Book Review: The Secrets of a Fire King

The Secrets of a Fire King by Kim Edwards
2 of 5 stars

Many of the stories in this collection are fantastic. Kim Edwards is definitely a very talented writer. My favorite story was "Thirst" about a woman of the sea (a mermaid, I hope)? I enjoyed her other work The Memory Keeper's Daughter very much.

But I finished this collection feeling...attacked. She is obviously very disillusioned with religion, particularly Christianity, and she used this collection of stories to vent her hatred. As a Christian, I know that the path of Christianity is far from perfect and has hurt many people over the years, as has every other religion. Jesus was perfect and we that follow Him definitely are not; but this was just a beat down for no apparent reason. When I started reading this book I felt that I had a kindred spirit because we have similar writing styles, but now I just feel alienated.

There is a difference between challenging people to think about things and just insulting them. She did the latter. I usually deal with people's criticism of Christianity in writing pretty well, but there was no criticism or correction. She used irrational "Christian" characters, with whom no Christian would identify to justify her agenda. She may think of Christianity as a religion she wants no part in, but she just spread a lot of hate, something she claims to stand against.  She has freedom of speech and I respect that, but I won't be reading any of her future writing. She lost me as a formerly devoted reader.

Book Review: Life of Pi

Life of Pi by Yann Martel
2.3 of 5 stars (only slightly better than Wild)

Life of Pi by Yann Martel

I definitely enjoyed the second half of the book. A story about a boy surviving the Pacific with a tiger for almost a year was very interesting and it was interesting to see where the author took the story line since they were essentially in the middle of nowhere. 

However, I found a lot of the book irrelevant and parts of it just trying way too hard. The first part of the book about Pi choosing his religion really didn't fit into any part of the story line. I feel like it could have been cut and the book would have been better off. It was like Martel wanted to include it to be hipster or different or artsy and it just didn't work with me. 

I also, of course did not agree with the theology, because it wasn't well founded at all. I'm not sure about Hinduism but Islam and Christianity do not agree that all ways lead to God or heaven, so it was really absurd that he even presented that and then acted like Pi was practicing three religions well. I felt like he didn't know much about any of the religions other than the names people used for God/gods.

 I also detested the chapters that he included basically from his perspective. Again, just trying way too hard to make his book different. It wasn't daring writing, it wasn't art for art's sake, it was just kind of lame. He just wanted his one hundred chapters and that was a weird way to do it. 

Then he got into his weird act of self-suffocation, which didn't add anything. It just reminded me of my friend who accidentally killed himself that way and made Pi less relatable to me than he already was. 

All in all, not my favorite read ever, but the tiger was cool. Richard Parker was my favorite character.

The Lake

This is something I wrote for class that was fun and difficult and morbid...odd to write. But I kind of enjoyed getting into this mind in a weird way and I got good feedback about the exercise, so I decided to share. I hope you enjoy it. Perhaps I have a future in murder mysteries.

Prompt: Describe a lake as seen by a young man who has just committed murder. Do not mention the murder. 

———

The skeleton trees are swaying in the breeze as I stand alone on this lakeshore. The bare bones corpses of tall pines are rotting and dying. That fire last year claimed their souls but hasn’t quite claimed their decaying bodies. 

As I approach this lake, my friend, I watch the sun set blood-red over the horizon. I stand on the edge of the sand, enraptured by the simple beauty of water. This lake has been my home, has kept me company through most of my life. This lake knows my hopes, my fears, my secrets. 

And its about to learn one more. This lake is my confessional booth. This is where I repent my sins. The lake listens. It never says a word. It understands me. It hears me, does not judge. It is the best confidant you could ask for. 

This might be my worst sin yet. I must tell the lake what I did where no one can hear me. If I confess it to the lake, maybe the lake will cleanse me, absolve me of what happened. But no one else can ever know. 

I remove my hiking boots first. My pants, polo shirt and boxers stack neatly on top of them. I can’t hide anything from my constant companion. I must bare all to be forgiven of all. The rocks are sharp and jagged on my feet. Your penance the lake whispers to me through lapping waves. I wade into the murky swells. The water is cold and dull, full of minerals and debris. I can’t see the bottom but I know this lake by heart. I have spent countless hours fishing and swimming and exploring and living in this pool of water. 

I dance fluidly through the ripples to the right where I know there is a deep spot. The minnows are surrounding me, investigating. They want to witness for me, hear me testify. I know they won’t tell anyone either. They don’t speak! Hahahahahaha!!!!!!!!

My feet are on the brink of the deeper pool within the lake. I gently push out with my toes and begin to tread water, slowly steadily. With one last breath and a glimpse at the darkening sky I plunge beneath the surface, eyes open. I can’t see anything but I must be completely open to the lake. 

I am ready to tell it what I’ve done. I do. I shout it to the water. I scream! The release of breath and confession is exhilarating and gratifying. I inhale. The lake responds by filling me with water. The bitter taste of stagnancy floods my mouth and lungs, but it is refreshing to me. The lake is assuring me that it heard me. It won’t tell. It doesn’t even want me to tell. The tepid water is purifying me! It’s working. I take in more until the dull strings of unconsciousness begin to pull at my mind. Only then do I release, shooting upwards, sputtering, choking out water, gasping for air. 

I swim to the shore line, my body burning. I crawl on hands and knees back onto the sand and rocks away from the water’s threshold. I am now safe ashore, but already missing how the lake holds me in its grasp. One day I will give into the lake completely. But not yet. 

There is one last thing for me to do now. The lake calls to me for the last remnants of my sin. I load my shoes with rocks and sand and knot my clothes around them. With a great exertion, I send them flying into my lake, my secret-keeper. Plunk. I smile gratefully as the bundle splashes into the water and then sinks, bubbling slowly down. 

Now, I can walk away, naked, sinless, purged, and restored. I am refreshed. And no one will ever know. The lake will keep my secret.