Book Review: “Mr. Timothy: A Novel” by Louis Bayard

Read Mr. Timothy: A Novel

I received Louis Bayard’s Mr. Timothy: A Novel as a Christmas gift more than a year ago. Since it is a sequel (of sorts) to Dickens’ classic A Christmas Carol, I decided to wait and read it over the holidays. I shouldn’t have waited.

If you’ve read my earlier reviews of The Meaning of Night and The Shadow of the Wind, you know I am fast becoming a fan of the emerging “Victorian Noir” genre: tales set in the romantic but shadowy Europe of Dickens and Hugo, but with modern pace and psychological character depth. It’s a love that began, I think, with that long-ago favorite, The Quincunx by Charles Palliser. Most of those books seem to echo the feel of Dickens and his ilk—colorful characters, quaint pubs, sinister urban underbellies, and fog-shrouded alleys and gaslit streets, for example—without offering literal echos. Mr. Timothy: A Novel goes farther. The Timothy of the title is none other than Timothy Cratchit himself, Tiny Tim. Stripped utterly of his angelic sentimentality, Bayard’s Timothy emerges as a fully realized character worthy to number among the best Dickensian heroes.

I should mention that I am not generally a fan of writers making use of another author’s characters. While I have enjoyed more than a few modern takes on, say Sherlock Holmes, more often, we wind up with something like Scarlet, the unworthy followup to Margaret Mitchell’s brilliant Gone With The Wind. Mr. Timothy: A Novel succeeds largely because in Dickens’ original, Tiny Tim is little more than a caricature, a sort of cherubic plot point with a crutch. Building on our shared memory of “God bless us, every one!” Bayard shapes Timothy into a fully realized, if somewhat broken, human being—one that fascinates and, yes, makes us care.

Bayard’s Timothy is young man who, like Dickens’ Pip, say, or David Copperfield, is struggling to find a place for himself in a wide, atmospheric, and often dangerous world. Trying to free himself from his dependency on the generosity of his “Uncle” Neezer (none other than an elderly Ebeneezer Scrooge himself, a man who keeps his house decorated perpetually for Christmas), Timothy earns his room and keep by teaching the madam of a London brothel how to read. Timothy is a man haunted—not by the literal spirits that troubled his Uncle Neezer, but by images of his late father, and by the bodies of murdered 10-year-old girls, who appear in London’s seedy docklands branded with a letter G.

The mystery that follows is a page turner, with a puzzling mystery in a coffin-filled basement, an assault on a gloriously gothic mansion, and a desperate final chase along the urban river. The characters are, well, Dickensian—all colorful, complex, and worthy of the master himself. The mystery is intriguing and the suspense is relentless. But the true stars are Timothy himself, as the events both scar and heal him, and Bayard’s lush, elegant prose, filled with passages that beg to be read aloud and shared.

As another old favorite, Silverlock, reminds me, there is a joy in meeting old literary friends again in a new and unexpected place. Mr. Timothy: A Novel is more than a pastiche. It’s a fully realized and absolutely original novel that is well worth your time. Don’t repeat my mistake and wait for next year’s winter holiday season. Do yourself a favor and read it now.

Book Review: Looking for the King, An Inklings Novel

Read Looking for the King: An Inklings Novel by David C. Downing

A very special Christmas gift brightened this past gloomy December: a chance to spend some remarkable evenings in conversation with the Inklings, that famous band of readers and writers that counted among its members C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Charles Williams, Owen Barfield, and Hugo Dyson. This remarkable experience came in the form of a new book, Looking for the King: An Inklings Novel by David C. Downing. It’s a somewhat flawed but overall delightful read.

The story tells of a young American, Tom, who has come to England in the months just before World War II to research a book on the historical King Arthur. Along the way, he encounters a lovely young woman, Laura, who is haunted by dreams that seem to be leading her to specific historical sites, all of which are connected to a famous lost artifact—the Spear of Destiny that pierced the side of Christ as he hung on the cross. Along the way, our heroes are fortunate enough to receive some help from the Inklings themselves, especially Williams, Tolkien, and Lewis.

From a pure storytelling point of view, the Looking for the King: An Inklings Novel could have used, uh, well, another draft. We never get a feel for why Laura is apparently led to discover the Spear of Destiny, or what might happen if she doesn’t. There are sinister “others” after the spear, and we know they are following our heroes closely. But we never really get a feeling of danger from them. Even the ultimate end of the quest seems a little too easy, and there’s little to suggest that the world would have been significantly different had Tom and Laura simply stayed at home. More, there is a significant obstacle in the way of Tom and Laura’s chaste and charming budding romance that simply disappears, in a rather offhanded way midway through the novel, without apparent consequence, emotional or otherwise. All of those are fairly significant and rather obvious storytelling flaws.

And, frankly, none of them matter a bit.

While Looking for the King: An Inklings Novel doesn’t quite work as a supernatural mystery thriller, it does work as mythopoeia, as myth making—it is a reflection of the true light, like a shaft of dappled sunlight reaching through the thick, green canopy of a dense forest. For better or for worse, David Downing isn’t Dan Brown. The thriller aspects of this novel are lacking, the character arcs, especially for Tom, are profound and significant.

Unlike Brown’s shallow Langdon, who is basically the same smug man book after book, Tom changes profoundly as the book progresses. He is changed by the events of his quest, by his growing feelings for Laura, and, most of all, by his conversations with the Inklings. Those conversations alone are worth the price of the book. I’ll be thinking about the ideas, philosophical, theological, and mythic, long after I’ve forgotten the details of the story.

Downing has done a remarkable job researching the Inklings … plowing through volumes of biographies, first person accounts, essays, and, most of all, letters to capture the essence of their personalities, their speech patterns, their humor, their relationships, and even their thoughts. In many cases, Downing has used their own words (carefully annotated at the end of the book) to recreate the wisdom they might have bestowed upon a bewildered, seeking American. In some cases, I felt like they were talking to me.

The Inklings, Lewis and Tolkien especially, are a part of a very special personal pantheon for me: they number, along with Ray Bradbury, Lloyd Alexander, Dr. Seuss, Walt Disney, Hank Aaron, Joseph Campbell, and the crews of the Apollo flights, as my personal heroes. My journey to the Eagle and Child, the Oxford pub where the Inklings met, was a kind of personal pilgrimage for me. Reading Looking for the King: An Inklings Novel is as close as I’ll ever come to joining them for a pint and a night of conversation. For one night, at least, I felt like I was right there with them. I’m grateful for that experience.

Also, kudos to Ignatius Press for crafting a lovely edition, with quality paper, stamped spine, and, so help me, stitched binding. While I sincerely applaud print on demand for making far more titles available to hungry readers like me, and for making the publishing industry (at least potentially) more efficient overall, I am delighted to still run across fine craftsmanship from a smaller press now and again. Although come to think of it, some of the finest print craftsmanship around these days comes from small publishing houses like Small Beer Press and Subterranean Press.

Review: J. D. Rothschild’s Hot Chocolate Blend

Try J. D. Rothschild’s Hot Chocolate Blend

A short blog today, folks, but something I wanted to share: my first ever hot chocolate review. The best hot chocolate I’ve ever tried came from a friend’s mother some (I think) 25 years ago, who made hers from shaved gourmet chocolate and fresh, creamy milk. Nothing else I’ve tried has come close, alas. Nothing, that is, until I tried a tin of J. D. Rothschild’s Premium Hot Chocolate blend over the snowy Christmas holiday. It’s probably not fair to compare a powder from a can to a 25-year-old memory of melting shaved chocolate, but I am happy to report that J. D. Rothschild’s holds its own just fine.

I have to start by admitting: I am a hot chocolate fan. Much to my wife’s unending amusement, I actually own a hot chocolate making appliance, which I swear by. The machine makes chocolate that is perfectly hot and wonderfully frothy. It is, however, only as good as the chocolate inside it. Rothschild’s is the best I’ve found. It’s all natural, and it’s made locally, by hand, in small batches. And it’s just terrific—exactly the way real hot chocolate is supposed to taste.

The directions call for water, but I used milk (by mistake) the first time, and a blend of water and milk the second (on purpose). I think the ideal blend may be 3 parts milk to one part water, but I have great incentive to keep experimenting. Each “test batch” yields mugs of rich, creamy, delicious chocolate, and I am happy to keep sampling them. All in the name of science, of course. To the best of my knowledge, it’s only available at the Irwin Street Market, but if you don’t happen to live in one of the groovy intown Atlanta neighborhoods, give them a call. I’m sure they can mail you a can.

Beer Review: Abita Christmas Ale

Try Abita Christmas Ale

Samuel Adams doesn’t brew any of my favorite beers (although I hear their Christmas brews this year are sensational). I don’t dislike Samuel Adams, mind—not by any means—they just don’t happen to make anything that makes my top ten list. Nonetheless, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Samuel Adams because, rightly or wrongly, I credit them for truly sparking the American craft beer revolution. Sure, there were other plenty of American craft beers on the market before Sam Adams burst on to the scene with a winning combination of excellent product and powerful marketing savvy. But I think Samuel Adams is the brewery that made truly fine, well-crafted beers and ales a part of the national mainstream.

More, I personally credit Samuel Adams (again, rightly or wrongly) with defining what has become the American “style” of craft brew—as opposed to, say, Belgian, German, Scotch, or English styles. If there is such a thing as a stereotypical American craft brew, it would be golden amber in color, offer a few waves of wheaty flavor, and finish a very distinctive hoppy signature after taste. That, in a nutshell, is Samuel Adams.

Abita, a brewery in the New Orleans area, follows in the Samuel Adams tradition, making bold, small batch beers and ales with very distinctive bitter, hoppy tastes that are both utterly unique and proudly American. Their Christmas Ale is no exception. My pal Mike Mikula, the brilliant cartoonist, introduced me to Abita Christmas Ale when he found Sweetwater Festival Ale a little too sweet for his tastes. While I am usually more fond of the sweeter and spicier winter ales, I have to admit, this is a mighty tasty alternative.

Christmas ales, in my experience, are usually Belgian or English style ales … brews that make you think of cozy seats by the fire in quaint, snow-dusted pubs with frosted windows. Abita’s offer is, again, distinctly American. It pours a nice amber red with a small and white head. It’s medium bodied and smooth, with very light carbonation. The signature taste comes mainly, but not entirely, from the malted grains and hops themselves, rather than from fruit or sweet notes—although very subtle hints of cinnamon and ginger are present.

My tastes tend more to the sweeter Belgian and Scottish style ales, but Abita’s Christmas Ale is a surprisingly nice alternative. I can also report that it pairs nicely with food—try it with a bowl of hearty winter stew or chili, or even with a nice Sunday roast. And while yes, I do own a calendar, I feel safe in declaring that it’s never too late for a fine Christmas ale. Especially when the temperature is still hovering in the 20s and 30s. Cheers, and let me know what you think!

More blogs are coming soon … hot chocolate (seriously) and book reviews. Stay tuned.