The Comedian
02-04-2010, 03:53 PM
Dear Thomas,
I read your book. The one about how you came to be a Catholic and later a Cistercian monk. I'll be honest with you; it wasn't what I was expecting. I thought that so much more of it would be devoted to your walking the cold silent halls of your Abbey. But, as I think of The Seven Storey Mountain now, I think it is mostly about your conversion from self-indulgent aestheticism to self-sacrificing faith. And I think it's also about your brother John Paul, even though he isn't in the book very much, and you don't develop his character that well. (I told you that would be honest).
Don't take anything I just wrote too personally. I really liked the story of your conversion. From your early childhood travels with your artist father in France, the Bahamas, England, and the US. . . to your English education, the early deaths of your parents, and your exceptional and vast reading. I have to admit that the sections dealing with your early life are compelling to say the least.
You died a long time ago, so I don't mind telling you this, but I think that from a literary perspective, I think you would be a fascinating study along with other modernist writers: Hemingway, Joyce, Pound, Stein. . . .you took such a different course in life than they did, but at the same time, I think you all were seeking sanctuary during the interbellum that left so many writers and artists searching for meaning outside of themselves. Most of them chose art as their sanctuary from the world and, really, from themselves. But you, Thomas, used art to find faith. I admire that. A lot.
Here are some small things that I want to share with you:
I feel bad about your teeth. The pain must have been terrible.
I skipped over some of the parts that got too "Catholic-y". I'm sorry. I know that they are important -- that in order for us to see what you believed and how you grew to believe it, you had to put them in there. But, well, they just weren't for me.
Your book changed my life in a small way: it reminded that one of the most beautiful things a human being can do is to offer a small prayer of honest gratitude before a meal. I do this now. Thank you.
Finally, can I share with you my favorite passage from your book? I hope so because I'm going to in a minute. This passage probably tells you more about me than it reveals about your book, but I love it:
The thing that most impressed me [about the monks of the monastery] was their absolute simplicity. They were concerned with one thing only: doing the things they had to do, singing what they had to sing, bowing and kneeling and so on when it was prescribed, and doing it as well as they could, without fuss or flourish or display. It was utterly simple and unvarnished and straightforward, and I don't think I had ever seen anything, anywhere, so unaffected, so unself-conscious as these monks.
Okay, so even though I'm going to only give your book 8 out of a possible 10 Hail Marys (because there was some drivel here and there), I want you to know that I still got a lot out of your book. And that I would like to read some more of your poetry in the future.
Peace be with you,
The Comedian
I read your book. The one about how you came to be a Catholic and later a Cistercian monk. I'll be honest with you; it wasn't what I was expecting. I thought that so much more of it would be devoted to your walking the cold silent halls of your Abbey. But, as I think of The Seven Storey Mountain now, I think it is mostly about your conversion from self-indulgent aestheticism to self-sacrificing faith. And I think it's also about your brother John Paul, even though he isn't in the book very much, and you don't develop his character that well. (I told you that would be honest).
Don't take anything I just wrote too personally. I really liked the story of your conversion. From your early childhood travels with your artist father in France, the Bahamas, England, and the US. . . to your English education, the early deaths of your parents, and your exceptional and vast reading. I have to admit that the sections dealing with your early life are compelling to say the least.
You died a long time ago, so I don't mind telling you this, but I think that from a literary perspective, I think you would be a fascinating study along with other modernist writers: Hemingway, Joyce, Pound, Stein. . . .you took such a different course in life than they did, but at the same time, I think you all were seeking sanctuary during the interbellum that left so many writers and artists searching for meaning outside of themselves. Most of them chose art as their sanctuary from the world and, really, from themselves. But you, Thomas, used art to find faith. I admire that. A lot.
Here are some small things that I want to share with you:
I feel bad about your teeth. The pain must have been terrible.
I skipped over some of the parts that got too "Catholic-y". I'm sorry. I know that they are important -- that in order for us to see what you believed and how you grew to believe it, you had to put them in there. But, well, they just weren't for me.
Your book changed my life in a small way: it reminded that one of the most beautiful things a human being can do is to offer a small prayer of honest gratitude before a meal. I do this now. Thank you.
Finally, can I share with you my favorite passage from your book? I hope so because I'm going to in a minute. This passage probably tells you more about me than it reveals about your book, but I love it:
The thing that most impressed me [about the monks of the monastery] was their absolute simplicity. They were concerned with one thing only: doing the things they had to do, singing what they had to sing, bowing and kneeling and so on when it was prescribed, and doing it as well as they could, without fuss or flourish or display. It was utterly simple and unvarnished and straightforward, and I don't think I had ever seen anything, anywhere, so unaffected, so unself-conscious as these monks.
Okay, so even though I'm going to only give your book 8 out of a possible 10 Hail Marys (because there was some drivel here and there), I want you to know that I still got a lot out of your book. And that I would like to read some more of your poetry in the future.
Peace be with you,
The Comedian