Lessons in Finding the Ark

If you know Ted Dekker's writing, you know you're in for fast-paced action.

This book is about a search for the lost Ark of the Covenent. (You know... Indiana Jones, except without Indiana Jones, of course.)

While the characters don't know where the Ark is, they suspect that one of them (Caleb) is the key to finding it. But he himself isn't aware that he knows. So, how do you get the information you need?

Below are two excerpts from the book. Rebecca has chased Caleb down in the desert to see if he knows the secret hiding spot. Of course, Caleb won't know the answer, or can't remember the answer. First, here's the setup:

"Where do the oil and the brine mix, Caleb?" Rebecca asked.

"You are with the Jews who overtook the monastery!" he said.

"Yes."

"You... Then my mother and father are safe?"

"Yes. In fact, they have helped Zakkai dig into your old sleeping place below the monastery. They found a letter from Frather Matthew that talks about the place where the oil and brine mix. We believe the Ark is hidden there."

For a long time, Caleb looked into her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Caleb. I know I misled you, but considering the circumstances, I'm sure you can understand." She told him Raphael Hadane's story, and that Father Matthew had told his good friend, Father Joseph Hadane, about the Ark. "Israel is on the verge of finding her salvation, and you now hold Israel captive."

Caleb finally spoke. "The presence of God is not in an Ark any longer, Rebecca. It's here in the desert. It's in the ocean. In his eyes. In the heart."

And the payoff. When the characters put two and two together to get four...

...The note was short--the same as Rebecca had been read over the satellite phone.

"Caleb, you alone know the secrets of this majestic rock we shared for a home. It was a gift from God... Where the brine mixes with the oil, there you will find God. Only you will know..."

"Where do the oil and the brine mix, Caleb?" Zakkai asked.

He looked up, wide-eyed. "In the heart."

Zakkai nodded. "And where is the heart of the monastery?"

"The heart of the monastery?" He looked puzzled. "The foundation below the study," he said from memory. Of course! The heart was a place! The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

Zakkai exchanged a quick glance with Rebecca. The torchlight glistened off his sweaty brow. "You are sure?"

"That's what Father Matthew used to call it. You think..." Caleb blinked.

"Show us, Caleb."

Taken from:
Dekker, Ted and Bill Bright. A Man Called Blessed (2002), p.172-3, 214-5.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars

A Study in Larger-than-Life Characters

Cheaper by the Dozen is a study in character. Episodic in nature, the book is dominated by a larger-than-life personality...

Frank Gilbreth.

Written by two of the twelve Gilbreth children, the book tells the story of their Motion Study expert father who is always on the lookout to create efficiency in every way. As the book cover nicely sums up this character as "a lively, unpredictable, and wholly beloved autocrat."

But how did the Gilbreth kids create such a character, and still have him be the endearing man they remembered?

One episode in the story involves a chapter entitled: Motion Study Tonsils. As implied, Gilbreth newest project involved finding out how surgeons could better perform operations. To him, this meant filming various operations to "sort out the good motions from the wasted motions." Of course, it's hard to get both patients and doctors to sign off on allowing their operations to be filmed.

That's when a brainstorm hits our Motion Study expert. Why not film his own children having their tonsils out? And to show that he's not using his kids as guinea pigs, he promises to have his own tonsils out as well. (By the way, this whole episode is perhaps one of the funniest in the 1950 version of the movie by the same name, starring Clifton Webb and Myrna Loy).

So, here we are. An excerpt from the book that shows Mr. Frank Gilbreth, Efficiency Expert, in all his glory:

While we were recuperating, Dad spent considerable time with us, but minimized our discomforts, and kept telling us we were just looking for sympathy.

"Don't tell me," he said. "I saw the operations, didn't I? Why there's only the little, tiniest cut at the back of your throat. I don't understand how you can do all that complaining. Don't you remember the story about the Spartan boy who kept his mouth shut while the fox was chewing on his vitals?"

It was partly because of our complaining, and the desire to show us how the Spartan boy would have had his tonsils out, that Dad decided to have only a local anesthetic for his operation. Mother, Grandma, and Dr. Burton all advised against it. But Dad wouldn't listen.

"Why does everyone want to make a mountain out of a molehill over such a minor operation?" he said. "I want to keep an eye on Burton and see that he doesn't mess up the job."

The first day that we children were well enough to get up, Dad and Mother set out in the car for Dr. Burton's office. Mother had urged Dad to call a taxi. She didn't know how to drive, and she said Dad probably wouldn't feel like doing the driving on the way home. But Dad laughed at her qualms.

"Be back in about an hour," Dad called to us as he tested his three horns to make sure he was prepared for any emergency. "Wait lunch for us. I'm starving."

"You've go to hand it to him," Anne admitted as the Pierce Arrow bucked up Wayside Place. "He's the bee's knees, all right. We were all scared to death before our operations. And look at him. He's looking forward to it."

Two hours later, a taxicab stopped in front of the house, and the driver jumped out and opened the door for his passengers. Then Mother emerged, pale and red-eyed. She and the driver helped a crumpled mass of moaning blue serge to alight. Dad's hat was rumpled and on sideways. His face was gray and and sagging. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were watering. He couldn't speak and he couldn't smile.

But wait! The chapter doesn't end there.

Remember how the purpose of this whole thing was to film the tonsil operations? Well, the cameraman, Mr. Coggin, didn't exactly enjoy the experience. At one point, Coggin was "sick in a wastebasket." But is Gilbreth sympathetic? Not on your life! "'Don't stop cranking,' Dad shouted at him, 'or your tonsils will be next. I'll pull them out by the roots, myself. Crank, by jingo, crank.'" (p.107)

Here's how the Gilbreths finish the chapter:

Dad didn't get his voice back until the very day that he finally got out of bed. He was lying there, propped up on pillows, reading his office mail. There was a card from Mr. Coggin, the photographer.

"Hate to tell you, Mr. Gilbreth., but none of the moving pictures came out. I forgot to take off the inside lens cap. I'm terribly sorry. Coggin. P.S. I quit."

Dad threw off the covers and reached for his bathrobe. For the first time in two weeks, he spoke:

"I'll track him down to the ends of the earth," he croaked. "I'll take a blunt button hook and pull his tonsils out by the by jingoed roots, just like I promised him. He doesn't quit. He's fired."

Taken from:
Gilbreth, Frank B. Jr. and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey. Cheaper by the Dozen (1948), pp. 109-10, 112-13.

How did I rate this book? 3 stars

The Wow-Moment

Sometimes, when you read, your mind begins to race ahead. To fill in the blanks. You begin to search for where the story is going.

A sign of good writing is when the author can make the reader think they know what's going to happen, but then to quickly switch gears. Catch the reader by surprise. This is what I call a "wow-moment".

The following excerpt is actually from a non-fiction book by Max Lucado. I wouldn't normally classify non-fiction (especially this type of non-fiction) as having wow-moments. But after all, Lucado is a storyteller. And this part of the book is indeed telling a story.

I was reading this book aloud to my grandmother. I didn't expect the wow-moment. (Hey, this is non-fiction, remember?) So, it really did take me by surprise...

Once, in a dream, I encountered a man who was wearing a fedora and a corduroy coat. He was the classroom version of Indiana Jones: distinguished, professorial, strong jawed, and kind eyed. He frequented funerals. Apparently I did as well, for the dream consisted of one memorial after another--at funeral homes, chapels, gravesides. He never removed his hat. I never asked him why he wore it, but I did ask him to explain his proverbial presence at interments.

"I come to take people to their eternal home." ... I didn't think it odd to see the fedora at funerals. But I did think it strange to run into the man on a crowded street.

Think Thanksgiving Day parade or Fourth of July festival. A people-packed avenue. "I'm surprised to see you here," I told him. He didn't reply.

I saw one of my friends standing nearby. A good man, a widower, up in years, poor in health. Suddenly I understood the presence of the fedora-clad angel.

"You've come for my friend."

"No."

Then the dream did what only dreams can do. It dismissed everyone but the visitor and me. The crowded sidewalk became a quiet boulevard, so quiet I couldn't mistake his next words.

"Max, I came for you."

[Lucado, Max. Fearless (2009), pp.115-6.]

Inner Struggle and Narration

First-person narration. The way into the mind of the main character.

In Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins uses it as a tool for getting at the heart of the emotional roller-coaster of a teen-aged girl named Katniss; to feel her struggle to know her own mind.

This is the second book in The Hunger Games trilogy. The story world is set in a dystopian future; the characters are caught up in a gladiator-style Game where the contestants must hunt each other down. There can only be one winner.

During the course of the first novel, Collins set up two potential suitors for Katniss: Gale and Peeta. But Katniss is determined she wants to avoid marriage (at least at the outset). She just isn't interested. But as the story unfolds, her confusion over this topic only deepens.

In the following selection, we see how Collins captures that internal conflict within Katniss:

"Your family needs you, Katniss," Peeta says.

My family. My mother. My sister. And my pretend cousin Gale. But Peeta's intention is clear. That Gale really is my family, or will be one day, if I live. That I'll marry him. So Peeta's giving me his life and Gale at the same time. To let me know I shouldn't ever have doubts about it. Everything. That's what Peeta wants me to take from him.

I wait for him to mention the baby, to play to the cameras, but he doesn't. And that's how I know that none of this is part of the Games. That he is telling me the truth about what he feels.

"No one really needs me," he says, and there's no self-pity in his voice. It's true his family doesn't need him. They will mourn him, as will a handful of friends. But they will get on. Even Haymitch, with the help of a lot of white liquor, will get on. I realize only one person will be damaged beyond repair if Peeta dies. Me.

[Collins, Suzanne. Catching Fire (2009), pp. 351-2.]

Title in the Story

The title of a book.

Oftentimes, you'll find the title right in the text of the story. Sometimes, the result can seem sloppy; too obvious. Sometimes, it can be stunning.

In Marked by Fire, Joyce Carol Thomas incoporates her book title (or rather, a slight variation of it) early on in the story. And she does this all in a style that works well with the setting of the narrative.

The book begins with the main character being born in a cotton field in Oklahoma in 1951. Thomas uses single sentences as each neighbour woman retells a part of the events surrounding the birth. The beautiful sing-song style harkens back to the storytelling tradition of the African-American slaves.

Far from seeming forced, this exchange becomes an organic and natural part of the book. Just plain, beautiful writing.

In Ponca City, in the cool of the evening, the older people invariably sat out on their porches to reinterate the events of the day. They wanted to witness all that went on with neighbors. They were particularly interested in the new baby, Abyssinia. The women of Ponca City considered themselves midwives-in-common at her birth.

"Remember it like it was only yesterday," one of them commented.

"Born in the cotton field."

"Came here marked, too."

"Marked by the fire!"

"Baptized with the fire!"

"Foreman built the fire."

"Boiled water for the birthing."

"Patience spread out on her pallet of cotton sacks."

"And here comes our baby."

"An ember jumped out of the blaze and branded the child."

"Marked at birth!"

"A birthmark."

"Placed the new child on a soft sack of cotton."

"Laid her in a cotton manger."

"A black girl in a manger."

[Thomas, Joyce Carol. Marked by Fire (1982), pp.14-15.]

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Ever put your foot in your mouth?

We've all said things we shouldn't have said. Usually it just comes out and then you realize, too late, that you've fallen victim to the classic "Open Mouth, Insert Foot."

We can all sympathize when a character in a book says the wrong thing at the wrong time. In this case, McCall Smith finds the humour inside the situation...

The small woman hesitated a moment... "My name, Mma, is Mma Magama, but nobody calls me that very much. They call me Teenie."

"That is because..." Mma Makutsi stopped herself.

"That is because I have always been called that," said Teenie. "Teenie is a good name for a small person, you see, Mma."

"You are not so small, Mma," said Mma Makutsi. But you are, she thought; you're terribly small.

"I have seen smaller people," said Teenie appreciatively.

"Where did you see them?" asked Mma Makutsi. She had not intended to ask the question, but it slipped out.

Teenie pointed vaguely out of the window, but said nothing.

[McCall Smith, Alexander. The Good Husband of Zebra Drive (2007), p.111.]