Most Gracious, Most Merciful
Apr. 3rd, 2006 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lenora_roseYesterday, Colin & I stayed behind after church, along with what felt like half the congregation but was probably ony a quarter, for one of the Interfaith discussions. I missed the Jewish dialogue day for wedding prep stuff, and because I was working the Saturday when we were supposed to visit their synagogue, so there felt like little point. (Colin could have stayed that day, and gone to the synagogue the next weekend, but opted not to -- as far as I can tell, because I couldn't. Not a reason I always approve, but that's another discussion for another time.)
This was the Muslim-Christian interfaith day - we'll be going to their mosque next Sunday in the afternoon. One of the women who'd come, Sirah, has apparantly done several lectures educating Christian groups about what Islam is about, and made a film series about same. She, however, said she was really hoping for a two-way discussion of both faiths. Thankfully, that's exactly what she got. They asked as many questions about our religion as we did about theirs.
It's astonishing how much the questions they asked us revealed about our own religion, and about the gaps between. Nadia needed to be told the whole story of Easter as we see it. Questions were raised concerning what communion means, as transubstantiation adn as remembrance. Their descriptions of the difference between Sunni and Shia, that it has more to do with ancient politics than the points of doctrine which plague schisms of Christianity, reminded me again how strange it is that we have divided off as often as we have, not merely into traditionalist, liberal and extremist, but in wild and strange branches that hardly know one another, and dependant on translations and amateurs as often as on sources, for our interpretations.. They asked about what role religion took in our lives in a way that made it much clearer how Islam and its law and culture are of a piece, as ours are not, than their actual explanation of Sharia Law. The image that Omar (And to a lesser degree his wife Nadia) drew of the pilgrimage to Mecca was enough to near bring tears to my eyes, even though Omar said words failed him in describing how it moves you to be standing at the place you've prayed to all your life. They also described children in Islamic but not Arabic-speaking countries memorizing the Quran even before they understood a word of the language.
And Nadia, afterward, asked if it had been much harder to talk to Jews, who did not even believe in a Jesus who did not die on the cross, but at least was a prophet. When Loraine explained that actually, for her it was like looking back at our own roots, the dawning light in her face was something to see.
Of course, in an unromantic way, much of it is already being privately crunched up into story-matter. After all, I've been trying to write about someone whose faith permeates his life just so. And someone else, whose faith did permeate his life, before a disaster of world-breaking proportions.
_________________________
The private meeting with Loraine that followed immediately upon the heels of the Interfaith discussion was darn near a let down. But much is decided about the ceremony itself on the wedding day. And as of today we actually have our first wedding registry (We're going to end up with three, not due to greed but due to pickiness. Our preferences are for particular items, not for particular store loyalties.)
_____________________
I'd found myself dragging my feet on reading the indifferent fantasy I'd started, and decided that, though I felt it worth eventually finishing the book and seeing if I could figure out just why it was recommended to me by someone I generally trust, I was dragging so much about it that, if it was the only fiction I picked up, I'd never get another book read before the end of April. I still have a shelf full of not-read-yets. I even had one in my hand, one hugely praised by not one but a few people I trust.
So naturally, I somehow ended up rereading Pamela Dean's Secret COuntry trilogy. And remembering why I loved it. I'd remembered that Patrick annoyed me with his beliefs, and forgotten how much I liked his intelligence and his snark, too. I like how the magic is simultaneously unassuming and all-pervasive. I'd remembered intellectually that Pamela Dean's prose catches you off guard, and cuts you open before you realise you're even invested in the story. Now I'm seeing it again, viscerally.
I'm bothered by a few things; the younger children are spot on perfect, bt as usual with her early teen characters, they feel older to me than they are: Patrick should be exactly fourteen, Ted feels sixteen to me, and Ruth pretty much ready to graduate high school. And the land is sometimes too empty, or the habits and traditions off-kilter for a viable society, though at least the children themselves notice and feel that way.
But the single most irksome thing, the last time, and this time, is not the author's fault at all. And it drives me up the wall, and I have to know.
What the hell is the tune to James James Morrison Morrison? (To a lesser degree, it's clear that the "Fear no more the heat o' the sun" speech is not sung to Loreena McKennitt's music, but at least I can substitute hers when I'm reading, and while it's not wholly adequate, it stops the itch in the back of my skull.) I know the poem, but I didn't know there was music to it until I read this trilogy. And I've wanted to know since. It's aggravating. Parts of the plot hinge on the tune.
(It wouldn't be the first time Pamela Dean is responsible for me picking up music. I bought the complete "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?" Sandy Denny collection because at the tiem it was the only place I could find a recording of Fairport Convention's version of Tam Lin, and I was assured by the salesman that no, really, it would be worth it. Four records of material to hear one song. Damn them both, they were utterly right. Fabulous stuff. Wish my record player worked.)
(And the first time I'd read the series, I'd never actually heard the Minstrel Boy. But at least I knew that I could find it, and even, to some degree, where. I know it now - mostly because![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bighairyviking does sing it at Bardic Circles.)
_______________________
I'm through the writing of the scene that was driving me up the wall; as well as of a quick tweak to one of the opening scenes that was directly related to same. Next comes an extended editing that, until the last few pages, hardly needs any changes to fit the newly rearranged order. Partly because it's action, which means the character arc is less surface and more subtext, partly because I rewrote it so extensively right towards the end of the last pass-through, shortly before I decided to change the order of everything. Off to do that.
This was the Muslim-Christian interfaith day - we'll be going to their mosque next Sunday in the afternoon. One of the women who'd come, Sirah, has apparantly done several lectures educating Christian groups about what Islam is about, and made a film series about same. She, however, said she was really hoping for a two-way discussion of both faiths. Thankfully, that's exactly what she got. They asked as many questions about our religion as we did about theirs.
It's astonishing how much the questions they asked us revealed about our own religion, and about the gaps between. Nadia needed to be told the whole story of Easter as we see it. Questions were raised concerning what communion means, as transubstantiation adn as remembrance. Their descriptions of the difference between Sunni and Shia, that it has more to do with ancient politics than the points of doctrine which plague schisms of Christianity, reminded me again how strange it is that we have divided off as often as we have, not merely into traditionalist, liberal and extremist, but in wild and strange branches that hardly know one another, and dependant on translations and amateurs as often as on sources, for our interpretations.. They asked about what role religion took in our lives in a way that made it much clearer how Islam and its law and culture are of a piece, as ours are not, than their actual explanation of Sharia Law. The image that Omar (And to a lesser degree his wife Nadia) drew of the pilgrimage to Mecca was enough to near bring tears to my eyes, even though Omar said words failed him in describing how it moves you to be standing at the place you've prayed to all your life. They also described children in Islamic but not Arabic-speaking countries memorizing the Quran even before they understood a word of the language.
And Nadia, afterward, asked if it had been much harder to talk to Jews, who did not even believe in a Jesus who did not die on the cross, but at least was a prophet. When Loraine explained that actually, for her it was like looking back at our own roots, the dawning light in her face was something to see.
Of course, in an unromantic way, much of it is already being privately crunched up into story-matter. After all, I've been trying to write about someone whose faith permeates his life just so. And someone else, whose faith did permeate his life, before a disaster of world-breaking proportions.
_________________________
The private meeting with Loraine that followed immediately upon the heels of the Interfaith discussion was darn near a let down. But much is decided about the ceremony itself on the wedding day. And as of today we actually have our first wedding registry (We're going to end up with three, not due to greed but due to pickiness. Our preferences are for particular items, not for particular store loyalties.)
_____________________
I'd found myself dragging my feet on reading the indifferent fantasy I'd started, and decided that, though I felt it worth eventually finishing the book and seeing if I could figure out just why it was recommended to me by someone I generally trust, I was dragging so much about it that, if it was the only fiction I picked up, I'd never get another book read before the end of April. I still have a shelf full of not-read-yets. I even had one in my hand, one hugely praised by not one but a few people I trust.
So naturally, I somehow ended up rereading Pamela Dean's Secret COuntry trilogy. And remembering why I loved it. I'd remembered that Patrick annoyed me with his beliefs, and forgotten how much I liked his intelligence and his snark, too. I like how the magic is simultaneously unassuming and all-pervasive. I'd remembered intellectually that Pamela Dean's prose catches you off guard, and cuts you open before you realise you're even invested in the story. Now I'm seeing it again, viscerally.
I'm bothered by a few things; the younger children are spot on perfect, bt as usual with her early teen characters, they feel older to me than they are: Patrick should be exactly fourteen, Ted feels sixteen to me, and Ruth pretty much ready to graduate high school. And the land is sometimes too empty, or the habits and traditions off-kilter for a viable society, though at least the children themselves notice and feel that way.
But the single most irksome thing, the last time, and this time, is not the author's fault at all. And it drives me up the wall, and I have to know.
What the hell is the tune to James James Morrison Morrison? (To a lesser degree, it's clear that the "Fear no more the heat o' the sun" speech is not sung to Loreena McKennitt's music, but at least I can substitute hers when I'm reading, and while it's not wholly adequate, it stops the itch in the back of my skull.) I know the poem, but I didn't know there was music to it until I read this trilogy. And I've wanted to know since. It's aggravating. Parts of the plot hinge on the tune.
(It wouldn't be the first time Pamela Dean is responsible for me picking up music. I bought the complete "Who Knows Where the Time Goes?" Sandy Denny collection because at the tiem it was the only place I could find a recording of Fairport Convention's version of Tam Lin, and I was assured by the salesman that no, really, it would be worth it. Four records of material to hear one song. Damn them both, they were utterly right. Fabulous stuff. Wish my record player worked.)
(And the first time I'd read the series, I'd never actually heard the Minstrel Boy. But at least I knew that I could find it, and even, to some degree, where. I know it now - mostly because
bighairyviking does sing it at Bardic Circles.)_______________________
I'm through the writing of the scene that was driving me up the wall; as well as of a quick tweak to one of the opening scenes that was directly related to same. Next comes an extended editing that, until the last few pages, hardly needs any changes to fit the newly rearranged order. Partly because it's action, which means the character arc is less surface and more subtext, partly because I rewrote it so extensively right towards the end of the last pass-through, shortly before I decided to change the order of everything. Off to do that.
