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Every culture has its quirks, but to really notice them and appreciate them you need to be able to look from the perspective of an outsider. When you can then write about those quirks with wit, humor, and insight, then you’re approaching what author Sarah Lyall has achieved with The Anglo Files. Lyall, a correspondent for the New York Times, was posted to Britain some ten years ago, married a Britisher, and now raises two children there in London whilst still writing for the Times.

In The Anglo Files we get Lyall’s thoughts on the oddities of British culture - there are chapters on drinking, hedgehogs, social classes and the nobility, cricket, and the propensity to apologize for everything. She’s not afraid to tell stories on herself, either. And those stories prove insightful; they’re not the clueless-American-rube-bumbles-around-Europe stories, they’re the urbane-American-married-to-a-Britisher-still-baffled-by-Europe stories, which are really more fun. I myself have never been to Britain, but have long been intrigued with our brethren across the pond, so I very much enjoyed Lyall’s insights into them.

Oh, and did I mention the humor? I was good-naturedly amused throughout the book, but one line in particular had me laughing out loud: she describes an inferior washing machine as having a spin cycle that took so long it should’ve been called a Ring Cycle. That’s worth at least a couple of chuckles, folks.

All in all, a fun book. Definitely worth the read.

[The Anglo Files is available at Amazon.com.]

I picked up The Philosopher’s Apprentice on a whim from the library. And what a whim. The flyleaf gave a thumbnail description of a philosophy doctoral student who takes a job becoming the tutor for a teenage girl who was in an accident and lost her sense of morality. OK, sounds interesting as far as that goes. But that’s just the beginning of the story.

The Philosopher’s Apprentice is really a story in three acts. Act One: doctoral student tutors teenager on remote Caribbean island. Finds out there is more to the island than he was led to believe, including two sisters of his student, a bunch of genetic engineering, and talking iguana. I know it sounds like a tripped-out dream, but it’s just hard to give a lot more detail without spoiling major points of the plot.

Act Two: philosophy tutor watches from a distance as his former student, suddenly fabulously wealthy, takes his teachings on morality to unbelievable ends.

Act Three: tutor and student end up together again and have to deal with the fallout from the rest of the world as it reacts to the student’s programs.

The Philosopher’s Apprentice is at times quite humorous, at times quite serious, and dances along the line between fiction and fantasy without quite ever deciding where to land. It was a fun read, provoking some interesting thoughts along the way. Worth picking up if you get the chance.

[You can buy The Philosopher’s Apprentice at Amazon.com - on sale cheap right now!]

Sometimes, real life is even better than the stories. The King of Sting details the adventures of its author, Craig Glazer, as a twenty-something college student in the early 1970’s. Glazer was inspired by a movie “sting” - a scene where a team of shady characters pretend to be police in order to steal from criminals - and, with the help of a few friends, became a master sting artist himself.

What started out as acts motivated by revenge and noble causes, though, soon degraded into stings either to make money or just fuel his adrenaline rush. Glazer worked as a sworn law enforcement officer and later was prosecuted and served jail time for his deeds on the other side of the law.

Glazer’s story is entertaining but serves as a good reminder that sin will, in its own time, find you out.

[You can buy The King of Sting at Amazon.com.]

I was browsing the sci-fi section in the local library and came across an old paperback with a familiar name on the spine: Stephen Baxter. I’m most familiar with Baxter’s collaboration with the late Arthur C. Clarke on the Manifold trilogy, but have enjoyed a few of his solo works as well. This one looked to be a bit older (there was a quote on the cover from Clarke hailing Baxter as “a major new talent”), but I figured it was worth a try.

Ring finds humanity in the Third Millennium traveling through space, having learned some fantastic tricks of physics (including controlling wormholes that access the future) from alien races. Having also achieved “anti-senesence” technology (i.e. they can stop aging), a group of explorers decide to undertake a million-year trip at relativistic speeds, keeping a wormhole open the whole way so that they can communicate from the future back to the past.

What unfolds is a fascinating story of space and time, on a scale of megayears. Baxter is at his best when he’s dealing with the hard science, describing the aging process of stars, but he holds his own, too, with the softer side - imagining what a hyperspace trip across the universe might feel like from the perspective of the solitary human piloting the ship, recognizing that even millions of years of “progress” won’t change human nature.

If you’re into hard sci-fi, Ring is worth picking up, a very enjoyable read.

[You can buy Ring at Amazon.com.]

Next up for review, courtesy of WaterBrook Press, is Churched: One Kid’s Journey Toward God Despite a Holy Mess by Matthew Paul Turner. Turner is a speaker, author, and former editor of CCM Magazine. Churched is written as a memoir of Turner’s growing up in a independent fundamental Baptist church.

In what will feel familiar to anyone who has been around that sort of church, Turner tells stories about dressing the part (complete with clip-on tie) and getting his first “Baptist haircut” (only a flat-top will do!), paints pictures of weird Sunday School teachers and loud, aggressive preachers, and who can forget the weekly altar calls? The stories hit a humorous note and manage to recount the frustrating times without coming across as cynical or cutting. In chapter 8 he recounts a third-grade Sunday School teacher named Moose teaching about hell:

[One morning] he looked at us and screamed, “BOYS AND GIRLS, DO YOU KNOW HOW HOT HELL IS?” He was serious, as if speaking to a room full of Christian meteorologists. “DOES ANYBODY HERE KNOW?”

As soon as Moose asked the question, I looked at my friend Angie. If anybody in our Sunday school class had visited hell and remembered to take a thermometer, it would be her. Not only was Angie always well prepared and organized, but she also claimed to make frequent visits to farr off places when she slept. One time, during a nap, we heard her mumbling in tongues. When she woke up, she told us she had taken a vacation to Montreal and been able to speak in French. When she saw me looking at her, she raised her hand.

“Mr. Moose, the temperature of hell is 666 degrees,” said Angie with the enthusiastic confidence of a demon. “Everybody knows that! Or should.”

I thought her answer was brilliant - possibly even correct - despite the fact i never believed she’d gone to Montreal.

Moose grew quiet. He didn’t tell Angie she was wrong, but he didn’t tell her she was right either. He just walked over to the door and shut off the lights. Moose’s Sunday school helper, Penny, placed large sheets of fabric underneath both of the doors to block the light coming in. The room became almost black. Moose stood behind his pulpit and found his Dollar General bag.

“This morning, I want to talk to you about hell.” His voice was quiet and low. He wanted it to sound spooky, and it did. “What’s hell like? It’s black down there. Much blacker than what you’re experiencing right now. Imagine a black so thick you can almost feel it. That’s what hell is like.”

I heard Moose rummaging through his paper sack and then the distinct sound of a Play button being pushed on a tape recorder. The crackling noise of the tape began. And then voices.

“It’s hot down here!” said the tape recorder. “We are thirsty! Very thirsty. We need Jesus.”

“Do you hear that, boys and girls?” asked Moose. “That’s what you would hear in hell. There would be a lot more of them, though. And some of the voices you wouldn’t be able to understand because they’re from other countries.”

While I assumed Moose was right, that his tape of sound effects could have been a live audio recording of hell, I was also convinced that if I closed my eyes during the church fellowship time, when a long line of Christians waited for Ho Hos and fruit punch, it might have sounded similar.

Turner’s stories are amusing and will provide laughs, grimaces, and knowing nods along the way. I felt like the story ended too soon, though. I would’ve liked to hear more about how Turner found his way out of the fundamentalist culture and where he is now. Still, it was an entertaining little book.

You can purchase Churched from Amazon.com.

I sent an email this morning which sent me thinking about a familiar quote, which in turn sent me thinking about one of my favorite sets of stories: the various adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a multitude of mysteries featuring the odd detective between 1887 and 1927, and Holmes has been studied, quoted, parodied, and dramatized ever since.

I was first introduced to the Homes stories by Lydia back in, oh, 1989 or so. (I was probably 12 years old.) After borrowing her volume (I’m thinking it was A Study in Scarlet and The Hound of the Baskervilles) and devouring it no time, I proceeded to borrow whatever I could from the library, and eventually bought “The Annotated Sherlock Holmes”, a ridiculously large book containing not only all the stories, but also illustrations, explanations of some of the period references, and, most amusingly, studies as to the “actual” dates of the mysteries, piecing these together from descriptions of cultural events, weather, and moon phases in the stories. This book was equal in size to my father’s Strong’s concordance, but I lugged it around anyway, reading in the car, reading while my brother Ryan took his piano lesson, reading pretty much anywhere I could get away with it. I was that sort of kid.

I recall distinctly driving my mom a bit batty with that annotated Holmes. One of the readings in my literature book somewhere in early high school (recall I was home-schooled) was a Holmes story, so, rather than read it from my lit book, I read it from the Annotated Holmes. Afterwards, Mom got out the discussion questions, and question number one was “when did this adventure occur?”. It’s supposed to be a straightforward question; after all, the story told the supposed month and year right in the first paragraph. But no, I wasn’t going to pay attention to that. I quickly gave her the supposed “actual” date that the editor of the Annotated had surmised. She gave me a quite baffled look, and then, well, I had some explaining to do.

Holmes is one of those characters who, once you know, you start seeing references and allusions to all over the place. One such reference several years ago gave me the opportunity to email long-time New York Times columnist (and favorite of mine) William Safire to correct him. (In retrospect, I must have been one of dozens, if not hundreds, to do so.) He had quoted Holmes’ line about “the curious incident of the dog in the night-time”, correctly attributed it to the story “Silver Blaze”, but then slipped up by saying that “Silver Blaze” was the name of the dog in the story. Oops. (Silver Blaze was a racehorse.) I got an automated reply email from the NYT, but was more excited to receive a two-line email response later that day which, by all appearances, was from the columnist himself.

I go back to Holmes every once and again to enjoy an old friend. The Annotated still occupies a rather large chunk of bookshelf in my basement, not too much the worse for wear after having been dragged around for nigh on twenty years of my life. Many years and many readings have not “withered” or “staled” the stories quite yet. I look forward to the day when I can pass on the adventures (and the giant volume) to one of my little readers at home.

[The title of this post is a quote from The Adventure of the Empty House, wherein Holmes slightly modifies the line from Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra.]