So, as you may have noticed from the last two posts, Moryam recently signed up for Thomas Nelson’s blogger review program called BookSneeze. In exchange for writing honest reviews, bloggers are given free copies of newly-released books. This may have been an optimistic gesture motivated in large part by his new Kindle . . . or it may have been his clever way to get me, his academically apathetic wife, to stretch my reading and writing muscles. You see, Moryam’s already packed grad-school reading docket keeps him from having the time to read for fun, so in large part, I will be handling the book reviews (not that there is a quota required by the progam. You just have to finish reviewing a book before you can get a new one.) Moryam may regret putting me up to it as I’ve been dissecting the books out loud as I read them in an attempt to be very thorough and objective in my reviews. Poor Moryam.  He may as well read the books himself at this rate.

Upcoming reviews:
-Terry Lindvall’s Surprised by Laughter: The Comic World of C.S. Lewis
-Larry Arnn’s The Founders’ Key: The Divine and Natural Connection Between the Declaration and the Constitution and What We Risk by Losing It (I know!!! Who knew it was being published by Thomas Nelson? Get excited!)

In writing Fyodor Dostoevsky, Peter Leithart managed to craft a casual and easy read from weighty material. As with all good biographies, this book illuminates not only the man and his works, but also his place and time; this booktreats not only the important biographical details of Dostoevsky’s life, but also the shifting landscape of Russian faith, culture, and politics during Dostoevsky’s life time. Leithart achieves this by framing his biography as a conversation between Dostoevsky and a good friend, during which there are many flashbacks to important episodes in Dostoevsky’s life. This device also enables Leithart’s Dostoevsky to personally express his passion for Russia and for his belief that the cure for Russia’s (and mankind’s) ails is Christ.

Expecting a more conventionally-framed biography, it took me a few chapters to settle in to this book. My first, and inaccurate, impression was actually that it may have been intended for a younger audience as the beginning of Dostoevsky’s conversation with his friend reminded me of “youth” narrative biographies I read growing up. The ease of reading the book and depth of the content, however, won me over, and it was not long before I was enjoying becoming better acquainted with the man behind The Underground Man, Crime and Punishment, and The Brothers Karamazov. For its engaging tone and brisk pace as well as its serious treatment of the issues dear to Dostoevsky’s heart, I recommend this book to anyone who has read Dostoevsky’s books and would like to learn more about the man himself.

I received a free copy of this book from BookSneeze in exchange for a review. All opinions are entirely my own.

As it’s much more than a biography, the best way to describe David Teems’ Tyndale is as a celebration of the life of a “Good and Faithful Servant.” Convinced by the truth of the Gospel and driven to give the English people the Word of God in their own language, Tyndale gave up everything, including his life, to fulfill his calling. In this book, Teems acts as a guide to Tyndale’s life and times, better revealing the character and achievement of Tyndale the man by setting the historical stage, helping us wade through the complexities of life in England on the cusp of the Reformation, and introducing us to many other important characters along the way.

David Teems puts on many hats as the author of this book, including those of historian, psychologist, and literary critic. He highlights the influence Tyndale’s work had on the King James Bible and the English language and makes good arguments for why Tyndale was the right man at the right time for the job of translating the Scriptures. As Teems points out, Tyndale is an inspiring example of a person who knew himself, his gifts, and his calling, and who knew and trusted in his Lord. He not only translated the Scriptures, he also gave us a poetic and powerful language of faith. Teems work is also a great introduction to important considerations for anyone engaged in the work of translating Scripture (or any other text for that matter). I was also very interested to learn that Tyndale not only translated the Bible, but also had a great influence on the way we approach the Bible as a personal communication from God to every human and as living and active, a text to search and that will in turn search us.

High-stakes theological and political exchanges were also a part of Tyndale’s life, and Teems, by summarizing Tyndale’s polemical written exchanges with Thomas More, gives readers a good introduction to the complicated twists and turns in English political and spiritual history. I must commend Teems for being even-handed and nuanced in his treatment of More. This book, while being well researched and thourough, may not satisfy a rigorous student in any particular discipline; however, I don’t believe that was Teems’ intention in writing. I would not describe Teems’ tone or narrative voice as one of an objective historian or literary critic, so this may not be the book for serious, in-depth academic work. Teems’ voice is more personal, meditative, and thought-provoking, making this a great book for arm-chair scholars, and a good jumping-off point for further study.

I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze®.com <http://BookSneeze®.com> book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 <http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html> : “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”

Chaos is Little Lion’s special kind of order. He likes his stuff all spread out. It makes him happy, because this way he keeps running into fun things over and over many times a day. This is why it’s no fun to clean, because it’s anti-happiness (unless they got to you).

Anyway, we needed to vacuum and had to clear Little Lion’s floor shelf completely to get it done right. We quickly shuffled his stuff to his toybox and, before he could martial a counter-attack, hauled out Dragon the vacuum cleaner as fast as we could.

When he was even littler, Little Lion would stand behind the vacuum and use it like a walker to get around–but that was when it was Hummer the vacuum cleaner, his cool friend. But this day, for some reason, things had changed. He and Hummer weren’t chummy anymore. The power came on, he screamed horribly, and teeter-toddled to the couch as quickly as he could. Mommy, who was safe on high ground, helped him clamber up, and in safety he wailed his discontent for a few minutes.

It took a little while for him to calm down. But slowly, with the Dragon still roaring around the room, he got up the courage to get down and venture a little closer, only to run away again if it turned in his direction.

Finally he mustered the courage. The next time the Dragon turned his way, he started stomping his little feet, screamed “Buuuuh!”, and threw his chubby hands down on the Dragon’s head. Then he began pushing as hard as he could until the Dragon backed up in retreat.

A few times of this and he discovered the heart of the beast, and that it had a power button.

Now it takes a long, long time to vacuum the house because Little Lion keeps slaying the Dragon.

Dear all, there’s no easy way to say this, but the wife and I are both smelling burnt toast. We checked all possible culprits and found no answers, except what came up on Google. Apparently, smelling phantom burnt toast is a sign of a neurological disorder or an impending stroke.

Of course, something might just be smelling like burnt toast. It’s statistically freaky that two people would be experiencing this separately at the same time, after all. So we figure if Little Lion is smelling burnt toast too, then the odds just become too long for it to be a tandem olfactory hallucination and we can rest easy. So I need suggestions on how to get him to let us know whether he’s smelling burnt toast. I’ve checked all the baby books, but they’re useless.

Anyway, suggestions are welcome. Or, if you know what would smell like burnt toast at random times, that would be good too.

To his joy, Little Lion discovered a new box of toys after waking up from his nap. They weren’t really toys–it was a box of assorted carrots, apples, plantains, and celery from our co-op–but, okay, I guess they were toys.

No box can withstand Little Lion (also true backwards–Little Lion can withstand no box) and he quickly starting hustling his new toys to various parts of the house. With our suggestion, he gave them names too. Plantains, as far as he was concerned, were bananas, or “Baa”s, apples were “Puh”s and Carrots started as “Tuh”s and turned into “Toots.”

After a while of scattering Baas and Puhs, he got tired and turned his attention fully to the Toots. Somehow, it had made sense to him to leave plaintains and apples everywhere, but carrots were apparently made for someone else. Clutching a grubby carrot with both hands, with a heavy frown on his face, he started lapping the table and shaking the carrot up and down, pronouncing weighty “buhbuhbuhs!” with every lap. That lasted for a while.

Having completed this little shamanic cleansing, or whatever it was, he then discovered the joys of putting all his foodie expropriations back into the box.

And then taking them out again.

And in again.

And out again.

And on and on and on and on. I think we think we found them all, but only smell will tell.

Some younger students are, as I write, sitting out in the hall nervously talking about their upcoming final. It’s funny how students tend to clump together in like-minded groups. Some groups nervously freak out about how much they studied and compare bloodshot eyes and how much coffee they’ve had. Some students try to one-up one another in how ready they are, and start quizzing each other with “gotcha’s.”

And, other groups try rebelliously to defend the fact that they didn’t study at all, and that’s what this group is like. One girl, unlike the rest, had actually opened the whole study guide, but then she got creative: “Oh, yeah, I just had my computer read it to my while I slept.”

College FAIL.

After a year of reading Little Lion his favorite books, we don’t really read them anymore. The seven hundred times a day he wants to read, we just animatedly recite from memory. I confess, half the time, I’m not looking at the book. When I am looking, I see troubling things because I got bored. (Latest find: how many monkeys are jumping on the bed? If you carefully count how many monkeys are in each scene, it looks like the two chocolate monkeys are either spontaneously cloning themselves or up to some very sneaky business. I’m still working on it.)

When I was about three or four, I remember being told that there were reasons for things, and that it really was possible to look inside books and get out recorded stories. But I was suspicious–incredibly suspicious–and remember being convinced that grown-ups just made the stories up. Why was it always the same story? I didn’t know. But how could they read the book if they weren’t even looking at it?!

Well, now I know.

If some horrible apocalypse destroys all children’s books, and there are children crying everywhere, I for one take personal responsibility for reconstructing about half the works of Sandra Boynton. The other half–well, those children will just have to cry.

On a separate but equal note, we tried reading one of Little Lion’s books to him in stereo the other day. We didn’t plan it–we just both started reciting it by heart all at once, thinking he’d like it. At first he was bewildered and than he turned beet red and bawled inconsolably for five whole minutes. I guess stereo can be pretty scary…

Little Lion was doing laps (racing the popular kitchen-living room-hallway-kitchen circuit) while I did dishes. Every other circle or so he stopped to root through his drawer for another measuring cup or to smack into me and giggle, as the moment warranted.

Finally, after a zillion laps, he got bored and turned his attention to the trash can. He knows it’s off-limits, and he also knows its full of yucky things, squishy things, bangy things, and generally fun things. I gave him my best “Little Lion…!” warning voice, but before I could intervene he commenced his dumpster dive. Fortunately, unless the trash can needs to be emptied anyway, he can’t usually reach anything. But he tries.

A small, pouty tantrum later, Little Lion proceeded on more laps, finally coming back around to the trash can. Again, he didn’t like being told “No,” and made it known. Wriggling free from my soapy hands he tottered to the end of the kitchen and turned to regard me for a moment. He paused, hands ready, and decided on his new course of action. He turned and banged decisively on the oven and the cupboard, moved over and banged on a couple of drawers, and proceeded down the kitchen toward me, thumping everything very methodically.

Finally he got to the trash can again–the trash can, untouched in a long train of touching. “Buh!” he said and he looked at me, one pointy finger up, asking me to reflect on his difficult situation. Could the normal rules apply when the pattern so certainly compelled him? Indeed, they could not, and he smacked the trash can.

Thankfully, I finished the dishes just then and we went to read books before things got any worse.

So Little Lion was once again trying to clamber over the wooden box in front of the bookcase. Since he always looks at us before doing anything naughty, it was easy to give him the RESCUE–the Raised EyebrowS of Consequence Unless you Eschew this activity. Those eyebrows only fall with the relief of capitulation or with the hammer if immediate consequence. Fortunately, Little Lion lowered his little knee, though pouting ferociously. With a weighty frown he lapped the room muttering, “Buh buh buh buh buh buh!”

But fortune always favors babies. Somewhere in a corner he found an empty bottle he’d dropped in one of his Little Lion romps. Picking it up he toddled back to the bookcase. “Buh!” he said, looking at us with one chubby finger in the air, eyebrows up, obviously making an important point.

Then he chucked his bottle into the gap between the box and the bookcase, gave a bewildered “Buh!”, and began to haul himself over the box to fix this travesty. His bottle, obviously, had no business being there, and he had to get it out.

Well, raised eyebrows didn’t do it this time, because he wasn’t doing anything wrong, right? He was just helping out.

When we disagreed, Little Lion threw a huge fit.