Mother's Milk by Edward St Aubyn

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So we now get to the Booker Prize short-listed instalment of the Patrick Melrose novels, and I find little to set this apart from the earlier books.

It begins by giving a new born baby the internal monologue of a whining self-possessed teenager and from there it doesn't get any better. It did manage to instil a certain level of pity for Mary, the wife of Patrick, and I guess that achieving an emotional response does perhaps put this marginally ahead of the others.

The problem is that Patrick (and indeed most of the rest of the characters) goes through life with a chip on his shoulder because he feel life somehow owes him something. This is despite the fact that in his reduced circumstances he is still comfortably off, indeed would appear to remain well within the bracket of wealth. The lost of a big house in the south of France is clearly a disappointment but it is hardly the equivalent to destitution. Perhaps all ills on Patrick's part are supposed to be forgiven due to his abuse at the hands of his father, but that does not explain the behaviour of the rest of them.

I remain puzzled but the wide range of praise that it attached to these novels.

Mud, Blood and Poppycock by Gordon Corrigan

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The edition I have declares on the cover “This will overturn everything you thought you knew about Britian and the First World War”. This is a bold statement, “everything” is a big claim”! I did my best to set this aside, remembering not to judge a book by its cover and all that...

However this book's intent is a myth-buster, and so at a certain level it wills you to be a fully paid up subscriber to the myths to give fullest effect to its party trick of demolishing them. Corrigan is a retired solider and a large part of his argument is based on, what he sees as, the inherent inability of civilians to understand the military.

There were some “myths” which I was aware were not true – such as the notion that men spend the whole war in the front line trench. This is an idea that pervades, for instance my secondary school had a mock-up of a trench built on the sports field – but this was a small section of the front line, and gave no sense of the supporting network of rear teaches, communication lines and reserves etc, and so the idea was naturally bred from it that what we saw in our field was all there was. That men were rotated in and out of the trenches, spending only a couple of days at time in the “firing line” is am important point to your wider understanding of the experience of the war.

The issue of those shot for cowardice or desertion is one of the hardest to approach, I think that Corrigan gives a helpful insight into the conduct of the Court Martials, showing the while it might have been swift military justice was far from summary. While I think it might be valid to review of individual cases I have always been troubled by the call for a general pardon of all those shot. To do this seems a disservice unless there was certainty all, each and every one, of those shot was wrongly accused. For to pardon one who was wilfully deserting would still leave those who should have been subject to the army's medical rather than criminal systems diminished if we continue to hold them as a collective. I am perhaps not as confident in the good order of Military justice as Corrigan, but he confirms the basis on my unease about the idea of a general pardon. It might win present day politicians some cheap points but it would not be an expression of the fundemental truth.

Corrigan is also helpful in unlocking the way in which the geographical recruitment, and in particular the “Pals” battalions, heightened the experience of collective grief. The sense of a lost generation was not so much a product of the absolute numbers of lives lost but the way in which a town, village, or street was likely to suffer its lost due to a single engagement. In the Second World War the army had moved away for geographical recruitment. So while the casualty rate after D-Day was comparable to that to the major battles of the First World War, the bereaved were unlikely to be known to one another, and so grief remained more personal. There was not the cumulative factor at play.

Corrigan's historical accounts are clear and well written, it is his interpretive passages that are less comfortable. The facts, for the most part, speak for themselves, but Corrigan's ranting add a feeling of trying too hard. Corrigan generally seems to view the myths as the product of deliberate attempts to distort the memory of the war, and in most cases this doesn't stack up. Misunderstandings have been perpetuated, but this is a error of a different order from that that Corrigan rants against. For example at one point he disparagingly refers to “poets who wrote for money”, while a large part of the book is given over to the defence of Field Marshal Haig (and hand in hand with that an attack on Lloyd George), I accept that history has been unfair on Haig but I have the sense that Corrigan is pushing the pendulum too far in the opposite direction.

Poems by Richard Skinner

Richard Skinner gave a talk at the Small Pilgrim Places Network gathering back in October, and I was really touched by his poetry and so got hold of a number of his collections.

There was a lightness of touch to his work, the ability to give a subtle twist to a familiar idea.

Reading his collections I found in general his poems were perhaps strongest when they address ideas about faith and spirituality, maybe these had an extra bit of grit with which to work around.

Of the poems Leaping & Staggering is perhaps Richard signature:

For some,

there is the death-defying leap,

clearing the chasm with one bound,

arms flailing,

a cry of triumph,

all terrors left behind

on the far side,

only joy and happiness

ahead.

For others,

(by which I mean you

and me)

there is no triumphal leap,

only a staggering lurch

to the edge of the chasm.

Dizziness strikes,

and a long, sliding, scrabbling descent

is followed

by a long, weary, scrabbling ascent,

until, arriving at the top,

we find ourselves, once again,

on the wrong side of the chasm.

And while we staggers stagger on,

the leapers continue to leap.

One day, perhaps,

we will learn to leap,

and they will learn to stagger.

While from his most recent collection "the logic of whistling", from a set of poems inspired by Michelangelo's The Creation of Adam I found amazing power in the following

In the almost

of not touching

Adam holds his breath:

one slip and

annihilation

is assured. God's judgement

is perfect: His finger

tantalises.

After London by Richard Jefferies

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Many view “After London” as the first apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic novel and as such take note of it as the prototype of what has become a significant genre.

The novel is spilt into 2 parts, the first is a fairly short scene setter – giving the context and some sketchy history to the state of England, while the second part is the narrative “proper”. I noted when considering The Day of the Triffids that the events of the apocalypse itself are often very lightly treated, and that is certainly the case for After London which is set a few generations after whatever it was that wrought the collapse of civilisation. In the first part there are only dimly remembered myths of the “old” order before the apocalypse.

The post-apocalyptic world imagined by Jefferies has a significant resemblance to an early medieval world, perhaps the England of the Saxons during the Viking incursions – there is a suggestion of some sort of King or over-Lord but power and authority is primarily held by local Barons. It is difficult to decide it there is a particular moral message behind Jefferies tale. There is in an post-apocalyptic tale a message to the current civilisation of its own vulnerability – writing to a late-Victorian audience which had lived through such technological progress, and for whom the curve of civilisation was clearly on a continuing upward curve the mere suggestion that this could all come to naught (whether for good or ill) is in itself a radical thought.

One of the things that was particularly interesting was the way in which the hierarchy of the new order was founded on the literacy (or lack of it) of survivors. In this new society access to literacy is closely guarded by the ruling elite, and the descendants of those who were illiterate at the time of society's collapse have been reduced to de facto slaves. What was the contemporary message of this division? You can see it as a call for an expansion of literacy within Victorian society as a guardian of freedom for the “common man”, or perhaps, if you were one of the literate elite, you might see it as a reminder of the dangers of letting the masses have access to education which might illuminate for them the bondage in which you currently hold them?

Coupled with this division of society by education the most interesting point made by Jefferies is that in this new order it was only ancient texts that survived – that is those manuscripts which were hand written onto velum – the mass of “modern” knowledge that was contained only in printed books had been lost.

This was for two reasons, first Velum manuscripts had survived, while the cheap paper books had decayed to dust. But also, the new society had a limited capacity to copy out texts, and so could maintain as needed new copies of the inherently concise ancient texts written to be transcribed by hand, but without access to printing technology the often verbose “modern” writers works were simply too long to be retained. This insight, true when Jefferies wrote, is even more applicable to us, the Wikiepedia generation.

We now have unimaginable amounts of information at our fingertips, but only as long as the National Grid is up and running. How much of the riches (?) of the knowledge we have available via the internet would still be available to us a year, 5 years, 50 years after an “apocalypse” - the survivors would have to search their attics for dust covered and out of date encyclopedias for the remnants of our technical know-how.

And so while the story of Felix, which is the main narrative, was not particularly captivating to me there were with the set up some ideas which have really stuck with me.

Relationships with pictures: an oblique autobiography by Peter Lord

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Peter Lord is probably generally described as a “Welsh art critic” or “Welsh art historian”, and while the majority of his professional life has been spent in Wales working with a particular focus on “art” produced in Wales he is in fact English (in origin at least), and there is a sense in which it is only as an outsider that he could see the depth of artistic endeavour within Wales.

We all know Wales is the “Land of Song” which Crowns (and Chairs) its Poets – and the counter point of this narrative is that Wales is a nation without a visual culture – a land of words not pictures. In this interesting book Peter Lord sounds a loud challenge to this (mis)conception.

Key to this challenge is a general challenge to the Art Establishment and any framework of ideas that attempts to police the boundary between “Art” and “not-Art”. This is a boundary that the Pop Artists of the 1960s kicked against – although I think the Art Establishment was phenomenally successful in neutralising that challenge. When Andy Warhol painted soup tins rather than seeing the Art in the ordinary the Establishment focused only on the status of a piece being a “Warhol” - content became irrelevant. (Although perhaps Warhol is a bad example, as clearly the greatest work of Art he ever produced was the persona “Andy Warhol”).

There is almost a quality of the detective novel about this, as from the starting point that there was no Welsh Art, Lord begins to discover more and more artists, stumbling across them, with a glimpse or a rumour, and then working to put their story together, to find their art. Maybe it is the equivalent of the BBC “Who do you think you are?” for a whole nation, a whole culture. While the BBC's celebrities come to terms with the drunks, adulterers, and war heroes among their forebears, the Welsh need to get to know their inheritance of artists.

It is also a tale of how the Welsh have in certain ways gilded their own prison bars – there is a psychological collusion, we may love Wales but deep down we don't really expect too much from her? There is today a story on the BBC news website headlined “Wales economy adds least value in UK” - but if you read the story it also states that Wales “showed the biggest growth”. So why was the headline not “Wales fastest growing economy in UK”? We might blame it on the London centric Beeb, but are the leaders in Wales actually aspirational enough to challenge the rhetoric – for you can bet if in the same position Alec Salmon would have raised a storm, a storm that would have more than likely broken to the advantage of the people of Scotland.

The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham

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This is a classic “sci-fi” with more than one adaptation and I think these monster plants lurk behind many of our fears of Genetic Modification. It is often difficult to encounter the text of such classics free from the cumulated associations, to read with fresh eyes.

I will assume that the concept of “spoilers” does not really apply in this case however if you have escaped knowledge of the plot, and want to retain that status – at least for the time being, it might be best to stop here.

As well as the fear of the monster plants the plot also plays on the fear of the dark, as in the opening sequence the majority of the human race are left blind. The dark is a very deep seated fear, and the reaction of those left blind is extreme – OK there is chaos, but how quickly it seems that hope is lost and many of the blind decide to end their lives is, for me, a questionable aspect of the plot.

This is part of a need, in common with many post-apocalypitc narratives, to provide for a rapid depopulation in order to move on what is essentially a utopian (or in some cases dystopian) rebuilding phase. There is no desire to dwell on the suffering caused by the apocalypse and so millions are written off, written out, in the blink of an eye to make room on the canvass of the author's prime interest, whatever it is that will come next. I can recognise this as a necessary literary device but it certainly make me uncomfortable.

In this case the “next” is in fact a winding back of the clock to a “simpler” agrarian society and a reconnection of people with the land, and it turns out that the central hope for the continuation of civilisation lies on a move to the Isle of Wight (which depending on you point of view might be a stretch of the imagination...).

Overall the story is, I think, a critique of a society that has become enthralled to technology with a loss of connection not only to the land but also between human beings – how much more might we feel this critique can be applied today as it was when Wyndham was writing near 70 years ago.

Although it is interesting that it was first published at the very start of the 1950s, an era that I think we look back on as very optimistic. Many of the themes explored seems to fit more readily with periods of discontent, such as the late 1970s. These days we are told the 1950s was a time when people really believed that the future would all be jet-packs and sliver suits (although I know that my mum recalls a different story where the future was only filled with mushroom clouds).

But there is a tension, the turning back of the clock does not come without costs, not only the comforts and amusements of modern life but also in terms of health and security, existence in the new society is clearly fragile. The choice the author presents is to decide where the priority should lie, where is human dignity most likely to be found?

The Little Prince by Antoine De Saint-Exupéry

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One is somewhat hesitant when approaching such a classic as The Little Prince, how can one be so bold as to think you have anything worth saying about such a master piece.

I find two disparate connections come to mind, the first is to C S Lewis' “Cosmic” trilogy, which you will find considered elsewhere on this blog, the writing of that trilogy spans the time in which The Little Prince was created. Both are about space travellers, but somehow to label them sci-fi feels a little misplaced. In common, both use other worlds as a mirror to explore the earth and the state of society.

The other connection is to the Clangers, this is in part due to the illustrations, the Little Prince's home planet, particularly its small size, looks a lot like the Clangers home. There is also a quality in the Prince's encounter with the others he meets which seems to echo (or should I perhaps say foreshadow given the Prince was written decades before) the Clangers. Do we do it a disservice if we call it “childlike”?

If I was to take a so-called “Ignatian” approach to reading the Little Prince, then I think the character with whom I would identify most would be the Rose. The temperamental Rose, who maintains both a pretence at invulnerability and yet a needy dependence on others, a self-defence mechanism with only mixed results.

One of the great lessons of the story is the Prince's discovery that the Rose is unique, not in an inherent way as he first thought, but in relationship with others. Our value comes from relationship. This is a Christian “truth”, the human is precious because of not characteristic born of themselves, but only because they are loved by God. The failing of some of those the Prince meets, such as the King, is that they have tried to establish a status for themselves independent of any relationship, if you have no subjects you are left with a very hollow kind of kingship.

From The Abundance of the Heart by Stephen Cottrell and Table Manners by Simon Reynolds

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I read these two books during week away in Gran Canaria and there is a certain overlap between them which makes it seem sensible to consider them together.

Reyonds provides a sub-title “Liturgical Leadership for the Mission of the Church”. This seems to give a clear missional focus, a kin to that of Cottrell, however other than the general point that good liturgy can be a spring board to mission, and bad liturgy a stumbling block I did not feel that Reynolds really made the link to mission.

For example, he argues for particular hand gestures during the Eucharist, and while I agree that movement and gesture should be intentional I struggle to buy the case for such a narrow range of gestures being acceptable or effective. As is so often is the case, I could not help but feels that we were being lumbered with grand arguments to support nothing more than personal preference.

Overall it has the feel of a PhD thesis that has made a less than successful transition into a general publication although there is no indication in the acknowledgements etc that it did in fact have such an origin.

Which brings us round to Cottrell's offering, which is in a different mode from many of his gem like reflections or meditative writings, it is a more practical styled “how to” guide.

Reading it I felt that much of it was simple common sense, and at times even that it was verging on becoming a manual about the sucking of eggs. But on second thoughts I realised if this sense was actually common within the Church then the Church would be a rather different place from that which it is.

It seems that by turns Cottrell countered the narrowness of Reynolds – at the very heart of Cottrell's message is a standard that what matters is the “how” rather than the “what” of a Church's life. It is a challenge to those at the “high” and/or “catholic” end of the Church of England to pull their fingers out and get on with Mission. To often there is a cope out among this sort of Christian that Mission and Evangelism are things for the “happy-clappies” down the road and not for the likes of us. This is, to a certain extent, why Roman Catholics tend to opt for the clunky phrase of “Evangelisation” rather than “Evangelism” in an attempt to side step the some of the theological, and cultural, baggage of the later term.

One of the successes of this book is that Cottrell presents a way forward that can be taken in bite sized chunks. And so he brings the vision of transforming into a missionary community within the realm of the possible, you will be able to see your own Church working through the process (however inward looking and set in its ways it might be!). Offering that kind of hope to the many Christians who frustratedly life and worship within Churches which they know to be poor reflections of the potential they are called to be is one of the greatest services that can be offered to the wider Church.

Not tonight Neil by Ian Gregson

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This is a powerful coming of age story, and the account of the struggles of being an ordinary teenage boy are well pitched.

The bulk of the novel is effectively told by the teenage Dennis, and these part works really well.

However there is an additional layer in which the 42 year old Dennis, who has found fame as a cartoonist by publishing a “graphic novel” of his teenage life, is seeking some kind of closure on that chapter of his life.

This layer is far from successful.

Firstly, I guess the idea that anyone would find “fame” via this route is a stretch. And the contrast between the dramatic but deeply plausible tale about teenage Dennis and this clunky middle-aged narrative is uncomfortable.

Second, another contrast, the teenage tale is essentially claustrophobic, and that is its power, while the middle-aged tale is expansive and in being so is ultimately flat.

The frustration is that the middle-aged layer is not required – the teenage tale stands alone – and I feel Gregson would have benefited from Editor who would have cut this and left the novel stronger as a result.

The Legal History of Wales by Thomas Glyn Watkin

Alan saw this and commented “that looks like an insanely dull book” and I would admit taking account of the title alone this reaction if not totally unreasonable, however...

The scope of the book, packing over 2000 years of history in to a little over 200 pages, is not the dry and straight laced functioning of legal process but the dynamics of power and identity.

This is a book about much more than “the Law”. There are some fascinating insights, for example any enhanced status of women within the Welsh Laws relative to their Anglo-Saxon neighbours was not due to any links to some Celtic Earth Mother (as at times some will suggest) but in fact due to the Welsh seeking to preserve their “civilised” identity as Roman Citizens and continuing significant aspects of Roman Law. While are certain times “Welsh” legal provisions and structures, often arrived at accidentally, set the pattern for future reform in England.

I also learn a lot about the evolution of the legal system in England, which from the time of the Norman conquest onwards has had growing influence in Wales. This speaks about the source of power and authority, such as the ways in which the Crown and, in particular, the Church wrestled with one another as alternate sources of authority.

For so long there has been a single entity “England and Wales” it is important to understand the origins of that status, and the time before when there was “England” and “Wales” (if in fact such a time existed as both England and Wales were slow to form as separate unified entities), if we are to thinking purposefully about the extent of devolution, the potential for independence. While we can go beyond the confines of history as we make the future, we are foolish if we do so without regard for the past.

When we think of “nationhood” we can not avoid Benedict Anderson's “Imagined Communities” - all concepts of “nation” are fictions, that crossing a line drawn on a map you become a foreigner is in essence a nonsense. But some fictions speak truths, while others are clanging bells. The search for the Welsh is to find a fiction, to find a truth, that speaks of a common identity that is more that is more that a negative definition (ie the people who aren't English).

Some Hope by Edward St Aubyn

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As with his first book, Never Mind, we find that Patrick Melrose (aka St Aubyn) is once again a marginal character – it displays a certain kind of mental attitude when you fail to cast yourself in a leading role in your own autobiography, although I am not sure exactly what that attitude is...

All the reviews seem to suggest that St Aubyn's work offers us great insights and revaluations. I found this latest instalment, even more than the early two, to be populated by a cast of pathetic, and generally detestable, individuals self-absorbed in the pity angst of their lives. I am not sure if that is the insight I am mean to be getting?

The next part, Mother's Milk, is the one that got short-listed for the Booker Prize and so I feel maybe having come this far I should get that one but I can't say I am in anyway looking forward to it.

Down and out in Paris and London by George Orwell

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This early work of Orwell displays all the quality of writing that you would expect and many of the social themes common to his work get expression here.

However there was for me a tension, Orwell is writing of poverty as a “lived experience” but in certain ways I wonder about the true authenticity of his experience. There is an aspect that makes him feel more of a voyeur that a true participant.

This is particularly true of second half of the book when he has returned to England on the promise of a job arranged by a friend. On arrival in England it turns out there will be a delay of a month before he can take up the position, and so he spends that month tramping around. It calls to mind the song “Common People” by Pulp, especially the lines “you'll never get it right, 'cos when you're laid in bed at night watching roaches climb the wall, If you call your Dad he could stop it all.” Orwell's experience of poverty was ultimately finite while I think a virtual characteristic is exactly the lack of opportunity of escape from the situation.

The other aspect which I struggle with, which I had encountered before in some of his other writings, was his reflection on the different the experience of being a tramp within the “causal wards” of the workhouse for the educated and uneducated man/mind. He feels the enforced idleness of the “causal ward” is a particular hardship on the uneducated who, beyond manual activity, have in Orwell's view no capacity to occupy their minds. The educated man, aka Orwell, could spend this idleness in reflection on Opera, the great works of literature, thinking of Old Masters, etc, and so escape the boredom. Now at one level this is a reasonable conclusion but the differential does not sit easily with me – is there some implied or inherent value judgement lurking here? He seems to be advocating work not education as the solution. I can't quite put my finger on it – is it saying there is a class of people for whom manual labour is a liberating experience, and a class for whom perhaps educated “idleness” is the proper state.

Poppy, flower of hope

Here is a poem that came to me the other day

Poppy, flower of hope...

Do you have faith the size of a poppy seed,
a hard shell, black like the darkest night?

And will you plant it in the barren, tortured, soil,
crying out with your brother's blood?

And watch it grow and brust to flame,
(Red, of martyrs, and of Holy Spirit),
undying life-force rising from the dead?

And will you turn and face the world,
and in the darkness live the chance of light?

Under Another Sky Journeys in Roman Britain by Charlotte Higgins

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This is a travelogue which, like Dr Who, journeys in both time and space. Higgins tours the country visiting Roman sites but their physical presence is not the focus. The heart of this book is the journeys through the relationship that successive generations have had with our Roman past.

This is partly the story to the developments of historical and archaeological practice over the last 300 years or so, a story filled with some delightfully colourful characters. But it is also the story of the wider social understand of the Roman Empire and its lessons for the contemporary self understanding.

The dominance of a “Classical” education during the 18^th and 19^th Centuries drove a desire to make links between the Classical world and our own origins. There was a need to show that we had a share in the inheritance that was being privileged as the gold standard of education and civilisation.

And then during the 19^th and early 20^th Centuries Britain’s own Imperial status patterned our reading of life under Roman rule, that Roman brought civilisation to these islands became a justification for the export of British civilisation to other parts of the globe. After the initial resistance the Ancient Briton was seen to have settled down and embraced the benevolent rule of Rome, so the story went.

And today in our “Post-Colonial” age we tell different stories. We are more ready to see the diversity of the “Roman” population, that there Africans and Arabs stationed on Hadrian's Wall becomes politicised, in both positive and negative ways. We are less certain that Roman rule was benevolent, or that the native population was in such need of external “civilisation”, Rome did not arrive on a blank canvas.

The main lesson is that the past is not as static as we at first imagine, “History” is not a closed book but one that is under constant revision. And the Histories we write often tell us more about ourselves that they do about our ancestors.

Astonishment by Anne Stevenson

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This is a powerful collection of poems, I will share a couple that particularly touched me:

After the Funeral

(for Sally Thorneloe, in memory of Lieutenant-Colonel Rupert Thorneloe, killed in Afganistan, 1 July 2009)

Seeing you lost in that enormous hat,

Your face rigid with grief, I thought of how

In love with life you used to be, so much that

'Happy' seemed a word kept warm for you.

Seeing you stunned there in the camera's eye,

Forbidding your chin to undermine your lip,

I knew the knife in you was asking why?

And ceremony couldn't answer it,

Thought they were trying desperately to give

History's unspoken underside a face,

A frame, words and a reason to believe

The afterlife is ordered – like the place

In which, beside his flag-draped coffin, you

Acted, like him, the role you'd been assigned to.

Caring More than Caring

(for Dewi Stephen Jones)

So, we will not meet, we'll never sit

Filling in the silence, smiling bravely,

Chatting about the weather, sipping tea,

As if time's passing mattered not a bit

And age's roughcast could be faced with wit.

Nothings will not be handed on politely,

To lighten hours that otherwise might be

Heavy with language caring won't admit.

My not visiting, your not wanting me -

What could bring us closer to understanding

The unsaid rules of truth and poetry?

Not playing well is sometimes more demanding

Than playing to win, where winning would be lying,

Where losing is a kind of setting free.

Dark Matter by Michelle Paver

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Having devoured Michelle Paver's Wolf Brother books I was keen to read this “adult” story. I was really pleased to find the same quality of story telling and sense of place. I found myself transported to the Arctic and to the darkness, and felt that I was really inhabiting the experience

This is a powerful study of the human response to loneliness, that as social beings, in the absence of interaction the mind fills in the gaps, even if that involves conjuring unwelcome ghosts into existence. The question it leaves is whether terrors of the mind are more or less powerful than dangers of the “real” world around us.

There was an echo of Wolf Brother because in his isolation the Jack bonds with one of the dogs, a relationship a kin to Torak and Wolf.

At one point one of the characters quotes a Norwegian saying “If you're warm enough when you set out, you're wearing too many clothes” - I am not sure if this will be a real Norwegian saying or an invention of Paver's. Either way it certainly captures a great piece of wisdom about how we approach life. The phrase “comfort zone” is over used, but it is true that if we never allow ourselves to feel a little of the cold we will never be able to progress. In trying to protect ourselves and avoid all risk we will in fact smother and suffocate ourselves.

Liturgical Sense By Louis Weil

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This is a short and fairly “light” book, 140 pages and I would suggest that you skip straight to chapter 5 because if you have the inclination to pick up this book it is highly likely that you will merely find the first chapters an irritation, as they breeze through 2000 years of liturgical history with the depth of analysis appropriate to the back of a cereal box.

The one line of the whole book that will stick in my head is Weil's claim “I am not a rubrical fundamentalist.”. Well, I will be honest – my name is Gwilym and I am a rubrical fundamentalist and I do get upset when the rubrics are abused (often more upset than I do about the abuse of the text) and the worse offence in my eyes is the stretching of the interpretation of “occasional” use under Common Worship, but at least the first step to overcoming a problem is admitting you have one...

Weil also has a long rant against the use of “manual acts” during the Eucharistic prayer, which I think is an entirely personal prejudice – but then as a fan of “manual acts” I would say that – however the point is the Weil makes a “universal” case for their unhelpfulness which I don't think is justified nor evidenced.

So overall this book was something of a disappointment.

Allegories of Heaven by Dinah Roe Kendall

I think I saw a couple of Dinah's painting at Greenbelt a few years ago.

The style of the paintings has a strong echo of Beryl Cook, and while not especially radical artistically there setting of the Gospel narrative in the “ordinary” has a power.

It is about allowing an encounter with the stories stripped of the familiar, and so safe, depictions – so many moments from the Bible have been seen so often that they have almost become invisible.

Bad News by Edward St Aubyn

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The second of the “Patrick Melrose” novels.

The cast of the first novel are a dislikeable collection of individuals – but the is a certain perverse pleasure in observing them being cruel to one another. In this novel the attention is focused more firmly on Patrick Melrose, who is really a fringe character in the first, but this means it is really an encounter with a single dislikeable individual and as such lacked the dynamic that kept me engaged with the first.

There are the same questions about the relationship between fiction and reality arise given the declared autobiographical nature of the story. The child Patrick was absent from the scenes of much of the action in the first novel and therefore the author was not a witness to the events, yet it is also questionable the extent that the drug addict Patrick can be treated as a reliable witness to the events the author recounts in this time. But then we can ask if any of us are actually reliable witness to our own experiences, isn't all autobiography primarily fiction?

Greenbelt 2014

Other than the two Outerspace sessions, which I had a hand in organising, my Greenbelt was filled with music, most of it from the Canopy, but also some from the Glade stage. I even failed to make my usual homage at the feet of Padraig O Tuama.

There was a buzz around the festival about Vicky Beeching – but I couldn't really join in because I don't really know who she is (despite the fact that she seems to be following me on twitter and, this is just a guess but, my money is on the fact that she doesn't really know who I am either). There was one point while I was looking after the Outerspace stall when somebody was talking earnestly about the terrible things Vicky had been through, and I had to resort to “nod and smile” tactics, because it really didn't seem like the moment to mention that I hadn't read her interview in the Independent, and so while I didn't doubt her courage I didn't actually know what she had been courageous about.

This is not a criticism of Vicky Beeching (I mean the last thing I want to do is offend one of my followers...) but that experience is indicative of the fact that for all its talk of dialogue and diversity there is a lot of “group-think” at Greenbelt. Greenbelt does provide “diversity” by being different from other (Christian) festivals – but, for me at least, it is less clear how wide the acceptable range of opinion “within” Greenbelt actually is. I don't mind that Greenbelt/Greenbelters have an agenda – I think I just get a little weary of some of the self-congratulation based on the belief that they don't.

I have never been one to over do talks, one a day has always seemed plenty, but this year I really struggled to find the motivation to hear anybody, I guess I had no desire for “words”. Perhaps there is a tiredness, it must be 30 years since my first socio-political action when we took part in a “Walk for the World” (and yes we did “get the T-Shirt”), one of my earliest memories is going to collect some stock from the local "Traidcraft Lady", and while in absent minded moments I still find myself singing 1970s protest songs if we are honest it was not peaceful women's songs but the excess of its own insanity that defeated the Cold War. And so somehow Greenbelt doesn't energise me with hope, I increasingly find myself seeing Greenbelt not as a radical expression of the new society but more as a soporific. It allows people to comfort themselves that they do “care” without the need for fundamental change or challenge to their lifestyle or society at large. There is much spirited talk of anti-capitalism, but ultimately it is consumerism that drives the festival. But I will not throw stones, I am aware of my glass house – my life is lived far from the commune or the peace-camp.

I also found myself averse to the worship, and this was more troubling to me as I have often been a bit of a worship junkie at Greenbelt. OK I have never “done” the Greenbelt Communion – I have learnt to own the fact that I don't worship in crowds, it is the mid-week Communion and the 8 O’clock that are my natural worshipping contexts. But too much of the worship programme felt like it was primarily there as an opportunity for the organisers to demonstrate how clever they were – little seemed to create simple space for an encounter with God. I clearly critique unfairly that which I did not participate in – I speak, perhaps, from a place of underlining alienation. I remain heartbroken by the House of Bishops' Valentines message – what shocked me was not that the Bishops could pronounce with such cruelty and/or stupidity but that I cared. I thought I was long past caring about the thoughts of Bishops, and yet they had created a barrier I couldn't cross, getting off the bus that Sunday I turned away from the Church and walked home. Living out the metaphor that “Home” and “Church” lie in opposite directions was all too stark. I go now but don't belong because I leave my vulnerability at home, and so I am not open to the experience which makes it very hard for Jesus' love to heal the wound.

Eucharistic Epicleses, Ancient and Modern by Anne McGowan

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This is a fine example of exactly why I enjoy being part of the Alcuin Club. This book, published as the club's annual “Collection”, takes you deeper into a topic which the “causal” reader rarely gets the opportunity to explore.

The Eucharistic Epicleses became a point of controversy during the Reformation and a point of ecumenical consensus during the twentieth century (at least in terms of its text, if not always its actual meaning). Therefore its exploration is informative of much wider dynamics than its few lines of prayer might at first suggest.

The review of the “Ancient” Epicleses once again reveals that the Liturgical Reform of the twentieth century was not based of such firm foundations as the reformers believed. The appeal to an early and universal Eucharistic prayer from which later practice diverged is now seen as invalid. It is now accepted that this “first” prayer is unlikely to have ever existed – in fact the movement of the church has generally been from diversity in liturgy toward uniformity rather than the other way around.

The review of the “Modern” shows that while during the later half of the twentieth century there was wide spread adoption of “ecumenical” texts and borrowing of texts form denomination to denomination, the use of common words masks the continuing divergence of belief. We use the same words to say very different things about the church, the Eucharist, God, and the Spirit. Some may see this with sadness – but for me that is OK. The worry is not that we believe different things but in fact we too often fool ourselves into thinking we believe the same things when we don't. This pretence is disrespectful, to ourselves and to one another. We should be big enough to embrace one another as fellow disciples in the acknowledgement of our difference, rather than insist on being shoe-horned into a common “truths” we do not own.

Mission Shaped Evangelism by Steve Hollinghurst

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The usefulness of this book is as a reminder that the dynamics of contemporary culture are far more complex that is mostly allowed for.

Too often it is stated that society is becoming more “secular” - however the decline in Church-going and awareness of the Christian message is not the same as secularisation. People exist in, and with, an increasing mix of beliefs, self-made, borrowed, at times contradictory, but never to be underestimated.

Those beyond the life of the Church are not a blank canvas waiting for us, it is one failing of courses such as, but not only, Alpha – they forget to begin by asking what people already believe and instead launch into a pre-packaged download of “Christianity”.

The challenge is that, accepting Hollinghurst presentation, the future of the Church will be wholly unlike the institutions we have today, and in particular the “generalist” parochial approach of the Church of England will be unsustainable. It is a hard message for those of us whose Christian being and identity has been nurtured and continues within the parochial. But of course I don't remember Jesus says it was going to be easy – somehow it reminds me of the encounter, in Luke 9, Jesus said ‘Follow me.’ The man said, ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ Jesus replied, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’

Eyrie by Tim Winton

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This is a novel that deals with life shaped by emotional breakdown and addiction.

The encounter with the central character, Tom Keely, is painful – he is trapped in a cycle of, in many ways self-inflicted, failure. But I also found it somehow hypnotic, a character that I did not wish to turn my back on.

Through the friendship that forms between him and the boy, Kia, is a source of hope. Kia gives Tom a reason to live – even if his struggles mean that life remains chaotic.

Events become darker – the writer, Tim Winton, powerfully invokes a sense of menace and of powerlessness – and so Tom's actions, which are clearly irrational, begin to take on a twisted logic.

The novel ends quite suddenly, in a kind of flash of lightening. I have read the last few pages a couple of times – and I am not exactly sure what happens – but the immediate menace is, I think, overcome.

But for the fragile and broken, for Tom and Kia, it seems hard to imagine and kind of straightforward “happy ever after” - we are not given any, and I am glad, it would have been an insult to the reader if Winton had even hinted one.

Ghost Hunter by Michelle Paver

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This is the concluding part of the “Chronicles of Ancient Darkness” and there is a worry about the approach of the end of a 6 novel tale – endings are often the most difficult part of the story to get right.

The emotion that has run through the earlier books is maintained, as is the concluding willingness to place death as a key part of the narrative. Even as an adult reader there is a shock value to some of the moments when violence breaks into a domestic scene and I think that is great merit to allowing children to encounter such content and explore the implications.

The need to make choices between two imperfect futures, or two equally uncomfortable actions, is also a good lesson – we should have no expectation that doing what is “right” will involve doing what is easy.

I hope these comments do not make it seem that this is a “worthy” moral tale – as to me such a tale is likely to sound rather dull. I have been captivated and drawn on through these books by the drama and sense of authenticity in the characterisation. Read these books because they are great stories everything else is an incidental bonus.

The Final Cut by Michael Dobbs

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This is the concluding part of the Francis Urquhart trilogy and once again that is an interesting mix of insight into the moment of its writing alongside a contemporary mirror to our current politics.

For example part of the plot relies on events, past and present, in Cyprus which is portrayed as a far away “Banana Republic” - a very dated picture of what is now a fellow EU Member State.

One thing I found intriguing was the similarity of the cross country march of Makepeace, this novel's rival to Urquhart, and the tour of the King in the last book. This displays a believe on the part of Dobbs in the divide between the Westminster bubble and the “real world” - but also the belief that it is possible to escape the bubble and quite readily establish “authentic” encounters with “real” people. I think we accept the existence of the Westminster bubble but I wonder if the idea of a senior politician being able to step out of the bubble is so plausible today.

And even if they could – is there anyone out there to respond anymore? In part the dynamics of social media are corrosive to authenticity. In a week where some have transitioned from hashtaging protests at events in Gaza to protests at events in the bake-off tent and back again – seemingly without a change of tone or the bat of an eye-lid - it is hard to maintain too much faith in “real” people.

While this is another gripping read it is a fairly depressing one, the negatives are all too believable while its glimmers of hope seem fanciful.

Never Mind by Edward St Aubyn

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Edward St Aubyn was recently interviewed on BBC Culture Show (well perhaps not that recently but we only recently got around to watching it...).

Never Mind is the first in a sequence of novels that follow the life of Patrick Melrose, it is also based on the events of Edward St Aubyn's own life.

This rises very interesting questions about the relationship between the fiction of Melrose and the reality of St Aubyn. In the Culture Show interview St Aubyn clearly states that some passages are direct accounts of the events that he actually experienced, but much, perhaps most, of the novel Never Mind tells of events which are happening beyond the experience of the 5 year old Melrose, and therefore it would seem are imagined by St Aubyn rather than recalled.

To draw attention to this relationship is not to make a judgement – that St Aubyn has “made up” most of the novel does not devalue it, nor does it lessen its status as a “truthful” account, but it reminds us that too often we operate with an overly simplistic definition of a “true story”.

Patrick Melrose in fact plays a fairly small part in the novel – and if it was not for the priming by the Culture Show that these that the “Patrick Melrose” novels I think I might well have overlooked him entirely (much as the rest of the characters in the novel clearly disregard him) and I certainly wouldn't have come to the conclusion that it was a book “about” him...

This is a short book, just under 200 pages, and that was a good thing, as it is populated with a cast of dislikeable individuals, which in interaction with each other seem only to emphasis one another's failings. There is the sense that if I had not read it in a single sitting I would not have brought myself back to it, I would have had little desire to reacquaint myself with this menagerie of human brokenness.

To Play the King by Michael Dobbs

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It is interesting that this second “Urquhart” novel was writing after the TV adaptation of the first, and as such, for example, it takes up the story from the conclusion of the TV version of House of Cards rather than the book (they have significantly different endings), and of course it includes Urquhart's catch phrase “you may think that, I couldn't possibly comment” which is absent from the first book.

The dynamics of the story line remain fresh, but one wonders if what counted as career destroying scandal then retains its relevance today. There is an increasing ability for senior figures to remain in post amid media storms, or if they do resign, discover there is a revolving door that brings them back into Government after an interval (some have even managed to use such a door on more than one occasion).

The one aspect that did have a potent contemporary ring was the minor character “the Member for Dagenham”. That the police, having found him in a compromising position would an under-age boy, check in with the Home Secretary before taking formal action and as a result no action is taken as it would hit a wafer thin Government majority. This is a fiction, but with the current wave of historic abuse scandals it is clear that it is not fantasy.

In the early 90s Michael Dobbs. as an establishment insider, could include that sub-plot and no one batted an eyelid – we weren't shocked, no one asked Dobbs who was the inspiration, whether the police really did take such cues from Goverment etc etc.

I am not suggesting Dobbs needs to be held accountable for anything, but it is interesting to notice how society's attitude to addressing the issue of sexual abuse has moved dramatically in relatively recent years.

House of Cards by Michael Dobbs

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While I am aware of the TV adaptation of these novels I have never actually watched them – they are one of those cultural phenomena that you have acquired by osmosis rather than active participation.

Reading this directly upon finishing Archbishop it was clear that this was one of the novels that was buried within Guinness's voluminous work – her Archbishop of York is Dobbs's Urguhart. Unfortunately the close comparison did nothing to flatter Guinness.

Setting that aside, the drama of the tale takes you along, and I think post phone hacking and expenses scandals the scenario is both as relevant and as believable as ever. That it holds up 25 years after publication is a credit to Dobbs.

Awaiting delivery of the sequel...

Faith Maps by Michael Paul Gallagher

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This is a slightly odd book and I struggled with the first half, but just at the point of abandonment suddenly a new connection was made and it seemed to open up and begin to really resonant with me.

Gallagher has selected 10 “Religious Explorers”, a personal, indeed eccentric even, grouping of individuals – but they would certainly make for a lively dinner party...

This is a (post) modern Catholic list, the earliest explorer is JH Newman, the most recent Pope Benedict XVI, and so while that title is “Faith Maps” plural, I would suggest the gathering is actually constituted to argue for a “Faith Map” singular – it is the commonality not the diversity of these “Explorers” that we are encouraged to dwell upon.

In my view a good book is a book that sends you off in search of others, and this one has done that. One of the “eccentric” aspects is the inclusion of Flannery O'Connor, a writer of fiction not theology, and I am now mid-way through reading a complete collection of her short stories, (I will leave comment on her till I have finished that collection).

The other eccentricity is that most, but not all, the chapters are in two parts, first a standard synopsis of the writer thought, the second a monologue written in “their voice”. The question is how one is meant to orientate oneself to these imagined monologues, they perhaps help to make some of the more abstract thoughts of the writers be re-communicated in more accessible form, but fundamentally any suggestion that they offer authentic expression the writers thought is difficult. There are interesting, but undeniably it is Gallagher who is speaking in these monologues.

The essence of this “Faith Map” is that there is something more that the rational that is essential to faith. It is a critique of the failure of engagement with Modernity by Christianity, it is a great weakness of Christianity today that it is overly informed by a “Modern” mind set.

Last weekend I was at a Two:23 event where Ian Mobsby was speaking and giving an over view of his particular take on Fresh Expressions. Gallagher's “Faith Map” is I think very close to Mobsby's, and in particular Gallagher's account of Benedict XVI's thought seemed to mirror Mobsby very closely even if I am not sure either Mobsby or Benedict would be entirely comfortable to find themselves such close bed fellows (titter ye not!).

To quote from p 142 “And Pope Benedict went on to make an imaginative proposal: “I think that today too the Church should open a sort of 'Courtyard of the Gentiles' in which people might in some way latch on to God, within knowing him and before gaining access to his mystery”.” It would seem that Moot, the community Mobsby helps to lead, is a sort of Courtyard of the Gentiles.

The message is that is not faith or the Gospel that get in people's way, but “the Church”, both its reality and their imagined construct of it. We need to communicated the distinction between the two and allow people a route through (or around) the church and into faith.

Archbishop by Michele Guinness

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Clearly this is a novel written in a moment – the tale of the first female Archbishop can probably only be told at this moment when it is about to become a possibility yet is not yet a reality – because in the gap between the two there is room for fiction and fantasy.

This is a big book, close to 550 pages, but it is pretty light...

There are some inaccuracies which limit the ability to lose yourself in the story – for example the conversation between the Archbishop and the Queen, in which the Queen uses the “Royal We” which she doesn't do even really use in formal public settings and it shatters the supposedly cosy intimacy of these encounters. Also in a similar way in which even close colleagues refer to here as “Vicar”, “Bishop”, and latterly “Archbishop” is really rather outdated. Also it seems highly unlikely that anyone makes it through Theological College with their virginity intact, and here was probably the moment when I lost any ability to believe in Vicky Burnham-Woods as a character.

There are other questions too. Does the Archbishop really have the power and influence the plot requires? Are the “scandals” which shape the story line really scandalous enough to drive the plot?

I think the novel tries to do too much – there is one story about power and ambition (and the corrupting effects of both), another about gender dynamics, another about the invasion of privacy in our celebrity culture, one about religion freedom and the place of faith in the public square, to name but a few, and they are all competing for our attention and getting muddled up in the process. Perhaps Guinness should have been encouraged to develop this material into two, or three, shorter novels, each with a more distinct focus and identity.

Much Loved by Mark Nixon

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This is a deeply charming book, a collection of photos and short biographies of beloved teddy bears (and a few other animals).

These bears are full of life, and some have clearly led very full lives. They are a testament to the truth of the tale of the Valentine Rabbit, if you are loved then you become real.

Having a house full of teddy bears, and monkeys, and dragons, and ladybirds, and elephants, and … you are getting the picture … from whom I could stand to be parted from this book is a great comfort, for I am clearly not the only one.

The Dyslexia Debate by J. G. Elliott and E. L. Grigorenko

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The “debate” that this book explores is not whether those classed as having Dyslexia have reading difficulties (and other associated challenges).

The debate is whether there is actually any meaningful difference between those with reading difficulties that are classed as Dyslexic and those with reading difficulties that are not classed as Dyslexic. And further, even if there is a different, does that different result in differentiated responses to the two groups being appropiate or effective.

This is an “academic” text, for 180 pages of discussion the authors provide 80 pages of bibliography, which is indicative of the amount of attention that Dyslexia gets and how contested it is as a concept. As a result the conclusion the authors come to is that there is no coherent common understanding of what separates those “with” Dyslexia from those who also have reading difficulties but are deemed not to have Dyslexia. In the absence of such an understanding the term Dyslexia is found to be of virtually not value in an academic or scientific sense.

In addition the authors find major methodological weaknesses in many of the studies into both the causes and the “treatment” of Dyslexia. In most cases that is little or no evidence that interventions provided to support those with Dyslexia were not equally beneficial to those with reading difficulties who were not identified as Dyslexic.

Even within this careful academic writing you get a sense that the authors are somewhat frustrated with all the time and effort that is being wasted trying to define Dyslexia, which would be better spent working to improve the support of all those with reading difficulties.

I was twice assessed for Dyslexia, once at 11 and then again at 20, and found on the first occasion not to Dyslexic and on the second to be Dyslexic. Therefore the question “what changed?” has been of interest to me and this book helps to explain why the answer escapes me. But this experience also gives insight into why, despite the authors rational argument that Dyslexia as a classification is of no benefit, it will be fought for passionately.

After being found not to be Dyslexic at 11 I did receive support for my reading difficulties, but it was limited and discontinuous (chaotic might be a better word) – and when it got to formal exams no provisions were available from the exam boards (as officially there was nothing wrong with me). But at 20 with my new found Dyslexia, which is counted as a formal disability, suddenly all sorts of support and examination changes were thrust upon me (extra time, new computer etc etc). Had my needs changed? Unlikely, yet support was now readily accessible when it hadn't been before.

And so while we have before us a compelling case for retiring Dyslexia it seems highly unlikely that the debate is actually going to conclude any time soon...

Sorry For Your Troubles by Pádraig Ó Tuama

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I am not sure if following a review of books by Stephen Cottrell with one on a book by Pádraig is a good idea, as they are two of my favourite writers and the resulting love-in might get a bit tiresome for you, dear reader...

I also read this while away in Barcelona, and I think it was good to read these poems and reflections which are draw on a backdrop of pain and conflict alongside Cottrell's reflections on Easter and the resurection (in The Things He Said).

 This collection is hope-filled even as, and indeed precisely because, it is honest about the pain and hurt – and that is the essence of our Easter hope. Easter does not deny Good Friday but it does transcend it.

In this collection Pádraig is focusing on the work he has done helping people tell their stories about “the Troubles” in Northern Ireland. In some ways this makes this a collection rooted in the specifics of that context, however it also catches some much broader themes.

I think one of the uncomfortable feeling was whether it was appropriate to read the expressions of the impact of that violent conflict onto my own, really very minor, experiences of conflict (such as at work or Church). The question was whether such reading across would belittle the experiences within the book – but I think as long as you remain aware of that tension it has to be ok.

And with that tension in mind the whole collection seemed to question the new found love of “facilitated conversations” that Bishops in the Church of England think will sort out the mess they have got into over same-sex marriage. There is a desire to see this as an act of goodwill, but it is so hard not to view it as empty words and cynicism, how and when we will together be able to create the space of genuine integrity and honesty in order to actually talk to one another is not clear.

I will share just one of the poems here – because you need to buy the book and read them all!

W e a r e n o t t h e s a m e

We are not the same.

If we think we are

we end up playing games

where dignity's dependent

on some flimsy proof.

And dignity's not a game

that can be won or lost,

because we know this truth:

winners always define glory

and losers always suffer loss.

Rather, we are us.

Not because of anything

just because, just because

just because everything

less than this

demeans us.

Anything less than this

depletes us.

And in this space of sharing

there are various

types of people

loving people

loving people.

And while we're not the same

our intrinsic worth is equal.

We are less

if we accept

anything less than equal.

The Things He Carried and The Things He Said by Stephen Cottrell

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This is a buy one get one free review, covering this two books of reflections by Stephen Cottrell, one for Lent and the other for Easter.

I read The Things He Carried on and off last thing at night during Lent, while I dipped in and out of The Things He Said over week (on holiday in Barcelona), and found the “slow” reading of them allowed the ideas to dwell deeper in the mind.

As usual Cottrell crafts the reflections in such a way that there is great simplicity but also great depth. The cover familiar themes and yet are remarkably fresh.

There are many Lenten books and The Things He Carried is a strong contribution to a crowded shelf, but Easter books are less common and therefore The Things He Said is perhaps a greater gift.

The Things He Said is divided into 2 sections, the first focused on Mary Magdalene's encounter with Jesus at the Tomb, and the second focused on the Emmaus road.

It was the first part that I found most powerful, the way Cottrell captures Mary's pain and grief as she comes to the Tomb, and the confusion of finding it empty, was a new insight for me into the story.

I really felt myself being drawn into the moment. The desire to cling to Jesus in the midst of a troubled world is familiar to me. I will be honest and say that I am struggling with “Church” right now and that the lost and lonely feelings of Mary that morning indeed echo for me.

I think the second part, for me, lacked that power, perhaps it is harder to capture the emotional state of two disciples would have left Jerusalem for Emmaus, but also there was much longer dialogue on the road, it is not the imitate and intense exchange of Mary and Jesus in the Garden.

Cottrell provides questions etc to allow these books to be used by study groups, which is a useful addition, but for me the encounter prompted more of a meditative than a discursive response.

The 39 Steps by John Buchan

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As with Cold Comfort Farm this was in a boxed set of “Essential Penguins” and its inclusion also puzzles me a touch.

It has more than once been made into a film, and the plot in the hands of a Master film maker such as Hitchcock undoubtedly became a classic.

I enjoyed the book in the same way that I enjoy occasionally reading Biggles, and that feels like the appropriate company for it to keep.

Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

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It is an enjoyable read, but it is unclear to me why this is held up as a classic work.

Perhaps the trouble is that Cold Comfort Farm is a parody of various novels of which I have had fairly slim encounters.

I would bracket closely with the film Clueless, fun but not generally considered worthy of critical praise...

As a fan of Clueless I would support the case that it is somewhat under rated but that is perhaps a separate discussion?

Creative Ideas for Frontline Evangelism with Young People by Simon Rundell

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Unlike his two earlier contributions to the “Creative Ideas for...” series this one is almost exclusively a source book rather than a discussion on principles and practice. It is made up of reflections on, mostly, Gospel events with accompanying activities to help explore and embed the message.

This is a useful collection, for a wide range of contexts – I could see plenty of these fitting well into the monthly “informal” service in my own parish, which if I am honest is some way from “frontline evangelism” and is not by any means primarily made up of “young people”.

If you were hoping for some radical new approach this isn't it – Simon Rundell's approach is fundamentally age old – “tell the story, let God do the rest” - but then again maybe there is good reason that Christians have been following this pattern so long...