The Books: “A Live Coal In The Sea” (Madeleine L’Engle)

Daily Book Excerpt: Adult fiction:

Next book on the shelf is A Live Coal In The Sea by Madeleine L’Engle.

This is L’Engle’s last work of fiction – it was published in 1996. Since then, it’s been all theological writing, which I think is best. Because, I’m sorry, Live Coal stinks up the field. Her novels have gotten progressively more preachy and – uhm – BAD – with the notable exception of Troubling a Star – the last in the Austin family series. I think her milieu is teenagers – when she tries to write about adult issues, it just doesn’t fly. I also think that she is about 200 years old now, and her creativity is no longer looking for its outlet in FICTION. Her theological books are wonderful, I love them … they are ruminations on the Bible, reflections of lessons learned in her own life … The Genesis Trilogy is just awesome.

Live Coal is a long-awaited (not) sequel to her book Camilla, written in the 1960s. I don’t even remember any of it – but I do remember that there is a big revelation that one of the characters is a “sodomite” – yes, she uses that word – and with that word, I pretty much closed the door on Ms. L’Engle. We all have our deal-breakers. When writing about these “sodomizers” … L’Engle seemed so out of her depth. I found it offensive – mainly because ignorance offends me. If you don’t know any gay people, and yet you feel you have the authority to write about them – then you’re ignorant. And I have no time for that, because – uhm – I live in a world full of gay people, and I barely even notice. Oh, he’s gay. Oh, she’s wearing blue. Now if you don’t live in a world with tons of gay people – that’s FINE – but then don’t pretend to be a fucking authority on what gay people are “like”.

I read Live Coal, and I thought: “Man, must be nice living in your bubble, Madeleine.” Which is so weird – because her other books SO don’t strike me as that!! I think she got tired in the middle of Live Coal (she is, after all, 400 years old) and HAD to finish it. The book feels very obligatory to me. Nobody in it is interesting. She doesn’t get inside of it. She has some themes, but they are really obvious – and the whole gay sub-plot, which is tinged with hysteria and ignorance, REALLY turned me off. A-boo-hoo, he’s a sodomite, a-boo-hoo-hoo.

Now – not to be totally mean about this – Camilla is now an adult, and a professor of physics, I believe. There’s a lot of cool science stuff in the book, things Camilla is working on. Camilla is completely neurotic about the fact that her mother was a big ol’ slut – so in retaliation, or in self-defense – she has become a clammed-up celibate. Finally, though, she meets a dude named Mac who helps break down her walls. But – HORRORS – he’s religious!!! Camilla is an atheist. She’s a rational scientist. WHAT WILL SHE DO??? Again: Madeleine is a bit too on the nose here. Basically, it is up to Camilla to give up her certainty and accept faith into her life. Which – is fine, again – but the preachy and obvious tone of these passages made me want to throw the book across the room. hahahaha

Here’s a section where Camilla goes to meet Mac’s parents for the first time. Camilla’s parents are a nightmare – she falls in love with Mac’s parents. Little does Camilla know that Mac’s father is, in fact, a-boo-hoo – a SODOMITE! Oh, and Madeleine also uses “sodomize” in its verb form – “they were there, sodomizing …” I suppose if you’re an ignorant person who ONLY reads the Bible that sentence would sound normal. But to L’Engle fans, who are, in general, a widespread group – made up of all KINDS of people – that sentence sounds just … flat out WEIRD. Gotta be honest. Who’s your audience, Madeleine? Your main audience is NOT hardcore take-the-Bible-literally Christians. As a matter of fact, many Christian groups have campaigned against your books, especially Wrinkle in Time, since their publication. Your books have been called dangerous. So anyway: you seem to have lost sight of who your audience is here, Madeleiene. And I guess that’s cool, you’re 134 years old, you’re entitled to be a bit forgetful.

If this sounds a bit harsh, I’m fine with that. A lot of times on this blog – readers (who don’t know me) make the mistake of assuming that because I’m – an actress? or … an artist? … uhm, I’m still not sure where the assumption comes from … that I am TOLERANT. Or that they think I SHOULD be. They think that I am willing to hear all sides, that I am open to all sides. I am actually not. I’m like everybody else on the planet, believe it or not. I dislike the word “tolerance’ anyway – because it seems to put whoever is being “tolerant” ABOVE the thing they are “tolerating”. But anyway: no, there’s a lot I am NOT tolerant of. End of story. Closed door. It’s funny – cause the people who have assumed I should be tolerant of everything – who want to feel “comfortable” on my blog (yes, one dude emailed me that – he was truly disturbed that he didn’t feel “comfortable” at ALL TIMES on my blog – so bizarre … who feels “comfortable at all times”??? It’s not my job to make people feel “comfortable at all times” for God’s sake) – But anyway, those people – are usually the same people whose HEADS WOULD FREAKIN’ EXPLODE – if I showed up in their comments section on their blog and tried to say, “You know, I actually love some of Maureen Dowd’s columns. She can be totally hysterical.” Or whatever. You get the point. They would tear me a new asshole. They would slam the door in my face. And they would not even realize that they were behaving in the same “hypocritical” way that I was.

So for me? Madeleine sounds like an ignorant judgmental person in this book, and I do not cut her any slack for that.

If you want to write a theological book, if you want to teach me your beliefs from the Bible – then write a book directly about that (Madeleine’s theological books are among my favorite things of hers that she has ever written)- don’t try to weave it into a novel. You never pull that shit with your young adult books – and they are FAR superior than your “adult” books.

Excerpt from A Live Coal In The Sea by Madeleine L’Engle.

Mac met her at the airport and drove her to the rectory, a spacious old house of soft-pink brick, a few blocks away from the church. A large screened porch in the back overlooked a green sweep of lawn at the end of which was a small stream. A ceiling fan moved the air so that there was a feeling of coolness. All the rooms were high-ceilinged and many-windowed to catch the breeze. There were marble mantelpieces surmounted by portraits in heavy gold frames.

“My wife’s relatives,” Mac’s father told her, “mostly long gone. The camera has replaced the paintbrush. The present cousins, aunts, and uncles still aren’t used to this second-generation usurping Greek American, but they all think Mac is perfect, and they can pretend that his name is really MacArthur instead of Macarios.”

“Nonsense. Don’t listen to Art,” Mac’s mother said. “The sun rises and sets on him, and my family is very aware of it, even if one of my cousins insists on calling him Arthur, knowing perfectly well his name is Artaxias. I’m sorry you couldn’t come in the spring when this place is a riot of blossom. Right now we’re mostly green.” She noticed Camilla looking at a portrait. “That’s my Great-something-or-other Aunt Olivia. I’m named after her. Isn’t she lovely?”

“Lovely,” Camilla agreed.

“There are some fascinating family stories about her behaving like a little flibbertigibbet but going behind the lines with messages during the — what we still call The War. I’m told that her favorite place in all the world was a rambly old cottage up on the dunes in North Florida. I was left a nice piece of land on the beach between Jacksonville and Saint Augustine, and Art and I have built a little cottage, an escape route. I’d like to retire there, rather than Charleston. Art’s father came from Florida.”

“He was an itinerant peddler,” Art said. “But he read classic Greek, which is not usual, and he believed I could do anything I wanted to do. I love the beach house.”

“You’ll have to see it sometime,” Olivia said.

What was Olivia Xanthakos taking for granted?

Camilla had not been prepared – though why not? – to have the Xanthakoses be even shorter than Mac, both delicately-boned, with small hands and feet. But large in love and welcome. She had never been in a household like this before. No tension crackled from the walls. There was laughter, and acceptance.

How had they managed, Mac’s parents, to get to the place of radiance in which they lived? Was there a secret? Mac was relaxed, and so was Camilla, far more than she had expected to be able to be. The second night, she helped Olivia prepare dinner, set the table with silver, china, crystal, light the candles.

“Quite a lot of the china is chipped,” Olivia said calmly, “but I’ve never seen the point of saving it for special occasions. Every dinner that has us gathered around the table together is a special occasion and deserves our best. Now I think everything is ready. Let’s call our men.”

Our men, Camilla thought. Are they?

Art said grace, then turned to Camilla. “What do you know about Thales of Miletus?”

Camilla almost choked on a mouthful of rice and gravy. “He is believed to have calculated the height of a pyramid by measuring its shadow at exactly the moment when the length of his own shadow was the same as his height.”

Art Xanthakos clapped his hands. “A mathematician’s response!”

Camilla smiled at his enthusiasm. “It’s a mistake to underestimate the pre-Platonic philosophers. Anaximander, also of Miletus, thought that our world was only one of an infinite number of worlds.”

“Not so dumb, eh?” Art said. “Neither are you, lovey. I’m a Greek, but the average college education doesn’t necessarily include the early Greek philosophers.”

“And,” Olivia said triumphantly, “Camilla likes my okra casserole. Not many Yankees like okra.”

Mac smiled. “Camilla has an experimental palate. Not many people of any kind like the coffee I produce in the Church House.”