Awakening, by David Robertson

Over this past weekend, I read David Robertson's brief but winsome introduction to the life of Robert Murray McCheyne, Awakening. In the compass of twenty brief chapters, which run about 160 pages, Robertson does a wonderful job of setting the context for McCheyne's ministry, overviewing the key points in his thought and life, and communicating McCheyne's strengths and weaknesses. In addition, in the penultimate chapter, he offers trenchant observations on the decline of the Church of Scotland and shares hopes for the renewal of biblical Christianity in that land.

This book would be very useful for church reading groups--each chapter begins with a McCheyne epigram that sets the theme for what follows and ends with discussion questions and a prayer of meditation and reflection. As a result, my own piety was strengthened and encouraged in reading this book.

But the most attractive feature of the book was Robertson's stated desire to view McCheyne as a man--a man whom God used, to be sure, but ultimately a man who had flaws and sins, who made mistakes, and who was far less a Protestant saint and far more one who points us to his faithful savior, Jesus Christ. As such, the book is a model of biographical writing for the way it situates the individual's story in the larger redemptive story of Jesus Christ--in which our Lord takes flawed human beings and uses them in such a way that the glory is all his own.

Perhaps no higher praise can be offered a short introduction that to say that it has encouraged me both in the Gospel and in the desire to find out more--to return to Bonar's unwieldy Memior and Remains of M'Cheyne as well as read other background material to understand that time and place. As a result, Awakening is a highly successful and useful gift to the church of Christ.

Showdown by Ted Dekker

“The storm clouds always eventually come,” David said. “We always knew the children would be tested. The only question is how they will weather the storm.”
“Billy’s failed already, by going in. The subterranean tunnels with ruin him.”
The director started at him without speaking for a few seconds. His jaw-line bunched with tightened muscles. “Or give him the kind of power that you and I only dream about.”

* * *
Reading a Ted Dekker book is like experiencing a rollercoaster ride and a haunted house at the same moment. This Christian writer seems to enjoy nothing so much as creating situations where good and evil clash—a conflict that always produces quite spectacular fireworks in his plots. These are the kind of books that are meant to be read on a stormy night, curled up into a ball with your heart pounding loudly.

In Showdown, one of his two newest offerings, Dekker provides a novel that delves into the question of how far evil can be resisted by humans. Paradise, Colorado, is a complacent little town that is startled out of its nap when a black-trenchcoat clad preacher comes striding into town. And his first act is to kill someone. As the town falls immediately under his sway, hanging on his every word, only the young boy Johnny seems to see through this deadly charade. Has everyone gone mad? Or is the stranger really the messenger from God he claims to be?

Only a few miles away, in a monastery hidden from all outside civilizations, an intense experiment is underway. 37 children are being trained to resist the Fall. But the experiment goes deeper than anyone realizes. What if these children were given something that allowed what they create to become reality: but instead of rebuilding heaven, they unleash hell?

Dekker uses his novels to create a nice blend of “what if?” situations that probe the nature of both the natural and supernatural realms. Don’t expect them to be incredibly deep in a scientific or theological way, though; their main purpose is, after all, to entertain. One small part of the plot will leave readers of his Circle trilogy (Black, Red, White) gasping and going “Oh wowowowowow! So that’s how that happened!” but it is subtle, and doesn’t affect this novel’s ability to stand on its own. If this genre appeals to you, you should check out some of his other stand-alone books, like Thr3e or Blink. Thankfully they can be read fairly quickly, because this is the kind of book you don’t want to put down.

The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner

Recently I eagerly dug into Megan Whalen Turner's latest novel, The King of Attolia and, while my brother complained that it wasn't as good as the book that started the series, I merely reveled in the time spent with old friends. So, in a fit of nostalgia, I'm going to review the first (and best) book in the series: The Thief.

Gen may be a good thief, but his cockiness tends to cause him problems. How else do you explain bragging you can steal anything, then showing off the king's seal in a wine shop? And, of course, getting thrown in prison. But luckily for Gen, someone needs his services: the king's magus. Intent on stealing an ancient artifact that will allow the king to claim the right to rule the neighboring country of Eddis, the magus is in need of Gen's skills. So he offers Gen a choice: find the legendary Hamiathes' Gift, and get out of jail. . .or die. Gen ungraciously gives in.
Thus starts a quest that will prove taxing for more than one character--and hilarious for the reader. It's a fast paced very fun story, with quite a few stories-within-the-stories. And, of course, there's always the question of whether what they're seeking actually exists.

This story is set in a world similar to that of ancient Greece, with a pantheon to match. While it's a fairly light read, it manages to be quite a page-turner, and I can almost guarantee that you won't see the ending coming. (Unless you cheat, and of course none of you would want to do that.) For all its light bantering, The Thief remains one of my favorite books. Perhaps Gen's main charm isn't in stealing actual artifacts, but in capturing the reader's attention. At that, he's certainly the best thief.

21: The Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey, by Patrick O'Brian

This is a strange idea, I know: begin a series of reviews with the last book in the series. But that's what I'm about to do.

Patrick O'Brian, who died in 2001, was celebrated as one of the great authors of the 20th century. Recognized by the New York Times's Richard Snow as "the best historical novels ever written," the Aubrey-Maturin series has been praised worldwide as one of the finest collections of historical fiction (or, I would contend, fiction generally) ever penned.

The novels begat a cult following that gave rise to supplemental guides such as Dean King's companion lexicon A Sea of Words, and the derivative cookbook Lobscouse and Spotted-Dog: Which It's a Gastronomic Companion to the Aubrey-Maturin Novels. The 2003 film Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World, starring Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany, was based on the characters and premises of the novels-- though not the stories, exactly: the movie amounted to a conglomeration of story elements from at least five or six of the books into one movie. And incidentally, a substantial amount of it came from neither Master and Commander (the first book in the series) nor The Far Side of the World (book #10 in the series).

The series chronicles the journeys, careers, and personal lives of Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin. Aubrey is an officer in the British Navy during the Napoleonic era, and Maturin is his ship's surgeon and close friend. Maturin is also a spy for the British military, and elements of espionage often intersect with the more navally-centered tales. O'Brian, a phenomenal historian in his own right (in fact, he was regarded at among the foremost of scholars of Napoleonic-era British naval history), based nearly all of the missions, voyages, and battles on actual history, at times changing only the names of ships and personnel.

More than that, however, O'Brian was a champion novelist. He so thoroughly and buoyantly develops the characters of Aubrey, Maturin, and others that the reader comes to love them deeply, as well as O'Brian for telling us of them. The novels become as letters from a dear and intimate friend, full of tales of the happenings of other dear friends.

When O'Brian died in early 2001, volume 20, Blue at the Mizzen, had just come off the presses a year before. Many saw the publication of that volume as a fitting end to the series, with many loose ends and anticipated elements from the whole of the series finding some amount of resolution. Others (including me), finding Blue at the Mizzen as somewhat less of the conclusion we had hoped for, mourned O'Brian's death as a loss of opportunity.

What a pleasant surprise, then, when I was wandering the isles of a Barnes & Noble in December 2004 and what should I see? 21: the Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey. I bought it immediately. My practice at that time, however, was to withhold O'Brian novels as a reward, of sorts, for completion of a major task. I decided to save this one for celebrating my seminary graduation-- which meant that I finally got to take up and read last December.

21 is a bittersweet experience. What is available of the novel itself is so familiar, beginning and continuing just as any other Aubrey-Maturin novel might: preparation for another voyage, packets of letters from home, gunnery practice and ship exercises. Our friends Jack and Stephen return with haunting familiarity after being absent for several years. As always, O'Brian's writing style leaves you longing to turn the next page, yet reluctant with the knowledge that you would then be one page closer to finishing. And you don't want it to end.

But, with 21, the end comes abruptly. While some of the Aubrey-Maturin novels had endings that could be called cliffhangers, there was the anticipation that the next would resolve it. The absence of any such hope left me with a hollow feeling in my gut.

Still, it was a vitally important read for me. The book is laid out in a fascinating manner, with O'Brian's handwritten manuscript on one page and his typed text on the facing page. (The handwritten manuscript goes longer, and more of the story can be derived if you're able to decipher his penmanship.) Reading through it with these pieces in place brought a more personal connection to O'Brian, and to Aubrey and Maturin, than ever before.

Also included in 21 is a delightful history of the publication of the books, detailing how they came to be picked up by W. W. Norton after substantial difficulty. This, combined with the intimacy of the unfinished story, made 21 a truly powerful volume: for the literary world, a fitting and much-needed eulogy and memorial to a heroic writer and his characters.

21: the Final Unfinished Voyage of Jack Aubrey is not the resolution to the long and beautiful story of Aubrey and Maturin that some longed for. Neither is it a good volume to serve as an introduction to this series. It was created for those who already know O'Brian's writing, who are acquainted with Aubrey and Maturin, and who have been waiting, hungry for just a taste, for these years.

As I suggested at the beginning of this review, I intend to review more of this series. Beginning in the coming summer, I plan to re-read the 21-volume series. As I do, I will review them here. Meanwhile, I recommend Master and Commander to anyone who is interested in beginning a new friendship with some literary figures who will become a part of your life.