Grim's Hall

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Hailstone Mountain: A Review & Invitation for Discussion

Like several of you, I have purchased Lars Walker's newest work, Hailstone Mountain. I finally had time to finish reading it last night, and after reflection I wanted to offer a review. Since I know that I am not the only one among us to have read it, it's also a good opportunity for us to discuss it in the comments below.

Two things I thought the book did exceptionally well. The first is in the early chapters, when Erling is cursed and must show his heroic nature in a very different way: by struggling to eat though it is painful, and by accepting the shaving of his head. This is done so that he can look like a slave, but with all the connotations of loss of hair -- loss of beauty, loss of identity, and with a nod toward Samson, a recognition of his loss of that physical strength that is characteristic of the hero. These are clear analogues for the kind of courage that is required of those who fall victim to cancer, and other severe illnesses of the body. So much is lost, and so much must be borne. Those who manage to come through this without surrendering their dignity of soul are indeed demonstrating a kind of high heroism, though it is one difficult to portray in a novel of the sort that people find pleasant to read. I thought that was well done.

Even more than that, I liked the way in which Father Ailill struggles with the violence of creation. There's a comforting answer given toward the end, but for the most part the book looks in the face the strength that death has been given in the world. It is a difficult theological problem, and it is good to see a religious figure represented as treating it with the severity of mind that it deserves.

One thing that I wish to raise -- not as a criticism, but as a point of theological discussion, because I think I can see two viable arguments here -- is a point Mr. Walker also raises in Troll Valley. As you remember, toward the end of that book a mysterious figure in town comes to speak before the local Lutheran church, and he speaks on the Pharisees.

"We get a bad picture of the Pharisees from the gospels, but I think we miss the point.... The Pharisees were the best and wisest of Israel. I do not say that in irony.... I do not say Jesus was a Pharisee. But it is a fact that he agreed with them in many things. As to why He condemned them, the answer to that is a hard one. It is found in Hebrews 12:6 -- 'For whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth.' Christ wasted little time on the Sadducees. Their souls had long since been sold. But for the Pharisees He had hopes, I think, and so He argued with them, hammer and tongs, for three years. The Pharisees were lovers of the Law.... and like many kinds of lovers, certain kinds of parents... they way they chose to love only smothered the Object of their love." (There aren't page numbers in the Kindle book, but this is 92% through the work.)

So in Troll Valley, Christ argues with those whom he loves best -- even the ones who do not lay down the Law and follow him as disciples. They are wrong, but they are almost right -- they are trying to be right -- and yet that means they are still completely wrong.

In Hailstone Mountain, we have an interesting variation on the same problem. Now the speaker is Christ himself, coming to Father Ailill in a vision:

"Do you know what the greatest enemy of the good is?... [T]he greatest enemy of the good is the almost-good. The thing that is nearly true but not quite. The almost-good brings men to damnation at the least cost."

This is wrapped up with the meditation on how Jesus came to send not peace but a sword, and it is nicely done. The almost-good has managed to bring actual peace and safety to a community. People have laid down their weapons, and children can travel freely and in safety even across the river to hear the popular public sermons. The people don't hurt each other any more. There is real peace.

What Christ wants Ailill to do is to destroy that peace, because it is based upon lies and an unjust bargain. He wants Ailill to restore -- indeed, to very much heighten -- the violence and destruction, so that most of these people living in peace will be killed at war. That is the narrow road.

This is a hard problem, and it is a good problem. Good problems are very good things to have. You can burnish your mind and your soul by rubbing against them.

So rather than taking the problem away from you, I'll ask you to tell me what you think about it. Let's share the problem together.

On Marriage

A commentary on the recent funeral of Baroness Thatcher mentioned that the presiding priest had given an excellent address at the royal wedding. It's about seven minutes long, but it's one of the most insightful brief speeches on the subject I can recall having heard. I trust the young couple was -- as I was on my own wedding day -- far too excited to understand or remember any of the sermon. It was for them in a way, but perhaps it was more for us.

Treasure boxes

From the 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica I'm working on now at Project Gutenberg (we're up to the S's!):

SAFES, STRONG-ROOMS AND VAULTS. . . . Although it is practically certain that boxes provided with locks or coffers must have followed closely on the development of locks (q.v.) and been in use in ancient Egypt, yet no examples remain to us of earlier date than the middle ages. The earliest examples extant were constructed of hard wood banded with hammered iron, and subsequent development took place rather on artistic than on practical lines up to the time of the introduction of boxes entirely of iron. On the continent of Europe the iron box was developed to a very high standard of artistic beauty and craftsmanship, but with no real increase of security. Several specimens of these coffers supposed to be of 17th-century workmanship are preserved in the museum at Marlborough House. Cast-iron chests seem to have been made in various parts of Great Britain in the early part of the 19th century, but the use of wrought iron was probably confined to London until 1820, or thereabouts, when the trade spread to Wolverhampton.

Attention then shifted to making them fireproof, and later to making them more burgle-proof. There were great improvements in both areas, but they were never as beautiful again.

Better than the way we had

We don't need the ladies cryin' 'cause the story's sad.

Another blow to warmenisticals

I hope this isn't going to interfere with Al Gore's retirement planning.

Revolution

The "Les Mis" flash mob gag has spread so wide you can find dozens of YouTube examples. They don't always have great voices, and when they do, sometimes the gag doesn't quite work, or the sound quality is bad. This one in Polish really works, and who needs the words, anyway, after the darn thing was on Broadway for 20 years and just won Oscars in movie form?

This is a good twist.

I could be made completely happy by someone pulling a flash mob on me.

Sad song part deux

Those of you who've had quite enough shape-note music from me lately ought not to click on this one.

Just so everyone will know, I'd like that performed at my funeral. So if I die, get right to work learning all four parts.

Here's one much more cheerful:

The Brotherhood of Volunteers

My father sends:

"Texas brothers standing guard over the fallen in West."

This is how it was of old. Do you remember how much attention the Greeks before Troy, or the Trojans themselves, gave to guarding the bodies of their fallen? These are the opening lines of the Iliad: "Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures[.]"

But not if we watched, and held the field, that honor might be done to them instead. That was the force of the last chapters of the Iliad, when Priam came to beg Achilles for the right to bury his son, and when that burial was done with all honor. Do we remember these things? Perhaps it does not matter that we remember, so long as we still do.

Suspect in custody.

That's it, 7:45 Central.

Sad songs

The news has me down.

I recognize many faces in that crowd. The fellow in the middle in one-quarter view is Gaylon Powell, a good friend and a mainstay of Sacred Harp in Texas for decades.

God of my life, look gently down,
Behold the pain I feel;
But I am dumb before Thy throne,
Nor dare dispute Thy will.

I’m but a sojourner below,
As all my fathers were;
May I be well prepared to go,
When I the summons hear.

But if my life be spared awhile,
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my business still,
And I’ll declare Thy love.

--Isaac Watts, 1719

No mealy mouth here

When was the last time you heard such a cogent and devastating speech from an American politician?

Warm welcomes

In what one commentator at Maggie's Farm correctly identifies as "the therapeutic approach to evil," NPR ran radio interviews this morning with Cambridge deep-thinkers explaining that "this is what happens when we're not welcoming enough to immigrants." As another commenter mused, it's interesting to imagine what would have happened if the MSM had been able to fulfill their fond dreams of pinning this thing on a Tea Partier. "This is what happens when we're not welcoming enough to conservatives?"

"Reports of my death. . . ."

What happens to a Reuters staffer who inadvertently publishes a decidedly unflattering canned obituary about an unimaginably wealthy, ruthless political operative . . . just a bit before the fellow is quite dead and harmless?

Plant safety

Almost as soon as the news hit about the explosion in West, Texas, reports agreed that anhydrous ammonia was involved, and I began hearing how dangerous it is to let water get near the stuff. Here is a very brief CNN interview explaining that a plant of this sort generally is considered very safe, but apparently there was a small fire, then firehoses, then . . . .

Not using firehoses near the anhydrous ammonia tanks doesn't seem to have been part of the emergency plan for the plant or the town. There are reports that the EPA was unhappy with the place in 2006, but it was a minor problem about having an emergency plan on file that was quickly remedied to the EPA's satisfaction. OSHA hasn't been onsite since 1985.

The plant is nestled among homes, schools, and a nursing home, but it originally was out in the country. The very small town grew up around it in apparent ignorance of the danger. The head of the local EMS reports that he was conducting some kind of training at the nursing home the night of the explosion. Although he didn't explain exactly what he feared might happen, somehow he got the idea he'd better move the residents to the far side of the building, which he'd just about finished doing when the plant blew. Even so, the roof came down on them. He looked pretty beat up on camera, and couldn't account for most of his personnel.

I'm familiar with the 1947 Texas City blast, naturally, growing up in Houston, but was surprised to read about a worse one in Halifax, Canada, in 1917, which leveled two-and-a-half square kilometers. Two thousand people were killed, including many spectators who were lined up on the haborfront watching a fire in a munitions ship stuffed with TNT. The ship had been struck in harbor by a Belgian relief vessel.

Rituals bind

I like the way the crowd took over from the professional singer, with his encouragement. (The anthem is after the pop-music photo montage, at about 1:30.)

Those bombers must have felt like germs with a whole body's white blood cells after them. At least one probably still does.

H/t HotAir.

The Tupelo Mississippi Flash

If you'd written a movie in which the terrorist attempting to assassinate government officials was an Elvis impersonator, you'd have been accused of some heavy-handed, improbable stuff.

Even Quentin Tarantino only went as far as this (Tarantino warning for language and violence):

Oh, well. Here's a lighter video on topic.