No, this is not a review. In fact, you’ve probably noticed this is the second Monday in a row without a review. Well, life unfolds in its usual, hard-to-control manner: utility sinks overflow, laundry rooms flood, kids get teeth, trips get taken.
But it’s not just the busyness that’s made sitting down to write a review challenging in the last couple of weeks. No, for me at least, the past few weeks have been punctuated by quite a few – how to put this delicately? – duds. Books that, for one reason or another, just didn’t make the cut. One was a beautiful retelling of the creation story – I loved that it had a conversation between the Father and the Son – but, ahem: there was a third Person missing, who always gets left out. Another was a book all about God, and did a lovely job of saying all the ways that God is like his creation (an inverted order, though, if you ask me) without once mentioning Jesus. Who is, after all, place where we see the Father. My inner Barthian rebelled. I just couldn’t do it.
And there was one by an author I love, that I remember loving as an adolescent. Oh, I just cringed the whole way through it this time, wishing so badly I could overlook its faults (which I will refrain from detailing, lest you identify it).
So, here’s the the duds. To the piles of library books I’ve been bringing home, and casting aside. Some I still read to my kids, notwithstanding; others hide tactfully out of sight. Despite the dearth of reviews, it’s good exercise, actually. I have to justify to myself why I am choosing against reviewing them, and that makes me read at once more charitably and more critically. But here’s hoping this slump doesn’t last.