J. L. Odom

Story Kernels and Trinitarian Art

I have been thinking lately about how stories grow and also about how the fact that they do so in much the same manner as nature should come as no surprise since people frequently talk about the “kernels” from which their story grew: little bits of almost nothing that blossomed into something enormous, alive, and fruitful.

I’ve also been thinking about times when I’ve noticed a storyteller forgot to let their kernel go, kept hold of it until it sits, hard and dead and lifeless, in the middle of a story that no longer has a place for it. You can tell when that happens because of the incongruity. A plot thread, or a scene, or even a mere line juts out at you as being feebler and less refined than the surrounding story, and you wonder why it didn’t get cut.

Well, it was one of those darlings the author couldn’t kill, because it was the very first darling. The one that inspired the whole thing…and how can you sacrifice the very source of your inspiration and let it die? Don’t you need it? Doesn’t it keep its significance?

I would say no to the first question, but yes to the second. Do you need the mold once the brick has hardened? No. Does the mold still matter? Yes. It gave the brick its exact shape, held it in place until it became what it needed to be.

Last year we did a kindergarten science project with my 5 year old. We germinated some kidney beans and watched them grow. I wasn’t expecting much because I don’t have the greenest thumb and we were germinating them inside the house during winter. But, lo, some of them shot up. What was left of the bean (seed) was a dried up papery shell that we had to gently push off of the plant as the shoot grew in a bit of potting soil inside some yogurt containers.

I mean, hey, we got seven whole new kidney beans off of those things!

Anyhow, it reminds me of how, with some of my stories, I pick up that bit of dried up papery shell and realize, it has almost nothing to do with the story any more. To use a slightly more visceral (and perhaps unusual) metaphor…it is a bit like a placenta. An entire organ that exists for one specific purpose, is absolutely vital for growth and survival and is then promptly discarded (or eaten, among many mammals) as soon as the child is able to take its first breath. Once the person–or story–is breathing on its own, the organ is rendered useless.

The truth is, a good story usually eats its seed. You write down a thought, a theme, a scene, a quote. Then the story grows around that, like that coiling shoot around its seed till the seed has been consumed unto almost nothing, It is the food the story nourishes itself on until it begins to thrive on its own in good soil.

You may look back on that inspiring line/scene/aesthetic and find it is no longer strong or mature enough for the story you now hold in your hands.

It also explains why faith is likened to a seed as well. Whether you are are religious or not, you might well have heard of Jesus saying how all you need is faith “like a mustard seed.” And I usually interpret that as meaning “it’s okay if it’s very small.” And I think that’s true. But there may be another layer to it.

You once held up that kernel or seed and said “This!! This is the thing.”

And it is. Yet when it comes to fruition, it looks nothing like that which you held in your hand when you said “this!”

Faith requires so much relinquishing. So too does making any great story or art. You have to bury the seed, yes, but you must even relinquish your fixed idea of the seed, not because it is false, but because it is inadequate. It is not untrue, it is just too small a glimpse of the truth. But with careful tending, it really does grow, and it may grow into something that astonishes you, far surpassing all your expectations and intentions. Some things must die and be buried that they may live and be fruitful. Yes it is a principle of faith and the self, but if anything is really true you will see it borne out everywhere. In life. In nature. And in art.

However.

However. This is not to say that one abandons the seed without care and lets everything goes willy nilly wherever the wind takes it. That may be good enough for dandelion fluff, but more substantial stories require care and cultivation. There are such things as improper tending, poor soil, and parched ground. That is to say, there is such a thing as quite literally ‘losing the plot.’

Inspiration without purpose is chaos, so it is understandable that we sometimes feel we must lock into a trajectory no matter how the terrain changes. It is understandable because it is, in still another sense, true. It is one of those matters held in tension. I think this is why so many people like to discuss the question of whether they’re a “pantser” or a “plotter” because you kind of have to be both.

Dorothy L. Sayers has this lovely illustration in her book “The Mind of the Maker” where she states that art or any human act of creation is fundamentally trinitarian in nature. For those unfamiliar, I’ll give a quick explanation: In Christianity, the doctrine of the Trinity says that God is one, but He is three persons: the Father (God as understood throughout the Tanakh), the Son (Jesus as seen in the Gospels), and the Spirit (as described throughout the whole Bible). Not three gods, but three persons in one God. People have used all sorts of wild illustrations to try and pin this tricky concept down, none of which are adequate, but I think Sayers puts forth one of the better descriptions.

She likens the driving idea of any art to the Father (source, structure, purpose, intent) and likens the physical manifestation of the art to the Son (tangible, visible existence) and the spirit of the work to, well, the Spirit. For instance: “I should like to write a play about grief, loss, and the passage of time.” That is the Father. We put on the play. That is the Son. The audience receives the meaning and emotion of the play, it resonates inside them and may, in fact, bring about an action or behavior in them. The Spirit.

Sayers argues that these three aspects must be in balance in order for the art to be truly good, for we are mere humans, not God, and prone to too much of one thing and too little of another, and any number of other errors. But, for those who believe as I do, we are still made in the image of God and thus are little creators, fathering worlds, incarnating them, and letting it all steep inside someone else’s soul till the meaning takes root and begets thought and action.

This amazes me. To quote, “it is too wonderful for me.” And it is good to feel awe.

It is good to see a story that you could never have quite predicted sprout up out of something small and unassuming. It takes faith and persistence to see it through when it doesn’t look like what you imagined but is, in fact, showing you its true form–far from but inextricably linked to the original germ.

It is good to watch a shoot burst out of a seed and recognize it as a little miracle. Metaphorical or literal. Again, it is so good to feel awe.

The Everlasting Trope: Battle Couple

When I was younger (a teen or so) and someone asked me what sort of things I find to be “romantic”, this was roughly my answer:

“Sitting together, shoulder-to-shoulder before some great battle, drinking coffee next to a fire in the dark. Preparing for the danger to come, knowing what the other was thinking or feeling without a word having to be said.”

And frankly, for me, that is one of the fundamental appeals of the “Battle Couple” trope.

Now, usually, when I do an ‘Everlasting Trope’ I talk about when the trope works and when it doesn’t. But with this trope I think the times it doesn’t work simply have to do with characterization. The characters are either well-written, or they aren’t. They jive with you or they don’t. They feel real, or they don’t. That’s it.

So, instead, I’m going to talk about what this trope looks like, and examine some different versions of it. Full disclosure: I unabashedly love this trope, and I don’t see it nearly as often as I would like. I literally wrote my book for myself, because I wanted to read this trope in the particular style I longed for, even if no one else ever read it.

So What is a “Battle Couple”? (I know, I know it says right there on the tin):

Simple description? A romantic pair that go into battle together. Delving into it a little more, it’s basically a romantic version of buddy cops or brothers-in-arms.

A common description of the difference between friends and lovers is that friends stand side-by-side, whereas lovers stand face-to-face. Obviously both can be true of lovers, but here you imagine them also back-to-back, fighting an onslaught. You get the camaraderie of friendship, the emotional tension of romance, and the wordless intuition of a partnership forged under life-and-death circumstances.

This isn’t just two characters who are in love who also happened to have swords in their hands (these days, that’s everybody in Fantasy novels, right?). These two have a system. They have a plan. They’re a team.

Maybe they’ve been together since before the story began, or maybe they come together over course of the conflict, maybe they started out as friends, maybe as enemies, but at some point they become a Battle Couple, and here are some thoughts on what that looks like.

Types and Characteristics

Complementing skills: She’s stealth, he’s a brawler. She’s the sharpshooter, he’s the strategist. One hotwires the car, the other drives. You love to see it. Thus the Battle Couple becomes a bit of a metaphor for marriage (and parenthood). Each person has their strengths and weaknesses, and those interact and play off of each other.

For instance, in my marriage, I’m good at keeping the kids’ schedule, getting food on the table, reading out loud to the kids, and sensing their needs. My husband far excels me in doing fun activities, teaching practical life skills, and getting the kids engaged in chores. We attack the battle that is raising five small children less that six years apart (including newborn twins) with our respective skill sets in hand.

You get the idea.

When one character is limping, the other steps in to shoulder them. When one of them has a blindspot, the other points it out to them, or covers down for them. Designated areas of operation! Interlocking fields of fire! Look, this may not be romantic to everyone, but to me it is *chef’s kiss* beautiful.

Common cause: This may seem obvious, but in order to fight side-by-side, you need to be looking at something. You need to have a common objective, a shared purpose. There are exceptions to this, yes, but this is the general idea. And this also means that the “Battle Couple” trope can live outside a literal battle. Any couple sharing strenuous difficulty to accomplish a shared objective can have the flavor–the tensions and pains and aches–of the “Battle Couple” trope.

There is this higher, greater, other thing binding them together. Something beyond their personal feelings for one another. And that greater objective increases their intimacy, because they love what they are fighting for, and they love each other and one or the other of those loves may be in danger of being sacrificed to the other.

Something about having an ideal/conviction/purpose other than just *each other* is also striking to me and more resonant with reality while still retaining the excitement we often crave in our fiction. It makes the romance deeper, fuller, and richer in the same way that real life romance is more than just “feels” and “moments” and “unresolved sexual tension.” It is work and strain and struggle and moving forward at a pace dictated not only by yourself, but by another.

Back-to-back fighting: Side by side fighting, of course, yes please…but also back-to-back. I don’t just mean in the literal, action-scene sense, (though that too). This goes glove in hand with the ‘common cause’ and the ‘complementing strengths’ element. You don’t always get to stare into each others’ eyes, or walk arm-in-arm. You have to take your eyes off the beloved and do the task.

It’s the both-and of it. The lover is ruthlessly set to the task, utterly engaged in the fight, facing the enemy…yet aware of the beloved who is doing the same thing at their back. Covering for each other while yet unable to see one another. Confident in one another in a situation of blinding danger, which leads me to:

Trust: Unlike the trope where one character says to the other “you can’t go, it’s too dangerous!” this trope implies a trust between the lovers. They may be afraid for the other’s life, but they implicitly trust their counterpart’s competence. They know, gut-deep, what they are made of and trust that they ‘got this,‘ so to speak. They may want to protect each other, sure, but neither thinks the other can’t handle it. Nobody here is too delicate for danger.

But don’t they still fear for each other? Why YES. Yes they do. Which brings us to the why-do-we-even-like-this-trope of this whole operation. Romance needs tension, does it not? And whither shall we go regarding this hyper-competent, already-united battle couple to retrieve our much-needed tension?

Lemme tell you.

The Why of the Thing

A Different Flavor of Tension:

We know that romance generally necessitate a form of tension, such as “will-they-won’t-they,” a love triangle, “enemies-to-lovers,” or star-crossed lovers. These types of tension hold the lovers apart either by their own internal conflict, or by others keeping them apart. But the tension of the Battle Couple needn’t have anything to do with whether or not they will get together, or what other people think about them. It has to do with the knowledge that the one you love is in danger, and you fear for them–yet you need them there.

Each person in the pair is taking that which is most precious to them and bringing it directly into the line of fire. There is fear and pain and doubt in that, which has nothing to do with if they love each other. You know they do and, often, so do they. That is precisely what breeds the tension. Now it may or may not be an unspoken love, but that is beside the point. You feel the thing in the back of their mind that aches, that says “you may lose the one you love today. And you may be the one to allow it to happen.” That’s where the whole trust thing comes in, as well as the common cause. What will be sacrificed? The one they love, or the purpose on which both are fervently fixed?

In addition to this particular brand of tension, there are a few classic scenes that the Battle Couple trope tends to produce which I rather like.

The Survival Reunion (or lack thereof):

The battle is over. The dwindled army reaches the rally point one-by-one.

“Where is she?” he says, under his breath.

And either she comes limping through the fog, blood-stained…or she doesn’t. You get the tender, strained, collapsing-in-exhausted-relief reunion, or you get the gut-punch of tragedy, the disbelief, the miserable trek to go retrieve the body, because that’s the only thing that can be done for them now.

If the characters are well-rendered, then either of these options will be compelling.

Unspoken Knowledge:

This is that moment where you have two characters who both know each other so well, and who also know what needs to be done, that they work together wordlessly and seamlessly.

They hear the battle trumpet. They both rise and go in opposite directions, one to put the tack on the horses, the other to rouse the troops. One gestures toward their intended trajectory, the other nods and plans accordingly.

This doesn’t happen ALL the time. No two people are always perfectly in sync. I don’t think it would be very interesting if they were. But when it does happen it beautifully displays the knowledge, competence, intimacy, and the shared burden, all at once.

There are also a few classic Battle Couple scenes that I do NOT like, such as:

-Cupping face in hands right before a teary send-off. This may appeal to some (that’s more than fine) but I like something a bit more gruff and practical.

-A mid-battle kiss. I think this is nigh unforgiveable. Maybe it’s because of mine and my husband’s military background, but I just can’t justify this, no matter how much of a romantic I may be. No kisses until the thing is done, one way or the other.

-Symbolic weapon activities. This applies to ALL battle characters. Cocking a weapon that supposedly already had a round chambered. I picture a Mr. and Mrs. Smith sort of scenario, where one character hands a weapon to the other that is NOT out of ammo, but has no round chambered (?!?!) and so the other person has to rack it back? This makes no sense.

(I get that cocking a gun is cinema short-hand for “I’m serious business. NOW I’m gonna shoot you” but it remains very, very silly.)

Or tossing a knife to someone who is already wielding a sword and doesn’t have any clear NEED for the knife? It just looks cool?

I don’t like “sounds cool” action except rarely. Because, often, the “cooler” it sounds, the less realistic it is and, eventually, the less interesting it becomes. Only so much whirling and spinning and Matrix moves can be tolerated in any non-Wuxia setting (Wuxia is its own thing, and allows amply for such things).

EXAMPLES:

I only have a few because I am extremely picky. I adore the battle couple trope, but I am rarely satisfied by its execution. Some of those below scarcely even meet the definition, but they evoke some of the emotions and atmosphere I associate with a Battle Couple.

The Blue Sword:

In The Blue Sword, Harry and Corlath train together (sort of) and go through the battle games together and then, when the enemy comes, they technically go to battle together. I love all the rigors of training, and the romantic element here is subtle, certainly not the focus. The only problem is that Harry goes off on her own to do some random thing which, of course, ends up saving everyone, but kind of reduces the whole ‘working together’ angle that I love so much.

Mara Daughter of the Nile:

In this Ancient Egypt historical fiction, which I read in 7th grade and have read a dozen times since, Mara is a double-agent due to her linguistic capabilities, spying on behalf of Thutmos’s right hand man, Sheftu, and on behalf of Hatshepsut’s right hand man.

Sheftu and Mara develop a romantic relationship fraught with tension because neither of them can trust the other, and each would easily sacrifice the other for ‘the cause’…his cause being to put Thutmose on the throne, and her cause being freedom and wealth. But when they begin to share a cause and Mara suffers mightily for it, the story achieves a lovely Battle Couple flavor.

The Horse and his Boy

My favorite of the Narnia books, largely because I find the setting in Calormen to be more appealing: desert environment, a different culture from Narnia, etc.

Shasta, the slave boy from Archenland, and Aravis, a noble Tarkheena of Calormen, share a journey and a purpose, if not a battle, and must work together to save a country. Her wounds may come from the claws of a lion, and his from sheer exhaustion, but for a kid’s book written so many decades ago, there’s little to none of this “Oh, you can’t handle this, because you’re a girl, I must do it for you.”

Aravis does what she can do, Shasta does what he can do, they save the threatened country, and later rule Archenland together.

Uprooted

Yet another story that does not include any actual military-style battles, but rather has a magical battle. A battle against a deeply rooted evil.

The two main characters have complementing magical skills and personalities and it is when they work together that amazing things happen.

Agnieszka has a visceral, emotional, messy, intuitive magic, whereas the Dragon has a disciplined, structured, formal magic. Both are needed to fight the evil.

So, perhaps there are no bows and arrows and battle-shields in this story, but that side-by-side, compensating for each others’ strengths and weakness thing is definitely in play.

Now the truth is, I actually do prefer Battle Couples to be literal. I want them to gear up and go to war. I’m sure there are many more stories out there that do this nowadays but, like I said, I’m picky. So when I couldn’t find the precise flavor that I wanted, I made up stories that did. And then I wrote one of them. And even though it looks very little like the fun tropey ideas I started out with, this particular trope was one of the things that inspired me to write at all. It holds a special place in my heart.

In Other News: Twin Birth Story

Okay so this isn’t usually the sort of blog post I write (and it is also the reason I haven’t written one in a long time) but when I found out I was pregnant with my “fourth” and ever-so-casually went to my first prenatal appointment–I mean, none of this is new to me by now–all I thought about was hearing an assuring heartbeat.

Well, we got two of those. I laughed my head off through the rest of the ultrasound, causing the image to shake, completely flabbergasted. Then I cried a little on the drive home, not from sadness, just from being overwhelmed.

I’ll skip the pregnancy recap for now but, suffice it to say, it was my most difficult pregnancy by far while still almost entirely free from complications. I can’t say how thankful I am, because most twin moms have it WAY harder than I did, and it was pretty darn hard to begin with.

Finding out that I was having twins instead of one baby completely changed all my normal plans. My first was born at home, and the next two were at a birth center. Uncomplicated. No issues. Baby straight to my hands, never separated from me. I was able to eat and drink and move and labor without being bothered. I have always been very glad I went that route, or rather that I was able to do so. It’s not that I’m super crunchy, I just like to know what’s going on with my body, and the pain of labor, horrible as it is, is informative and directive and I feel a little scared at the thought of having that input totally cut off. But twins almost always have to be born at a hospital, constantly monitored. Twins often need extended NICU care, twins must be delivered in the OR and epidurals are strongly recommended if not required. C-sections and inductions are routine.

Understand, I am NOT against hospital births or epidurals or formula or anything that better serves healthy outcomes for Mom and Baby. Not a bit. But you can get an idea of how the prospect of delivering twins differed in almost every particular from what I was used to.

I managed to escape the most common problems of twin pregnancies: pre-eclampsia, gestational diabetes, and pre-term labor. I was also what they call a “Di/Di” twin pregnancy, which means that each twin has their own amniotic sac and their own placenta. Most (not all) Di/Di twins are fraternal, as mine turned out to be. This is the lowest risk twin pregnancy.

But at 35 weeks I started to feel persistently itchy all over, and learned about a pregnancy ailment I’d never even heard of: “Cholestasis.” It affects the liver processes, makes mom VERY itchy–a minor matter for me–and increases the risk of stillbirth after 37 weeks, a far graver concern. I requested a lab, and, a week later, I was diagnosed with Cholestasis. I was told that I should be induced the very next day: at 36 weeks and 6 days, just one day shy of what is considered “term” for twins.

(Those queasy of stomach may opt out now, not because this is terribly frightening or gory, but just if you’re not particularly comfortable with pregnancy-related biological realities)

Desperate not to be induced, because I’ve heard that Pitocin-induced contractions are way more intense than natural contractions, I asked the doctor to sweep my membrane (A simple, short procedure, where the doctor “sweeps” their finger between the membranes of the amniotic sac). Takes about a minute, and is extremely uncomfortable, but often does the trick of kick-starting labor if your body is already headed in that direction. We also did some other activities to help labor along and that night I started having contractions. Then they slowed and we decided “oh well” and went to bed.

I did not sleep well that night. At all. And I generally slept very well this pregnancy, which is unusual for a lot of people. Then, at 3:00 a.m. the contractions started back up. I was hoping and praying that they were doing their job (dilation and effacement). We ate breakfast and headed to the hospital around 7:00 or 8:00. When they checked me an hour or so later, I was 4 cm dilated (as opposed to 1 cm the previous day…1 out of 10, for anyone unfamiliar with such matters). So they just let me alone to labor naturally. I was so relieved. No induction!

Labor progressed slow and steady, especially compared to my last labor which was 7 hours start to finish. I had three separate monitors strapped to my belly: one for each baby’s heartbeat, and one for my contractions. I also had a line in my arm for fluids and for anti-biotics since I had tested positive on the GBS swab (a minor inconvenience). I had a blood pressure cuff attached to my arm that checked me automatically every so often. I’ve never been all hooked up like that, but I could still stand, walk around a bit, sit on a birthing ball, etc. I changed position as often as I could, and we probably looked pretty absurd every time I had to go to the bathroom, because we had to unplug ALL THE THINGS, and walk with the IV and all the cords to the bathroom.

My husband was awesome and had my back the whole time, encouraging me through each contraction. From 4 cm to 7 cm (about 5 or so hours) the contractions remained manageable, which is to say, requiring severe focus and breathing and even vocalization, but I was never out of control.

Now, two of the things I had been most worried about (other than the safety of the babies) were c-section, and epidural. Every doctor and midwife I talked to was very positive about my chances to have a vaginal birth, the only necessity being that Baby A (my girl) was head down, which she had been since about 32 weeks. Baby B (my boy) had been transverse the whole time, which is fine, because the second baby can literally change position during delivery, after Baby A makes some room. Some doctors are unwilling to deliver Baby B in a breech (bottom or feet down) position and would encourage a C-section, but luckily every doctor I interacted with said that my previous three uncomplicated vaginal deliveries meant that they had no problem going forward with vaginal delivery, and they weren’t worried about Baby B’s position.

The epidural, however, they all seemed keen on. No matter who I talked to throughout my pregnancy, no matter how encouraging they were about every other preference, they all said I would probably have to get an epidural, or that I really, really should. I did not want one. As labor went on and on (not long by some standards, but longer than my last two for sure) I began to think I would give in.

In all my other labors I’ve not been restricted on eating or drinking during labor, but at the hospital they only let you have “clear liquids” (pop, juice). I drank those for their sugary calories but, come early afternoon, I began to feel weak and shaky, and having nothing but bits of juice sugar seemed to make it even worse. I felt like I wasn’t going to have the strength to deliver, and maybe I should just do what the doctor (repeatedly, kindly, firmly) advised and get the epidural.

I am SO grateful that my husband insisted we talk it through, that he didn’t want me to regret making a decision in the heat of the moment, so we should make a decision while I was still coping well and stick to it no matter what. I was almost too tired to talk it through, but I am incredibly glad he did that (he had the clear head for it.)

We decided no epidural. The doctor sort of sighed in concession and warned us of the problems, that if something went really wrong I’d have to go under general anesthesia. I knew that. An unlikely outcome, but a genuine risk: if that happened I would not be awake to see them born. But I knew that if it were a severe enough emergency as that, I would probably have had to receive general anesthesia anyway.

The doctor was very gracious and accepted our decision despite his strong recommendation to the contrary, for which I’m very thankful.

The second thing we decided was that if, after Baby A was delivered, Baby B didn’t go vertex (head down) with external guidance and it became necessary for the doctor to reach up inside and manipulate his position that way, I would get a spinal block for that. A spinal block is a one-time shot (not an IV/Catheter) that numbs the area for a short period and can be administered quickly in the OR. It’s not something for a dire emergency, however, because it takes a few minutes to prep, and a minute or two to kick in. I didn’t WANT one, but I respected the doctor’s warning about how if he had to reach up and internally manipulate, I might lock up–since having someone’s hand all up inside you is NOT a normal labor pain–and put the baby in distress. I was told this is common in such circumstances, and I took that seriously.

So we had a plan.

By about hour 14 of slow, steady labor with very gradually intensifying contractions, I reached 9 cm. I was amazed, because even though I was weak, and I had to vocalize a lot (basically moan in low, low voice) through contractions, I was still coping and never felt like things got out of control, never felt like I was gonna lose it. Usually I hit a point of “Oh no, this is too intense, how will I do this?” But the intensity was so gradual in its ascent that I never felt quite that way. I was really weak from hunger though, and that did make me nervous, especially since I knew I’d have to do the delivery part twice.

We decided it was time to head over to the OR and I would have them break my water. In all my labors my babies are born within minutes of broken water: 45 for my first, 15 for my second, 2 for my third. So I had good reason to believe it would go quickly. And I was desperate for it to go quickly. I was so tired.

At about 6:00 pm or something I walked to the OR (I could still walk! I stopped midway for a contraction) then was helped onto the OR table. Much less comfortable than the hospital bed, and my back had been aching in that bed (back labor? I don’t know, it mostly felt like very tired, sore, weak muscles). It seemed to take a minute for everything to get situated, then they got the hook and broke Baby A’s water. That always intensifies things: I was pushing pretty quickly after that.

I had kind of hoped that the babies would just come out in one or two pushes because, compared to my other kids, they would be so much smaller at only 37 weeks. It did only take a handful of pushes, maybe 3 contractions’ worth, to get my little girl out, but it felt like it was taking a long time. Towards the end, I could feel the doctor pulling at the perineum, like…stretching it, and I did not like it. The pain got really bad as I did the final pushes and I yelled. I found out later (my husband managed to get video, amazingly) that this was when the doctor put his finger up to pull the cord off my little girl’s neck. She cried immediately, still halfway inside! But that huuuuuurt.

Then they put her on my chest. Well, on my belly, really, because her cord was short and didn’t quite reach that far.

I’ve had all boys, and she is my first girl. I just wanted to hold on to her and take in this new reality of a daughter. She was covered in vernix, and I forgot to ask them not to rub it off. I was kinda distracted.

But the contractions started back up within just a couple of minutes, though I couldn’t do anything with them–couldn’t push–because they had pulled up the ultrasound to look at Baby B’s position and see what needed to be done. I was so nervous, and overwhelmed by knowing I had to do the whole thing again.

But he was head down! He had been transverse (crossways) the whole time, and was just waiting for his turn to dive down!

However the doctor said it looked like his hand, and perhaps his cord, were up by his head. The hand presents possibility of worse tearing, and the cord of course can cause dangerous problems. The doctor said there was a chance that, as I began pushing, he would need to reach up and move the hand and the cord.

Because we had made the decision ahead of time, I asked for them to go ahead and do the spinal block. I was afraid of the pain, yes, and so very exhausted, but the potential for baby’s distress was the reason we had made the decision beforehand, so I think (hope) I didn’t do it just from fear. Part of me was relieved that I had a good reason for this because I was so tired, and pushing my girl out had hurt worse than I expected for some reason.

I worked through a few more intense contractions without pushing, and then I had to curl sideways in the fetal position to get the shot in my back. It felt like my belly was empty by comparison, even though I had a whole other baby in there (not to mention, he was the bigger one!)

Immediately my legs went tingly, and then numb. It was the strangest sensation. My legs looked…dead. I did not like that at all. I could just still wiggle my toes, but the legs hung lifeless in the rests. I was grateful for the pain relief in the moment, but goodness I don’t think I would ever do that again. It was so weird and disconcerting. The anesthesiologist told me she had given me a half dose, presumably because it was obvious that this wasn’t going to take long.

It seemed to take a really long time for them to break my little boy’s water, but it was probably scant minutes. I had to push while they hooked until it broke, then they had to instruct me to push after that because I couldn’t feel the contraction when it came. I kept saying “Am I pushing? Am I pushing?” because it felt like I was doing nothing. Both in the moment and in retrospect, I really don’t like that. The disconnect was just…I don’t know. Not my favorite.

In the end, I pushed just a few times, and my boy just sort of worked his way out with my numb pushes.

Everybody assured me afterward that I made a good call, that babies often go into distress and have emergency c-sections whenever the doctor has to reach up. But in the end, he didn’t have to reach up, so part of me feels sad that I was numb even though I was immensely grateful for the relief in that moment.

Delivering a baby and then knowing you have to get right back and do it again? That is rough. Usually the moment of delivery brings a gush of relief. It’s over! My placenta usually comes out with almost no effort, a gentle push and no pain, so once the baby is out, everything else feels like nothing, and it’s all easy downhill from there. But knowing you have to go right back to it again is so daunting.

But my little boy came out safe and sound, which is the most important thing. They put him on my chest (his cord was longer) and rubbed him hard, because he wasn’t crying yet, but he was clearly doing just fine. I didn’t catch their APGAR numbers, but I think they were both good scores on color and breathing etc.

Soon both the babies were in their little warming/checking stations there in the OR, getting looked at, getting their oxygen checked, warming up, while I delivered my placentas and continued to wiggle my toes, boggled at the numbness in my legs. The placentas were kind of stuck together, and my husband got a video of that too, because my oldest sister LOVES that stuff. She, and my next sister, and my mom were all watching my three other kids at home.

That was another thing that made me a little sad in an otherwise positive experience: my boys couldn’t be there. My kids have no illusions about how babies come out. My eldest has been present for delivery twice, and I have explained it to them in no uncertain terms. I hate the idea of my kids thinking the babies somehow “come from the hospital” or from anywhere other than from my belly and out the proper exit.

Anyways, my husband followed my little girl, “E” to go get in the room and under the warmer, and my little boy, “P”, was still getting his checks while I got a little stitch or two. Surprisingly little tearing for birthing two babies!! Then they did this funny little thing where they rolled me on my side and sort of hitch/scoot/lifted me over, off the OR table and onto the hospital bed, and rolled me and my little boy into the post-delivery room.

When I got there, they were trying really hard to get E’s temperature up to the required mark. I was holding P pretty soon, and I kept asking them to give me E, because I figured skin-to-skin would do the trick for her (and when they finally gave her to me, it did.) I nursed them soon after, and my husband put in an order for the one thing so many pregnant women have longed for: sushi!!

While we waited for my sister to bring the sushi to the hospital, we marveled at how utterly, hilariously different these two are. Full head of dark hair and petite features for E (“עדין” was the word my dad used. Like, delicate, or “fine”) and P, practically bald with blonde peach fuzz, looking an awful lot like his second oldest brother. Looking at them side by side, you wouldn’t even think they were related.

E came out at 5 lb 13 oz and P came out at 6 lb 7 oz, both a bit smaller than their last growth scan estimates. So, remember, if you have to get growth scans, take those things with a grain of salt. Mine weren’t dramatically off, but I know they can be.

But those are such good weights for twins born at 37 weeks (or, technically 36 weeks and 6 days)! I was so proud of them (you know, as if they have any control over that…)

Then began the more tedious part. They had me on a Pitocin drip to prevent hemorrhage, they were checking my blood pressure all the time, and–to our shock!–they had to heel stick the babies before I fed them each time so as to test their blood sugars. They had to do this because they were preemies on a technicality (by one day!) and told us that they usually do it for 24 hours, but if they remained above a certain mark, they could stop doing it by 12 hours. Thank goodness we managed that because I was tired of them having to get heel sticks.

They also checked their temperatures frequently. Everyone was wonderful and kind, but we were just not used to these kind of constant checks, so it was a bit wearing. Anyhow, we ate the ever-loving daylights out of some sushi and sent a bunch of pictures and videos to the family chats. As soon as I proved I had the feeling back in my legs–which I got pretty quickly–and was able get up and use the bathroom, they wheeled us over the Mother-Baby side. It was still sometimes a revolving door of nurses and doctors, but the activity slowed and we were able to sleep a bit here and there. There was still paperwork to sign, a class to attend, a car-seat test.

We took a lot of pictures of them tucked side-by-side, of course, which was particularly amusing because they don’t look anything alike. (Sorry if this is disappointing but I don’t post pictures of my kids online!)

Of course, because of COVID, nobody was allowed to come see us or the babies. At this point, both sets of grandparents and both of my sisters were at our house, and my dad and my father-in-law were setting out on a drive to pick up the used passenger van we purchased since we weren’t gonna be able to be present ourselves for the transaction. Having twins caused us to very abruptly outgrow our minivan, since we have a 110 lb wolf we have to squeeze in there somewhere.

Originally we were told that we would have to stay a minimum of 48 hours after delivery, but we asked if we could go early. They were not pleased with the babies’ weight loss trajectories, and wanted to postpone the circumcision as well, but so long as we were willing to come in the next day for a follow-up weight check, they would let us go after 36 hours.

We did all the discharge requirements, of which there were several, and then they released us. My older boys were, and remain, enamored of their twin baby sister and brother, and bestowed upon them many kisses and hugs. This was the longest I’d been away from my boys, and we were so glad to be home.

The twins are two weeks as of today and we are making it so far. My mom is still here helping, and my sister lives with us right now, so I have a lot of back-up. But I’m trying to figure out methods and schedules for survival’s sake once that back-up is gone. In the mean-time, I’m so thankful for an uncomplicated delivery and healthy babies that are eating and sleeping and thriving.

So that’s my twin birth story. I wrote this because when I found out I was having twins I couldn’t get enough stories, data, information, or advice. I consumed it all to the point of obsessive absurdity. Thought I’d offer up one of the things that I so desperately wanted and sought ever since the midwife looked at the ultrasound and brightly said “Now, what do we have here?”

2019 in Books

Well, this wasn’t my best year for reading. I had shimmering visions of reading two or three times as many, but things both good (writing!) and challenging (a move) managed to interfere.

Here is the somewhat shorter than usual list:

Whose Body? by Dorothy L. Sayers: A Lord Peter Whimsey murder mystery. I don’t really go for murder mysteries but my mom has recommended these to me, and I did LOVE Sayers’ non-fiction, Mind of the Maker, so I gave it a go. It was okay, and I may yet read more in the series as I’ve heard it gets MUCH better once Harriet Vane enters the picture, but I can hardly remember anything about it, so…there you have it.

Fool’s Talk: Recovering the art of Christian Persuasion, by Os Guinness: Not bad, by any means, but I think I was hoping to get more out of it. The one thing that I appreciated was the emphasis on there not being one specific way or formula, and really trying to understand the people you’re talking to (as opposed to just throwing memorized points at people).

I am Malala, by Malala Yousafzai: The memoir of the young girl who was shot by the Taliban for her education activism. There was a lot to learn and appreciate here, but the one thing that sticks with me is how lonely and isolated she felt when she moved to the UK. She had security and much better living conditions, but not community, and that seems like a terrible trade to have to make.

All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doerr: A tale of a German boy skilled with radios, a blind French girl, and a treasure, during WWII. This book had beautiful, evocative prose and some very memorable scenes, though I don’t know that the whole quite exceeded the sum of the parts, excellent though those parts truly were. I enjoyed reading it, but have no desire to revisit it, and not much that left a long-lasting mark. But it really was beautiful and I would recommend it.

Genesis: the Book of Beginnings, by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks: The best new read of the year for me (I did some re-reads). Sacks has a whole series for the Torah, only Deuteronomy is not published yet, and it is sectioned of by Parsha (Torah reading portion), with a few essays per portion. The essays are insightful, rich, full of truth and both help to understand that which is hard in the text, and present the opportunity to make deep metaphysical connections, to get so much more out of each reading. Highly recommended.

Seeing and Savoring Jesus Christ, by John Piper: A short, solid book about focusing on who Jesus Christ really is, to help us know and love Him. I think I might recommend it generally with the caveat that I suspect the book won’t offer much if you’re not in the right frame of mind. It was a good book, but I don’t think I myself was in the right frame of mind. I think I was wanting something more.

A Canticle for Liebowitz, by Walter M. Miller Jr.: A re-read. I love this book so much. It is a deep, theologically-driven Sci-fi, written during the height of nuclear war fear. Recommended for everyone, and worth re-reading.

Villete, by Charlotte Bronte: I love Jane Eyre, so I read this. I am glad I did. It was interesting and worthwhile, but somewhat grave and depressing without much payoff for that cost. There was an underlying hopelessness to the narrative that was never resolved. Some interesting (and oft ungracious) discussions of Catholicism versus Protestantism, and England vs. the Continent, and a heroine that was exasperating only because she was very real.

Bright Smoke, Cold Fire, by Rosamund Hodge: A Young Adult novel, starting at the end of Romeo and Juliet, in a world full of blood sacrifice and revenants. Full disclosure, I have found Young Adult novels to be generally very disappointing, and have pretty much given up on them. But every now and then, a particular author makes me want to give it another shot. I follow this author on twitter and she’s lovely, and has a lot of theological insights that I appreciate, so I read this very-not-my-wheelhouse book. It was…still not my wheelhouse. Full of interesting imagery and ideas, and hinting at some rich themes, but a little too young and rushed in tone for me.

Surprised by Joy, by C.S. Lewis: I have read this many, many times. It is a go-to comfort book that I never fail to enjoy. Lewis’ conversion memoir, full of incredible insight, and always, always recommended to everyone.

This is How we Pray, by Adam Dressler: I read this because the pastor who wrote it is the pastor of the church I was attending at the time (a church I love). He is a gifted, humble pastor for whom I am very grateful, but I can’t say that I particularly enjoyed it or gleaned much from it. I hate saying that. There were several times I thought “Oooh, so-and-so would appreciate this part” so I think that it actually might be a really good read for some, at the right time. Perhaps it was a disparity in expectation, because I always feel convicted and edified by his sermons, but I did not find these essays (on prayer, obviously) to impact me similarly.

Emma, by Jane Austen: A classic that I had somehow never managed to read. It was lovely. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and not any less for already being so familiar with the story.

20 Reading Questions

So I am very, very tired (I have a 3 year old, an 18 month old, and I am in my first trimester, you see) but I wanted to write something today so I decided to do a bit of a more straightforward post. I saw this “20 Reading Questions” meme on twitter, and I genuinely enjoyed reading people’s answers, so I thought I’d do it.

I do not know the source of the meme. I tried to find it, but saw no links, just the meme.

Here goes!

Favorite genre to read: On the fiction side, usually fantasy. On the non-fiction, essays and apologetics.
Current book you’re reading: Ah, several. A Gentleman in Moscow. The Tragedy of the Assyrian Minority in Iraq. (Re-reading) The Outlaws of Sherwood. Pensees.
First book you remember loving: Either Mara Daughter of the Nile, or The Horse’s Boy.
A book/series you wish would be adapted to film: Not sure. I think maybe Marie Brennan’s A Natural History of Dragons might be a fun one with that clever mixture of pragmatic British-like tone, plus dragons and intrigue. I’ve only read the first one though.
Favorite protagonist: Orual from Till We Have Faces.
Favorite antagonist: Could I say Orual again…? Um, maybe the Sherif in Parke Godwin’s Sherwood. He kind of typifies the intelligent, slightly tortured, sympathetic villain that I like, but who is still very much the villain, and never “turns good.”
Do you write any stories? Yes, as might be evident by any perusal of this blog, I suppose (fantasy, essays, apologetics, historical fiction).
A movie that you think was better than the book: I didn’t read all three Hunger Games books, because I didn’t really like the first one very much. But I thought some of the movies were excellent.
Best book you’ve read this year: Probably Chaim Potok’s In the Beginning. It’s not my favorite of his, but it is still very, very good.
One of your favorite authors: C.S. Lewis (but then also Robin McKinley, G.K. Chesterton, and Chaim Potok)
Least favorite genre to read: I will never read horror. Ever. Or erotica. Also don’t like grimdark a whole lot. It wears on me right quick.
A book you’d recommend to a friend: Gilead, by Marilynne Robinson. I feel like I could recommend it to just about anybody, regardless of their taste. And The Abolition of Man, though that one requires a bit more perseverance and an interest in philosophy/theology. Also, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. Oh, and The Ugly American.
Favorite film adaptation of a book: Probably the original Canadian Anne of Green Gable movies. I love those so much.
Book you’ve read the most times: The Abolition of Man, Mara Daughter of the Nile, The Blue Sword, the Bible.
A book you didn’t expect to like: I wouldn’t say that I ever started reading a book thinking “I’m not going to like this,” BUT I did start reading The Brothers Karamazov with far more of a sense of duty than desire, if that counts.
Favorite classic book: Either Persuasion or Jane Eyre. Or Ivanhoe.
Book that impacted you the most: Till We Have Faces (Lewis) and The Promise (Potok).
If you could meet one author, living or dead, who would it be? C.S. Lewis
An author you think more people should know about: I mean it’s not like he’s unknown, but I think more people should read Chaim Potok’s books. He has this uncanny ability to evoke the deepest emotions without seeming to use any emotional language whatsoever, or even being overt about the subject matter. His themes are always woven throughout so subtly that you almost wonder if he even meant to put them in there, and his metaphors seem almost accidental while yet stunning.
Favorite book/series of all time: I can’t pick just one. Lewis’ Space Trilogy (particularly Perelandra) and Pilgrim’s Regress and The Weight of Glory. Anne of Green Gables (esp. Anne of the Island), G.K. Chesterton’s Heretics. Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword.

Philosophy in Fantasy

Fantasy novels almost always come with some philosophy mixed in. Sometimes it’s just as light as two cloves of garlic in the dish, because that taste was never meant to be the star…sometimes it’s as pungent as thoum. Thoum is made of nothing but raw garlic, oil, lemon and salt. It will clear out your sinuses, and your mouth will be very, very happy.

But one way or the other, the garlic is going in there.

There are a few reasons for this:

The whole point of speculative fiction is speculation, right? Of course we usually think of “speculation” in regards to practical matters, historical divergences, and magical or technological “what-ifs,” but what this inevitably does is force us to reckon with timeless truths and meaningful questions that ground us when we’re on these flights of wild fancy, things that can apply to real life, or at least reflect real experience.
Fantasy tends towards fighting, lets be honest. It needn’t, but it often does. Battles of swords, battles of wits, battles of morals. If there is fighting we can’t help but ask what we’re fighting for, and how we’re affected by it. If wits, we examine the intellect, its use and misuse. If morals, we are required to define them, and interrogate them. I don’t think writers do this on purpose. I think we do it instinctively. If life is on the line, we being to think about the meaning of life. Otherwise it doesn’t matter.
Writers are usually pretty thinky, I’d guess. When you go off and create worlds on your morning commute, or while you’re in the shower, it generally means you’re thinking about other stuff too. Life. Purpose. Hope. Cynicism. Faith. Family. Trauma. Politics. Truth. Culture. I mean, most people do this, but writers often are in overdrive, and that’s why it spills over on the page. What’s going on in your life, your struggles, your doubts, your fears, your desires, your epiphanies…they’re all going in there, whether you meant them too or not.
Lastly sometimes a writer straight-up has an agenda. This is the trickiest. It can make for the best and worst works. Fantasy offers a wide-open, manipulable field in which to lay out one’s philosophy/worldview/agenda with a degree of streamlined clarification that the real world rarely offers. Allegorical fantasies can obviously be of this variety and they can be very good or plain horrid. Basically if the author had a particular “message” from the beginning, as opposed conveying one inadvertently, then philosophy will likely be the most intense flavor of the work.

So that’s why we do it, but I’m going to go ahead and admit the fact that it rarely works for me. I imagine some might take offense to what I’m about to say, but I hope that it can be taken in good faith. Most of the time, I find philosophy in fantasy very, very silly and shallow. This isn’t because I don’t like philosophy in fantasy–or underlying messages, or deep thoughts–on the contrary, I LOVE all that.

But here’s the deal: what might seem like a brilliant philosophical epiphany to me, might come across as painfully, even stupidly obvious to you or to someone else, or vice versa. This is because we are not all operating on the same philosophical, spiritual, or religious parameters (because, let’s be honest, philosophy is either ancillary to or a more nebulous substitute for religion).

Because of this, a very intelligent author may include a beautifully written treatise on death and suffering in his novel, but because I am a person of faith, and I hold very certain beliefs about death and suffering (moreover have very certain experiences relating to death) much of what the author says may seem shallow and trite to me, however strong his prose, or however fair and genuine his thoughts.

We are not all on the Same Page (Religion as Example)

I am not saying, however, that simply because I (or others) am religious and perhaps you (or others) are not, that I find what you have to say (philosophically) to be stupid. Perhaps what I have to say sounds to you like a platitude, or an oversimplification, or something you’ve heard before and long since rejected as invalid. Nevertheless, here we are. If we do not share the same ground–that core of our worldview–our most impassioned scene of life-explaining dialogue may come across as silly and flat, or shallow, or over-simple, or over-complex.

If one’s philosophical foundations are deeply rooted in Judaism or Christianity, in Heschel and the Rambam or Lewis, Augustine and Chesterton, one may not have much internal tolerance for a philosophy rooted in Nietzsche, Ayn Rand, Richard Dawkins, or Marx. That is dealing in extremes, of course, and there are many worldviews and many overlaps besides, but I think you get my point. I am using religion as an example because it applies to me, so I am comfortable talking about it, and also because it can create pretty sharp delineations between resulting convictions or lack thereof.

Without known or shared parameters–basically without resonance–a long philosophical musing in the mouth of a fantasy character can come across as silly, amateurish. Obviously most people think about the biggies–life, death, meaning, purpose, right and wrong, justice, mercy, hope, faith, love–at some point or another. But Religion inherently addresses and collates all these things into a narrative, implying a through-line, solidity, and purpose. We are all prone to think about the meaning of life, but none of us are required to do so. Religion necessitates it in a very specific way, and most religions are not satisfied with loose ends, grey areas, or deep uncertainties in the way agnostic or atheistic philosophies are.

Religion says there IS such-and-such and it DOES signify thus-and-so, and DEMANDS of us this-and that. Doubts and unknowns still exist, naturally, but they are on the periphery; the core is faith, aka “belief in what is not seen, certainty, conviction in the face of doubt.”

All that to say…If you or your character are going in the opposite direction–walking away from a certain belief into doubt or an absence of clarity regarding things they thought they knew–then it will resonate with some, but will miss others. You may find your character’s doubts to be purposeful and courageous–and maybe they are!–or maybe they are not. That is a hard call to make, but perhaps I find them to be cowardly or weak in any case. And, again, I may think that my character’s firm conviction and compassion in the face of horrible suffering to be beautiful and powerful–you may find it unrealistic and cheesy.

I love the show This is Us (LOVE) and not only does it make me cry, I’m pregnant right now, so it makes me double cry. (THE DOJO SCENE. I can never stop thinking about that scene) But Kevin’s speech to Tess and Annie about his abstract painting, the speech from which the show derives its name–oh, the vagueness of it…so generic to me…probably the LEAST emotionally resonant scene in the whole show for me. And I know for a fact that it deeply touched others, so…make of that what you will.

I can see that I’m repeating myself now, so I’ll wrap it up. A common foundation, common belief, makes for resonance. The farther we are from one another in beliefs, the more ridiculous that Broken Warrior’s grand speech is going to sound to us, the greater the eye-roll, the sharper the emotional disconnect.

On a Mission

Lastly, I mentioned works in which the author is overtly proselytizing. They have a VERY specific philosophy or agenda they are trying to get across, and there’s no mistaking it. Now we don’t need to agree on the philosophy to acknowledge that the work is well-written or beautiful. But it must be recognized that when our beliefs are front and center, the reader’s reaction will be as wildly diverging as it would be if you were handing out a gospel tract, or a communist manifesto. And even if we can see that the work is well made, we might still kinda hate it because it feels like propaganda to us–and well-made propaganda, no less! If you feel like someone is basically lying, but you know they passionately believe it, and they are communicating it well? That probably isn’t going to be very enjoyable.

None of this is to discourage the infusion of philosophy in SFF works, obviously. Stuff and nonsense. I still love it. I think we all do. We just have to realize that sometimes the wires are cut, and we cannot connect to or hear one another across the philosophical distance. The greatest works can reach across divides of belief, but even in that I must confess that I think they only do that when they reach a core we can agree on, even if is only one single bare point of connection, the one resonant strike on a real true foundation.

And perhaps that last sentence meant much or nothing to you, because it comes from my convictions, and we may not have those in common.

Currently Reading

Thanks to my project-loving husband, I now have a literal ‘currently reading shelf.’ He was feeling antsy, and desperate for a project for which no materials would need to be purchased. Thankfully we had 3 little wood crates left over from the shoe-storage solution he built a year ago. From them he made a lovely little shelf that perfectly tucks in the corner of the kitchen, next to where I usually sit at the table. In the shelves I have all the books I want to try and get through this year, and stacked on top are all the ones I’m actively reading.

The stack is a bit chaotic, because I have a hard time keeping it to two or three books at a time.

So right now I am reading:

Pensees, by Blaise Pascal (I don’t know how to add the accent on the second e…): I was reading this a while ago, and lost my copy, got another copy, then stopped 90 pages in, then long after, found the old copy. Now I’m finishing it up. A lot of scattered thoughts on faith, God, and reason, by one of history’s great scientists.

Al-Fitna, by Kanan Makiya: I started this one a few months ago, but kind of took a break on it. Fiction set in Iraq between 2003 and 2006, with the hanging of Saddam as a thematic center. It’s in Arabic, so it will be a slower read for me, but I like it so far.

Iraqi Society: A Psycho-sociological Analysis of What Happened and What’s Happening, by Qassem Hussein Saleh: A collection of essays about Iraqi social experience, culture, and the like. I’m over halfway through this one. It’s also in Arabic, though, so again…more of a bit-by-bit read for me.

A Gentleman in Moscow, by Amor Towles: A story of a Count sequestered in a hotel in Moscow in 1922, and various goings-on therein. My mom read it and enjoyed it immensely, so I decided to give it a go.

Fighting Back: British Jewry’s Military Contribution in the Second World War, by Martin Sugarman: This book is for research. Understandably, there are a lot of books about World War 2, and a lot about the Holocaust, but comparatively few about Jewish military contributions in particular, from those who were free citizens in Europe, or from countries where there was comparatively less prejudice against Jews. This is chock-full of broad history and individual stories.

The Tragedy of the Assyrian Minority in Iraq, by R.S. Stafford: Also a research book, but an odd duck of one. It’s written by a British officer, and it was written in the 1930s not long after the Simele massacre in which many Assyrians were killed and driven out by the Iraqi Army. The thing is, there’s a mix of interesting history and information in here but it is from a decidedly British Colonialist lens, so everything has to be taken with that in mind. There is compassion here, but also condescension, so it just has to be taken as what it is: a historical document rooted in a certain time and perspective.

So looking at this list makes me feel like I need to balance this out with some more fun and fiction. Its quite a serious list, which I did not do on purpose. I have some nice SFF books on my literal ‘to-read’ shelf, so those will be prioritized when one of the above is finished.

I have The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu, Shadowscale by Rachel Hartman, and Summers at Castle Auburn by Sharon Shinn. And a few historical fictions and one contemporary fiction. Any of those will do to balance it out!

On Tropes and Subversions Thereof

In case it isn’t already obvious, I like to analyze tropes. Whether or not I do it effectively is another question altogether, but I am fascinated by what draws certain people to certain tropes. What makes one person roll their eyes, stirs deeply the heart of another. What makes me shrug, might make you swoon. What makes her giggle might make me wince.

Yet some tropes are relatively universal. Maybe not everyone likes them, but enough people do that a given trope could endure in a hundred movies, a thousand songs, and a hundred thousand books, and people would still seek it out. However, because some tropes are that beloved–seemingly too common and also ofttimes sloppily executed–we can grow weary even of that which we love. Not just one person rolls their eyes now, but everybody.

Enter the trope subversion. The supposed magical cure for an overused trope (or is it…). “The Princess saves herself!” “The kiss does not wake the sleeper.” “The dragon is actually friendly.”

An easy example of this, if a rather too heavy-handed one, is found in the movie Frozen. The young princess “falls in love” with a stereotypical love-interest over the course of one single rather obnoxious song. (I am not a huge fan of Frozen, sorry). In the end it is not this “love interest” OR the second love interest whose kiss saves the day, but that of her sister. Disney lampshades the insta-love story, then subverts the only-her-one-true-love-can-save-her trope. All well and good.

I use this example because it is pretty over the top and as such is a pretty stark example both of a subversion and the following truth: subverting a trope doesn’t inherently equal a good story. It can, of course. But so can using a standard trope. Subversion does not indicate quality. It is, in and of itself, perfectly neutral.

Now I know a lot of people love Frozen, and that’s fine. One of my nieces has spent many a day dressed up as Elsa. I don’t think the story’s bad, and the fact that one sister saves the other with love is actually quite sweet. I’m fine with that. But when the main (and, in some other cases, only) praise of a story is the fact that it subverted a trope, we must realize that we have in fact said not one word about the quality or truth or richness or depth of the story. We have merely stated the equivalent of “this story has a tree in it.” It’s nice if you like trees, but its not very informative as to whether those trees are effectively or meaningfully integrated into the story.

That being said, I understand why someone might pitch a story as a subversion, not as an indicator of quality, but as a warning that ‘this isn’t going to go the way you think.’ “500 Days of Summer” did this well. The movie tells you explicitly that this story isn’t going to end in romantic bliss. They’re not going to work it all out in a sweeping romantic gesture during the last 10 minutes of the movie. Side note, I don’t really like that movie at all. I don’t really like the premise of spending an hour and a half investing in two people, only for the whole purpose of the story to be “and then they went their separate ways, no harm, no foul.”

Maybe it spoke deeply to someone else about experiences they had, about moving on or something, but it seemed rather soulless to me, and I would never watch it again of my own free will.

The truth is, a subverted trope usually leads to a known trope whether you want it to or not. Contrary to what some may think, tropes do not exist because of narrative laziness (though they can surely be executed with it, same as anything), but because of resonance. A certain trope strikes a note that pings back from your soul with deepened sound, resonating with something that was already present, enriching some soil that was already there. We can learn new things from old tropes, again and again.

Robin McKinley wrote The Blue Sword because of some book she read where a woman was capture by the “Natives” and there was a sort of “captor-captive” romance happening, and then the captor-guy turned out to be from the woman’s same nationality (“non-native”) anyway. She was very disgusted with the whole thing. The way this trope of the well-bred lady being capture by locals and then romanced was executed was appalling because it was done so badly, with such little reason and (I suspect) so little respect, knowledge, or desire to challenge assumptions.

So she decided to write a book where all of that was essentially reversed. The locals are the heroes rather than the antagonists, and the psuedo-British-Colonial lady that gets captured by them? Well it turns out that she’s one of them, though she didn’t know that it was her heritage. From there it becomes a classic adventure story with some romance lightly sprinkled in. Now I love this book, but I can still admit it’s not perfect, and she still fell into some of the traps she was explicitly trying to avoid (It’s not technically a white savior narrative, because Harry’s Grandmother was Damarian, but it’s still tends a bit that way). But, for the most part, she took the good of the trope–the idea of being brought into a world you do not know against your will, and being forced to learn, adapt, and to respect that which is very different from what you’re used to, of being humbled by others and by circumstances, and of finding a home where you did not expect to find it–and sloughed off much of the bad.

And she ended up writing a very classical story of a heroic chosen one who had magic she never knew about.

Tropes are like flavors. Our tongues are ready made with certain taste-buds, like little pockets ready to receive specific tastes. We all have different palettes, no doubt, and experimentation with flavors is a wonderful thing. But at the end of the day, most people have a space on their tongues for “salty” and “tangy” and “sweet” and the like. And when that salt hits your tongue, you revel in it, because it was just what you wanted. And it doesn’t matter that it has thrilled a million tongues before, and will do so a million times again. It satisfies.

So, I guess, all I’m saying is, you may need to gargle vinegar once in a while for your health, or chew a piece of pickled ginger to refresh your palette, and you may be a straight up foodie (hear, hear!) and want to try all manner of strange concoctions–but that’s no reason to look down on the fact that sometimes our tongues simply crave salt, sweet, and sour, and we never really move on from those, while so many other fun experiments may be enjoyed, but quickly forgotten.

The Everlasting Trope: The “Crew”

Ah, the “Crew.” Think The Magnificent Seven or The Seven Samurai. Or Firefly. Ocean’s 11. Take your pick. I know there are a few more recent fantasy-type novels which feature this trope. The rag-tag band. A motley crew. A found family of misfits. So on and so forth.

This trope is very hit-or-miss for me and I think this stands to reason: you either like the crew…or you don’t. Since this trope deals heavily in multiple character dynamics, it requires a certain finesse to pull off. Because you’re usually dealing with a bigger roster of main characters, there’s that many more ways it can go wrong.

When it doesn’t Work

-This one’s pretty obvious. If all you have are underdeveloped characters, the whole thing will fall flat, no matter how awesome the heist (’cause it is usually a heist). This most commonly manifests as the “one-trait folly.” Each character is provided with one defining trait–“the mean one,” “the quiet one,” “the one who is in love with his weapon”–and we get constant call-backs to that one thing, but NOTHING ELSE. It starts to feel like everyone should just be wearing a name-tag with that one trait on it. Rarely does a book or a movie go quite that flat in characterization, but if you have to remind yourself who’s who when the action is flurrying, something got missed.

-when half the “crew” seems tacked-on. This is when there are 3 or 4 characters the author actually cares about, but that hardly constitutes a full crew, so they throw in another 4 or 5…but they just feel like excess baggage. All their banter feels awkward and forced, and they constantly have to pop their head in just to remind us that they’re there. Maybe this “excess” person is technically the best codebreaker…but for some reason it’s always one of the 3 or 4 main protagonists that end up doing everything anyway, leaving extra guy with nothing to do but nod as his expertise is made irrelevant.

-When a central romance dominates to the point that it creates unnatural character dynamics. Everything is reorganized, shoved, blunted, shifted for the romance. Unless it is literally a Romance novel (and sometimes even then!) this can ruin a thing. This is not an indictment against romance itself, mind you.

Simply take the example of some Classic Romantic Comedies (Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry met Sally, While You Were Sleeping, The Philadelphia Story) and then attempt to find a truly enduring Romantic Comedy from the last 10 years. Not too many, right? I have tried to analyze this phenomenon of the lack of really high quality Romantic Comedies in recent years, and I have identified two or three factors, one of which is side characters. The side characters in the older movies were really vivid. They were present, involved, hilarious, and enriching. They had their own insights and ideas. They existed not only to prove that the world consisted of more than these two central people, but that real relationships outside the romance itself matter and are a vital part of life.

If the whole structure of the crew is built awkwardly and inexplicably around a central romance, it ruins the family-feeling of the crew, demotes the remaining characters to window-dressing, and makes the romance itself boring because it’s all one channel, all the time.

-Too many Han Solos. Han Solo is awesome. I love Han Solo. But not everybody can be Han Solo. We need diversity of personality. This is a subtle temptation, because crews are usually doing capers or heists or whatever, and that usually implies roguish personalities. But if EVERYBODY is Han Solo or Malcolm Reynolds, it’s boring.

Truth told, I haven’t actually seen this particular flaw very much. We recognize pretty quick that a crew begs diversity of personality.

And on that note:

When it Does Work/Why We Love It

-Diversity of personality. The wide range of interesting characters gives everyone someone to identify with–at least to some degree–or root for. Well done, the crew story offers a dazzling feast of characters and we get to watch them grow, act, and develop right before our eyes.

-Surface simplification, with hidden depths. This acts as a counter to the one-trait problem. Yes, at first, we have “The mean one,” “The weapons expert,” “The scholar,” and “The one we know nothing about.” We basically get character cards to start, and then we slowly get to discover what they are outside their area of expertise. Nuance unfolds. Every new tidbit about their background or personality becomes a delicious morsel.

-Character dynamics. The way those two banter, the way he acts like a brother to her, the way she holds back around him, the way he plays it close to the chest with that other guy, almost as if he doesn’t trust him. Once we are invested, every single drop of dialogue from our favorite characters becomes a thrill. Subtle nods make us feel welcomed into the found family, and silences speak loudly. If the character dynamics are good, we don’t even care what the heist is! It’s just a medium for interaction between people we have come to love.

-HOWEVER, there usually is a fun objective, heist, goal, whatever. And we like that too, because we like to see everything come together, everyone’s strengths utilized, and the close bond they have compensates for their individual weaknesses.

-Sometimes the crew has been together for a long time, sometimes they are brought together before our eyes. It can be really enjoyable to watch the transition from “I’m just in it for the money” to “You are my brother and I will die for you!” I see this one done badly a lot. One minute the crew was gathered and everyone was passing out name tags along with areas of expertise, and after a mild run-in with a low level goon, somebody says “we’re a family now.”

If you don’t show your work, that isn’t going to fly.

On the other hand, if the crew has been together for a long time, it can be a joy to catch subtle hints of past experiences, of all the little things we don’t yet know about what brought them together.

In Conclusion:

The “Crew” trope feeds our love for variety, for family, for adventure, for a shared goal. It stokes a desire for intimate friendships where, at a word or a glance, one knows exactly what is going on in the others’ head, or exactly what to do, where to go, how to execute. We love to see everything (or, more importantly, everyone) come together just so. And since “Crew” stories nearly always have heists, they are often just plain fun. Puzzleboxes made of people for us to try and figure out.

To-Read 2018

This is not a comprehensive list, but just a smattering of the things I am going to try to prioritize this year:

Middlemarch, George Eliot: Last year’s “Big Book” was The Brothers Karamazov. This year I will endeavor to make it through this behemoth. I know precious little about it, other than that the author used a pen name because she wanted her work to be taken seriously, and it is something of a character study. It was written in the 1860s, but set in the 1830s.

Democracy in America, Alexis De Tocqueville: A classic I have never read, yet I keep hearing that it speaks with great relevance to our present time. Published in the 1830’s by a Frenchmen seeking to understand the nature of politics and Democracy in the United States.

Iraq in Turmoil: Historical Perspectives of Dr. Ali Al-Wardi from the Ottoman Empire to King Feisal: A collection of writings by a famous Iraqi historian edited by Commander Youssef Aboul-Enein and compiled with respect to relevance in current-day Iraq.

Some Wendell Berry (Per a friend’s suggestion): I have a book of his collected poems. I have never read anything by him, but jus sampling a few random poems has convinced me to give him a try.

Horse Soldiers, Dough Stanton: This was suggested this to me quite a while ago, and I just found out that this story of SF soldiers in Afghanistan is being made into a movie. As the title suggests, they used horses due to the nature of the terrain in Afghanistan. This book accounts for several of their encounters with the Taliban, and their campaign in the Mazar-i-Sharif area.

Cities of Salt, Abdel Rahman Munif: About what happens when oil is discovered in a fictitious Middle-Eastern country, and–as I understand it–a takedown of both Western and Arab ways of handling such a situation. Let’s put it this way, this book is banned in Saudi Arabia, the country which is the target of its critique. This is a modern Arabic Classic that I would frankly rather read in Arabic, but I have a copy in English and…well…I am a slow reader in Arabic, and I already started a different novel in Arabic and will be very satisfied to make it through that one. Speaking of which:

الفتنة, كنعان مكية (In English: The Rope, Kanan Makiya): I’m 30 or so pages into this one, but I am a slow reader in Arabic, so I’m expecting it will take me a while. The book begins with the execution of Saddam Hussein in 2006, but covers both the brutality of life under Saddam, as well as the turmoil of the recent Iraq war. Set primarily between 2003 and 2006, as I understand.

Paradise Lost, John Milton: I read the other day that Milton was blind (I did not know that) and dictated Paradise Lost. The nature of such genius astounded me (he had all that meter and all that poetry FORMED IN HIS MIND). I mentioned this out loud to my sister and she suggested we both tackle it this year. Here we go!

So those are a few of the things I hope to read this year, but there are many others, and if I’m making good progress, I’ll update on my to-read plans throughout the year! Merry reading!