than a dark lit alley, the curling cigarette smoke weaving around a silhouetted fedora, the click of his steps as he approaches some unwitting dame who just may be a femme fatale? I watched a lot of film noir this year, courtesy of my Criterion Channel membership. But I’ve never read any such novels before. Enter Dorothy B. Hughes’ In A Lonely Place. In a similar spirit to Fritz Lang’s M, Hughes drops us heavy into the waking hours of a strangler. We stalk the side roads of LA with Dix Steele, suffer with him in his night sweats, watch him dance around discovery. It’s one hell of a book. What really kept me hooked was that Hughes lets us partake in Dix’s deflection of personal responsibility. We’re forced to feel his glee as he evades exposure, but his culpability is always held at arms lengths. Dix refuses to admit and accept what he’s done so that door is closed to us. The inner solitude in every man is a dark abyss in Dixon Steele. It’s a quiet thriller, slow and purposeful but armed with a stunning twist at the end. Someone online said that it was some of the best feminist fiction but I didn’t really pick up on such a vibe. The story is extremely compelling and Hughes’ writing is clear and decisive. Though very different from Peace Like A River, this is one of my favorite novels of 2019.
38. The Fellowship of the Ring (Lord of the Rings #1) – J. R. R. Tolkien
How does one even attempt to review Lord of The Rings? I don’t feel worthy, so I’ll keep it short and sweet. Obviously, this is one of the greatest (if not THE greatest) fantasy series of all time. For that reason alone, you should own three copies – one to read for yourself, one to give to the friend you will inevitably coerce into reading it too, and a collectible edition to display proudly on your shelf. Growing up addicted to Peter Jackson’s adaptations meant finding more differences in the book from the film than I expected, but it only made me appreciate both forms more. Tale as old as time: the book is superior to the movie. I can’t imagine the terror longtime fans of the series must have felt when news of the adaptations reached them. No fear. Jackson is lovely but Tolkien is king, and I found myself wishing that they could have found a way to give Tom Bombadil some screentime. It doesn’t need to be said, but this is clearly an indisputable masterpiece.
39. The Root of the Righteous – A. W. Tozer
Much of this book is a call to obedience which is a sorely-needed message these days. While it is by grace we are saved and not by our works, to obey is the natural response of the soul to the divine love that’s been imparted to it through that grace. The more we come to a saving knowledge of what Christ has done at Calvary on our behalf, the more we want to do for him. I’m not sure where Tozer lost the plot on this, but it was confusing to hear him encourage the opposite. His criticism of reformed theology and the doctrine of regeneration revealed more about his ignorance regarding both. In Tozer’s view, we take advantage of such radical grace so we should not preach it. Instead, we should encourage sobriety and moral correction. Yet the scriptures don’t speak to a “morality first, grace second” process. While we are indeed instructed to keep God’s moral law, we cannot even desire to do good unless God first strikes that chord within us. All is Christ, not our labors. As I kept reading, I became more disenchanted with Tozer’s repetitious calls for a backward sort of realignment and I barely trudged through. I’d be willing to read something else by him, but this was just irksome.
40. Adorning The Dark: Thoughts on Community, Calling, and the Mystery of Making – Andrew Peterson
The final note may be the sweetest. Books on creativity are a dime a dozen and Christian books on creativity tend to be cheesy and chocked full of platitudes. Andrew Peterson, however, is of a different breed. When God was first drawing my heart toward Him, I would skip my 8am sociology class on Tuesday and Thursday mornings and sneak down to the library basement to read Madeleine L’Engle’s Walking on Water. For the first time, Christianity was beautiful, bred purpose, and made sense. L’Engle gave me permission to write my little tributaries for the sake of “feeding the lake” and told me that my proclivity was more like a calling (a calling on everyone in every medium, which kept my ego in check). So imagine how refreshed I felt when Peterson mentions that our gift is at its highest potential when placed in service to the kingdom of God. Adorning The Dark is the perfect follow-up to Walking on Water. I cannot stress this enough: read this book. It will motivate you, correct you, comfort and encourage you. Peterson doesn’t puff himself up or make his craft out to be more divine mystery than it is (and it is) – he tells it straight, pushes discipline, and points everything back to the very first Maker. It’s an incredible thing that God calls us to be co-creators. We never create ex nihilo but the words and the song and sketch and the clay are all a gift from the uncharted mystery within the heart of God.