We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves

You can’t write a review of this book without spoiling it for others. The reason is that Karen Fowler ingeniously hides a key plot point for the first fourth of the novel; namely, the heroine’s sister is a chimpanzee. The heroine of We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves is Rosemary, a girl who grows up with a chimpanzee. The novel is about Rosemary’s growth in personal and moral awareness. Gradually—in a non-linear manner that is also the author’s style—Rosemary comes to terms with her curious family, including her desolate mother, drunk-yet-brilliant father, animal-rights-activist brother, and loved-but-abandoned simian sister. More importantly, Rosemary realizes her identity and moral responsibility as a member of this family.

What I liked about this book is that it avoided becoming an ode to animal rights and equality. Although Fowler prominently features simian studies and animal aptitude tests, she nonetheless shows a healthy agnosticism as to whether animals are truly equal to humans. She acknowledges the complexity of the moral questions surrounding animal research. Most importantly, Fowler remains focused on her heroine. Perhaps Fowler intended this book as a portrayal of a brutal world in which humans cannot acknowledge that they differ from simians not in essence but only in their degree of capability. But I didn’t take it that way. I took it as an enjoyable, though sad, tale of a girl who grew up with a chimpanzee for a sister.

To Rise Again at a Decent Hour

Imagine this book as the spiritual autobiography of secular, skeptical modernity. The protagonist is a thirty-something dentist in New York City, fairly well off. He spends his days bustling around his office thinking sardonic thoughts. He spends his nights eating takeout and watching the Boston Red Sox. Then suddenly, his identity is stolen, and he is caught up in the religion of Ulm; a religion of doubt.

This book is ostensibly about religion. But I would say that it's about alienated men who have a yearning to belong. They yearn to belong to a family, a religion, something that will give their lives meaning. The male characters, in particular our protagonist, go about attaching themselves to women of various faiths. The relationships always end badly, because the men seek not love, but rather the family and religion the women can provide. And what's left at the end? The religion of Ulm; a religion of doubt. No resolution, no catharsis. The book ends where it begins. I felt rather empty when I finished it.

But at least Joshua Ferris is a damn good writer! His prose sparkles with a mordant wit that tickles you into laughter and admiration. While the novel ultimately doesn't work, it leaves you with gems like this (the protagonist's thoughts on baseball): "Baseball is the slow creation of something beautiful. It is the almost boringly paced accumulation of what seems slight or incidental into an opera of bracing suspense. The game will threaten never to end, until suddenly it forces you to marvel at how it came to be where it is and to wonder at how far it might go. It's the drowsy metamorphosis of the dull into something indescribable."

The Grapes of Wrath

A novel is a world of landscapes, characters, and emotions. A great novel immerses you in this world; you feel that you have walked the landscapes, commiserated with the characters, and shared their emotions. The world of The Grapes of Wrath is 1930s America, a time of economic depression and desolation. By the time I had finished this book, I felt I had lived in that era.

The Grapes of Wrath impresses on you the terrible power of poverty. This is a poverty that came close to crushing the Joad Family, our protagonists, in their journey from Oklahoma to California. John Steinbeck describes every detail of the Joad Family's experience: the intricacies of their car, their daily meals, and their nightly sleeping conditions. The detail is so evocative that you eventually feel the family's hunger, homelessness, and even hopelessness.

This novel edged close to despair, but fortunately ends on a note of hope. I'm not entirely sure of Steinbeck's philosophy. The novel is an indictment of capitalism. The novel also favorably portrays citizen-run communities in which egalitarianism and cooperation reign supreme. These communities are in line with the novel's odd pantheism (as expressed by the preacher character) in which holiness is found in all things, and not in a distinct deity. Fortunately, these philosophies are not fully worked out, as they would have transformed the book into a polemical work. What is left is a great novel and an impoverished world that will remain in your imagination.

Drooping Man

The man is drooping. His legs and torso sit properly in a metallic seat. But his upper body leans over to the side. His close-cut hair and dusty jacket suggest a straight-forward fellow, probably heading home to enjoy an evening of TV. His trousers are wrinkled and shabby. And he is drooping. Passersby at the train-station thought he was asleep. Perhaps he was drunk. But he is drooping.

A clean-shaven monk notices the man. The monk pauses and then comes closer. He gently lays his hand on the man’s cheek. The drooping man is dead. The monk smoothes out his tan-colored robe and then abruptly pumps out his arms to the side, as if preparing for a magic trick. But the monk has religion, not magic, in mind. He leans over and takes the drooping man’s right hand into his own. The monk’s left hand straightens so as to give the blessing.

A crowd has gathered. Their eyes gaze with a look of confusion, excitement, and sorrow. A young lady with a pudgy face leans over from behind the seats to catch a glance of the drooping man. She wants to know. A fellow, sitting a few seats down from the tragedy, watches the monk. The fellow has seen this before. He fingers the bottle in his black-wool coat, but considers that a swig wouldn’t be appropriate at this time.

The monk prays in a tone too quiet to hear. The crowd knows that the monk is commending the man’s soul to the afterlife, wherever that might be. There is a moment of silence. A deeper meaning can almost be caught. But then the train station shakes. Another train arrives. The medics take away the drooping man’s body. The monk is left alone. And he is drooping.

American Anti-Hero

The Western anti-hero is an icon of American literature. He—and it’s always a he—is a solitary man, rather gruff, with a mordant sense of humor. He knows how to use a gun. His moral sense is skewed, but in his heart, he’s willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good. He’s often the answer when the government just ain't up to snuff. Roland of Gilead, Rooster Cogburn, and the Man with No Name have brought the American anti-hero to life. Escape from New York’s Snake Plissken, played with growling panache by Kurt Russell, is a memorable variation on this theme.

Snake Plissken wears a black eye-patch and tight-fitting clothes. His long unwashed hair and grizzled face bespeak his nonchalance about the world. He does crime, and because of that, he’s being sent to New York, a city that now serves as America’s maximum security prison. But his country first needs him for a mission that only a man of his caliber can perform. He needs to save the President of the United States, who has ironically been trapped in the imprisoned city of his own making.

Escape from New York is arguably a bad movie. The plot is improbable. The sets are so dark that you strain to see the action. And the action scenes are paltry, involving a few punches and bursts of gunfire. Nevertheless, Escape from New York creates a world and characters that are deeply memorable. This is a New York permeated by darkness and crime. In this world, crazed prisoners crawl out of sewers at night and men perform bawdy musicals in dilapidated theaters. A loose hierarchy of criminals, crowned by a villainous Duke, triumphs over the city’s population.

Snake Plissken enters this world and fulfills his mission, albeit for his own selfish and cynical reasons. Ultimately, though, he does what is right because the President just ain’t a good man. That’s an American anti-hero.

Team of Rivals

The Civil War is a captivating affair. The injustice of slavery, the thrill of rebellion, the bloodied battlefields of war—all creating the most tragic and memorable piece of American history. Standing prominent in this history is, of course, Abraham Lincoln, the lanky lawyer from Illinois. Doris Goodwin’s Team of Rivals reverently recreates Lincoln’s life, as well as the lives of his Cabinet officers. In this book, Lincoln’s cabinet officers serve as a prism through which Lincoln’s virtues profusely shine. The officers’ lives are also interesting in their own right, making for a book that draws you closer not only to Lincoln but also his world.

This is a book very much about men, not women. In addition to Lincoln, William Seward, Salmon Chase, Edward Bates, and Edwin Stanton occupy many pages of text. The wives and daughters of these men, in particular Mary Lincoln and Kate Chase, do occasionally grace us with their presence. But they serve as merely a unique perspective on the men to whom they are attached. These men were politicians and lawyers, great statesmen of their age. They were brilliant and admirable, but too often pathetic in their vanity and yearnings for power. Three of the men campaigned to become the Republican candidate for President in 1860, only to be surreptitiously defeated by Lincoln. The men were rivals of Lincoln, who nonetheless brought them together as a team.

Lincoln’s greatness shines brightly in contrast to these men. He was not a man to hold a grudge. He recognized his rivals’ talents and used them to his advantage. Even when Salmon Chase publicly derided Lincoln in an attempt to obtain the presidency in 1864, Lincoln forgave. He even awarded Chase with a seat on the Supreme Court. Above all, Lincoln was a consummate leader. For example, rather than rushing to emancipate the slaves as the abolitionists wanted, Lincoln carefully calculated the timing and rationale of his Emancipation Proclamation so as to make it palatable to the public.

This book is not a complete history of the civil war. Certain battles are ignored and the Southern point of view is conspicuously absent. But as a biography of Lincoln and his Cabinet, this book amply succeeds. I found myself loving Lincoln with his deep reservoir of jokes and hare-brained stories—a characteristic that often infuriated his oh-so-serious colleagues. I also appreciated the other men who, despite their foibles, came to love Lincoln as well. Kudos to Goodwin, who writes all this with elegance and wisdom.

RoboCop (2014)

RoboCop, surprisingly, is a movie of big ideas. The indestructibility of the human soul; the rise of robotic warfare; the control of America by corporations. The movie is not entirely successful in dealing with these ideas, but is quite entertaining in its effort to do so.

RoboCop is our hero. In his former life he was Alex Murphy, a married man, a father, and a police officer. And then, he is tragically wounded, paralyzed from the waist down. An omnipresent corporation (appropriately named OmniCorp) took advantage of this situation, inducing Alex's wife to consent to a procedure in which Alex is inserted inside of a mechanical body. OmniCorp's motives are not altruistic. They wanted to create a RoboCop so as to promote robotic policing and warfare, an idea to which Americans are apparently resistant. OmniCorp wanted a machine with the appearance of humanity. However, as the movie develops, RoboCop turns out to be a human with the appearance of a machine.

As RoboCop/Alex begins his policing duties, OmniCorp repeatedly tries to stifle RoboCop's human emotions and tendencies. Yet this humanity consistently re-emerges, ultimately to OmniCorp's demise. The movie plays well the theme of human free will. The movie appears to take the stance that the human soul, though weak, can ultimately triumph over mechanical impositions. The movie also addresses the fundamental difference between mechanical and human bodies. There is a powerful scene in which OmniCorp's scientist (Gary Oldman) encourages a man to play his guitar with his new mechanical hands. The man tries, and yet the mechanical hands are simply not the same.

The movie, with less success, also addresses issues of corporate governance and robotic warfare. OmniCorp and its leader become conniving caricatures towards the end, unconvincing as candidates for a future of corporate control. Moreover, the movie never reaches a conclusion on the issue of robotic policing, but just lays out the pros and cons – greater efficiency but less humanity, greater protection but less control.

The movie's greatest flaw is that it is simply too damn serious. This is a plot that could use a healthy dose of humor. But Joel Kinnaman, who plays RoboCop, simply slides between being morose and snide. His sidekick hardly makes an appearance and never develops into a fulsome character. But of course, there is always Gary Oldman to save the day. RoboCop is not a great movie. The action scenes are slick and efficient, but ultimately the movie lacks a human heart. This is odd, considering the movie's premise. Nevertheless, the ideas are intriguing and make this movie worth a watch.

Visiting Cornwall

Cornwall is a land of rocky green pastures and homey villages straddling salty seashores. I've visited Cornwall - which is in the Southwestern region of England - many times, and I've always found that its rough beauty is highly pleasing yet not overbearing. This past week I spent time in two typically Cornish villages, Mevagissey and Bude. They are both largish seaside villages that have become tourist attractions. Mevagissey is a fishing village that features a little harbor full of fishing boats coming and going. The houses and shops are built on hills that descend to the harbor. Being a fishing village, you can find there the best fish and chips in the country. Fish and chips are, in truth, a rudimentary form of fast food, often served greasy and basted in salt and vinegar. Delicious all the same. The most wonderful part of Mevagissey is the hikes you can take along the coast. Climbing up hills and reaching cliffs, you are soon rewarded with fresh salty air and fulsome views of the ocean. Even a dolphin can be spotted on occasion. Travelling back into town, you can explore a variety of galleries and shops filled with oddities.

In place of a harbor, Bude features a lovely beach. Bude's beach is sizeable and, although rocky, quite pleasant. There is even a fantastic "sea pool" (imagine a traditional pool carved into a beach) where you can go for a proper workout. Bude also has many shops that offer Cornwall's second most famous dish, the Cornish cream tea. This tea (yes, black tea with milk) comes the most luxurious cream that you can spread on two large scones. I have been unable to find a similar cream anywhere else. Bude also has many nearby historical sites. Of these sites, I briefly visited Tintagel, which is supposedly King Arthur's original castle. Naught but ruins remain now at Tintagel. However, as you walk the wind-blown cliffs surrounding the castle, you can imagine a group of hardy but enduring soldiers huddling in their castle as they plotted the reunification of the people of England. Sadly, there is scant historical record for King Arthur's existence.

Cornwall is a magical place that is perhaps less haunting than parts of Northern England and Scotland but nevertheless just as mysterious. Hitchcock shot Rebecca in Cornwall, and the movie displays well the land's rustic beauty. I'm not sure I'd want to live there, but it always makes for a relaxing and reinvigorating visit.

Time Travelling X-Men

Time travel is such a tricky plot device. While offering much potential, it also presents many risks. Firstly, the philosophical problems surrounding time travel are enormous. Speculation abounds as to the future effects of changing the past. Perhaps one small change of the past irrevocably and completely changes the future. Like a pebble thrown into an ocean: At first there are mere ripples, but gradually these ripples become waves until a tsunami of change crashes into the future. Perhaps the future is a fate that cannot be changed. Fate, as it were, 'auto-corrects' any changes of the past so as to keep the future on its pre-determined course. Perhaps time travel is somehow incorporated into both past and future. A person's time travel must have already occurred and that person's choice to time travel again is simply part of an endless loop of time. Finally, perhaps the only way to change the future is by changing a historically significant person or event (e.g., killing Hitler or stopping the September 11th attacks).

One can only speculate about time travel, most likely because it is a philosophical impossibility. But this does not prevent script writers from reverting to time travel as the catchall plot device that can accomplish the impossible. And unfortunately, it is a plot device that often fails. X-Men: Days of Future Past ("DOFP") is a prime example of this failure. Now don't get me wrong, DOFP is an enjoyable movie. DOFP features a stunning cast and many excellent set pieces. Watching lightning-fast Quicksilver break into the Pentagon and free Magneto was particularly exhilarating. Seeing shape-shifting Mystique* 'become' other characters, such as the villainous dwarf Bolivar Task, is always entertaining. I was also impressed that the movie managed to weave together a wide array of characters and an extremely complex plot into a single cohesive show. Nevertheless, the perils of a time-travel plot took the emotional punch out of the movie.

The movie begins with giant robots called Sentinels attacking a mutant outpost. These man-made Sentinels have perfected the art of killing not only mutants, but also any human who has the potential of becoming a mutant. Unfortunately, this means that the human (and mutant) race is on the verge of extinction and that the world has become a desolate wasteland. Professor X decides that the only way to save the future is by returning to the past and stamping out the Sentinels before they are created. Of course, Wolverine is chosen for this mission.

Skipping ahead somewhat, the movie ends with the Sentinels on the verge of killing Professor X and his remaining cohort of mutants. And right before the Sentinels accomplish their mission, the past is successfully changed and the future becomes a peaceful present. No loss, no tragedy. Rather, all is made right in the world by the power of time travel. Nifty, eh? Or simply anticlimactic? I believe the latter. In fiction, time travel should not be a plot device for relieving history of its tragedy or characters of their past mistakes. Tragedy and sin are essential components of literature (and life). Without them, fiction becomes but fluff. The philosophical problems of time travel abound. However, its literary problems are perhaps more perilous for for modern cinema and television. While not ruining DOFP, these problems certainly prevent it from becoming great.

*As an aside, I can't decide if Jennifer Lawrence is appropriate as Mystique. Mystique's appearance is amphibious. Her blue skin reminds me of the scales of a fish and her yellow eyes are like those of a reptile. The human actor playing Mystique should also be somewhat reptilian and amphibious; beautiful but not quite human. Unfortunately, Jennifer Lawrence is adorably human. She has a rounded appearance and an expression that modulates between a steady seriousness and a stifled sadness. And yet, her acting skills seem to make up for her physical mismatch with the character. All the same, I think Rebecca Romjin was a better pick for the part.

Christianity & Democracy: Fallacious Optimism

In his preface, Maritain writes: "This little book will perhaps seem too optimistic to readers of quick judgment." Perhaps I am of quick judgment, but I found Martian to be both optimistic and dangerously naïve. This may be forgivable; Maritain wrote these books towards the end of World War II, when a devastated world was searching for a new hope. These books constitute an aspirational political philosophy; they are not grounded in firm reality but rather in evanescent hopes for a utopian future. Jacques Maritain believes that humanity is marching towards a democratic future that will uphold the rights and dignity of man. He believes that democracy is a necessary consequence of the Gospel. As Jesus preached the equality and liberty of all men, so much governments respect equality and liberty by granting universal suffrage. Maritain also believes that the natural law, from which all rights flow, ultimately (though not immediately) requires democracy.

I admire Maritain's fervor. He is an excellent Christian and Thomist. He gives superb explanations of the philosophical origins of rights and man's relationship with the State. But throughout these works, Maritain did not once mention the doctrine of original sin. He seems to have forgotten that as human goodness and morality progress, so do sin and error. Moreover, he is far too trusting of the morality of the 'common man'. Perhaps this review is too harsh. Maritain was part of a generation of faithful Catholics that believed in the United Nations and the European Union. They thought that charters of 'rights' would shed Gospel light on this world. Could they see what these rights now entail, they might regret their earlier optimism. Christians should and must be optimists, but not about the affairs of this world.

Robocop (1987)

As the technical prowess and political power of corporations have grown, so have the people's fear and suspicion of corporate governance. Robocop brings these issues to the fore. In an unknown time of anarchic crime, a large corporation intends to privatize the police force by installing bionic police officers throughout the city. Robocop, a resurrected police officer, is the first of this kind. He is a machine and yet retains some of his humanity. As the movie progresses, he gradually rediscovers this humanity until he overthrows his corporate makers, who, of course, are not interested in people's safety as much as profits. The movie is hopeful: Corporations can never eradicate human morality and free will.

What makes Robocop great is its streamlined and to-the-point editing. The movie wastes nary a second. Every scene briefly illustrates a plot point or an action scene, and then moves on. The movie even ends at its climax, having no time for post-climatic sentiment and catharsis. Despite being thirty years old, the movie still feels fresh and futuristic, perhaps because it doesn't rely on special effects so much as hard metal and fiery explosions. Robocop is a classic. It brings up interesting issues that TV shows are still exploring (e.g., Continuum), all while being very entertaining.

Dark Tower: Wizard & Glass

Midway through the Dark Tower series, Stephen King breaks off from his fantastical-science-fiction story in order to to spin an Old Western yarn. King writes of Roland of Gilead (our grizzled protagonist) and his coming-of-age adventure in the dusty town of Mejis. The story features shootouts, witches, politics, and magic. But the focal point throughout is Roland's love for Susan. And this is where the story falters. King himself writes: "True love, like any other strong and addicting drug, is boring... As with any other strong drug, true love is really only interesting to those who become its prisoners."

Unfortunately, King didn't learn from his own wisdom. Roland and Susan's love is soppy and sentimental, and the sexual escapades make this book feel tawdry. But despite this, the Wizard and Glass captures much of the excitement that makes this series compelling. There are wizards and enchanted balls; palaces and gunslingers; and the ever-present sense that the "world has moved on." Also, King can describe action scenes with wonderful finesse. His description of how Roland and his two companions methodically take down a company of forty armed men is still vivid in my mind. I can't put my finger on why, but the Dark Tower series has a magic that keeps me reading.

Movie Review: Terminator 3

Terminator 3 is a movie that revels in the sheer power of steel, metal, and iron. The action scenes (and the movie is almost one continuous action scene) are like a symphony of metal pounding on metal. The two combatants are advanced killing machines from the future. The T-X's mission is to kill John Connor; the Terminator's to protect him. In carrying out these missions, they pound one another through walls, cars, helicopters, and even toilets. The T-X pursues John Connor in a crane truck, the truck's wrecking ball smashing dozens of cars. The Terminator shoots rocket propelled grenades into the T-X, the grenades blasting her down an elevator shaft. And the sound effects amplify every explosion and clash so that you feel enmeshed in a world of steel.

Perhaps all that sounds like a giddy fanboy's reaction to an action movie. And perhaps that's fair. There's much to criticize here. The human characters are unbelievable. Nicholas Stahl as John Connor doesn't seem like the inspiring hero he will become. Claire Danes as Kate Brewster comes off silly and shy when she should be tough and grimacing. Moreover, the Terminator's one-liners are, well, corny. But this movie is like a heavy metal concert; the lyrics don't really matter.

Helix: Season One Review

Helix is a strange show. The show is both deadly serious and deliciously satiric, as exemplified by the title sequence where blood drips to the tune of elevator music. At times this unique mixture works; at others it becomes farcical. Helix is about a virus that breaks out in a mysterious science facility located deep in the Arctic. The virus causes humans to become violent zombies; a group of scientists (our protagonists) are sent to control the situation.

The show's modus operandi is to gradually reveal layer after layer of conspiracy and intrigue behind the virus, all while people die in variously horrible ways. The acting is relatively poor; the characters are fairly uninteresting; the plot-twists can be somewhat ludicrous. And yet, the show's macabre sense of humor and wonderfully absurd plot are appealing. How many shows gleefully display the explosion of rats in a microwave oven? Moreover, the facility isolated in the Arctic provides a perfect stage for violence and horror. As an enjoyable late-night diversion, Helix succeeds.

Book Review: Living on Fire, Life of Brent Bozell

Brent Bozell was a radical. He took no half-measures in all that he did and believed - as a husband, father, conservative, and Catholic. He began his public life as a conservative debater while at Yale; he was the bane of Communist sympathizers everywhere. He was a backer of Joseph McCarthy and Barry Goldwater, even ghostwriting Goldwater's Conscience of a Conservative. He was close friends with William Buckley, wrote frequently for National Review, and even tried his hand at politics.

Yet above all, he was Catholic, so much so that his Catholicism eventually consumed his conservatism. He founded the journal Triumph and became something of a theocrat. His anti-Americanism was particularly pronounced: America was "a vast moral and spiritual wasteland… [the American credo held that] salvation comes from democracy, education, a nifty standard of living, and a stockpile of nuclear bombs… non-Catholic America is morally disgusting. It is a panorama of evils: gay liberation, women's liberation, pills, pornography, sterility and murdered babies." Such writing alienated Bozell from the conservative movement and eventually causedTriumph's demise.

I had a hard time sympathizing with Bozell. While I agree with many of his ideas, his tone tended to be condescending and pugnacious. Moreover, his ideal of Catholic sovereignty in America was patently unrealistic. Yet as he grew older he also became more human. He struggled mightily with manic depression. And he emerged from this depression as a man of mercy, ardent to carry out Christ's corporal works of mercy to those in need. Not the most cheerful read, but a fascinating study all the same.

Continuum: Season One Review

While not electrifying, Continuum is entertaining. At the moment of their execution, a group of terrorists (Liber8) orchestrate a time warp that transports them from 2077 to 2012. Seemingly by accident, they transport policewoman Kiera Cameron along with them. Kiera quickly joins the Vancouver Police in an effort to fight Liber8—who are fomenting dissent in the present—and to find a way back to 2077. As the show progresses, it gradually reveals that something more than an execution escape was the cause of all these events.

Continuum is successful largely because of Rachel Nichols, who plays Kiera Cameron. She is beautiful and quite feminine, although not in a girlishly cute way. Rather, her femininity can be found in her shy but quiet strength; her resolute love for her son who remains in 2077; and her sense of duty in fighting Liber8. Rachel Nichols expresses all these qualities and thereby creates a likeable character. Carlos Fonnegra is her partner in the Vancouver Police Department. While not particularly interesting himself, his casual affability and occasional quirks play nicely with Kiera's character. Perhaps a fault in this show is that there are not many well-developed characters beyond these two. Alec Sadler is the genius teenager who will become the corporate giant of the future, but who in the meantime provides tech support and information for Kiera.

Rachel Nichols as Kiera Cameron animates a plot that would otherwise be merely interesting. The show could have closely examined the philosophy of time-travel. Instead, the show uses time-travel as a simple plot-device, and at times in a particularly heavy-handed manner—such as when Liber8 attempts to kill Kiera's grandmother in the hopes that this will erase her out of existence (the tactic doesn't work, though the show doesn't explain why). More troubling, the show occasionally descends to the level of police procedural, as Kiera and Carlos investigate various murders that seem only tangentially related to the plot involving Liber8. Double murder-suicides? Check. Journalist killed in political intrigue? Check. Ransom of a corporate CEO? Check. Nor are the members of Liber8 fleshed out into full characters. They veer from being political dissidents, to anarchic terrorists, to pawns in a corporate chess game.

Despite these faults, Continuum is an enjoyable show. The plots are snappy and the scenes from the future are particularly engaging. And the overarching theme of a plot from the future being hatched in the present is tantalizing enough to keep a viewer engaged.

Book Review - The Experience of God

In an age of philosophical poverty, David Hart enriches us with 'The Experience of God'. In this book, Hart shows that God's existence can be found through our experience of Being, Consciousness, and Bliss. Our awareness of being leads us to being's inherent contingency and the need for the non-contingent God. Our experience of consciousness shows us the intelligibility of all things and the need for the all-encompassing intelligence of God. Our yearning for bliss inexorably takes us to the need for the God of truth, beauty, and goodness. Such is Hart's argument, in a tremendously compressed form.

But in this book Hart does so much more. He persuasively argues that our modern culture has become almost incapable of experiencing God. Due to the prolonged influence of materialism and naturalism, our culture has attempted to fit all experience into the boxes of the tangible and the scientifically provable. Hart devotes many pages to deconstructing materialistic arguments against the existence of God. But in so doing, he recognizes that the true problem is not bad philosophy, but rather a disenchanted culture that cannot conceive of the spiritual. This book can be tiring and very difficult, but is ultimately quite rewarding.

Book Review - An Anxious Age by Joseph Bottum

I first became acquainted with Joseph Bottum as the editor of First Things, a conservative journal dealing with religion in the public square. In his brief reign as editor, he brought flair, elegance, and extravagance to the journal—qualities that brought about his editorial demise, as First Things has a rather serious audience that does not appreciate full-color photographs (an innovation of his) interrupting pages of lengthy prose. Flair and elegance are also on display in An Anxious Age, as Bottum renders a serious (and sociological) book into a light and lovely reflection on religion in America.

Bottum focuses on two topics. Firstly, Bottum posits the transformation of 'mainline' Protestantism into a new secular ethos. He persuasively argues that today's 'elite' liberals are in cultural continuity with the mainline Protestants (e.g. liberal but religious; not fundamentalist) that once dominated the American scene. The new 'elite' retain the old Protestant sense of superiority and righteousness, but have simply dropped Christianity along the way. Secondly, Bottum examines how Catholicism attempted to fill the void left by mainline Protestantism and ultimately failed in so doing. He argues that Catholicism supplied America a new political rhetoric—based on the ideas of natural law and human dignity—that Evangelicals embraced. However, he finds that Catholicism did not and perhaps cannot replace traditional Protestantism in America, as the country is Protestant at its core.

This is only a small snapshot of An Anxious Age. Bottum fiddles with numerous ideas and observations, all of which show how significant and how strange American religion is. (But what of the rise of Mormonism? This is a pertinent topic that Bottum fails to address.) Unfortunately, Bottum frequently digresses, in particular by writing beautiful but inapposite biographies of major figures in America. These digressions make the book feel like a collection of essays loosely tied together by a not quite overarching theme. Whatever faults this book may have, Bottum's elegant style makes it worth reading. And oddly enough, because intellectuals are almost always cynics, I finished this book with the impression that Bottum is a man who genuinely cares for both religion and America.