Author: Tod Newman

I’m a bit worn out from researching 3rd-century Carthage for my latest “Halls of the Shadow King” novelette, but I still feel like writing before bed. So with a little motivation from my friend coffee, I’m going to share my thoughts on this short novel by Samuel Johnson. You might find it an interesting insight on human nature—particularly modern human nature.

Legend has it that Rasselas was written by Johnson in a single week because he needed money for his mother’s funeral. Other legends say that Johnson wrote the book rather than spend time with his dying mother. In some ways, for certain, it does feel like a book written in a week—but by someone who had thought very hard for much of his life about the themes within it. Published in 1759, it was regarded as an important work of philosophy in its day. It reminds me of Voltaire in quite a few places (but is less funny).

The Story

This is the tale of a prince (and his siblings) whom the King of Abyssinia confines to an idyllic but inescapable valley (The Happy Valley) for his protection. The idea is that the King will summon him if needed. Rasselas is perhaps the least vapid of these royal children and begins questioning the seeming perfection around him. Imlac, a poet who has vividly experienced life and the world and was selected to entertain the royals in this secret valley, becomes Rasselas’ confidant.

Through Imlac, we begin to see the depth of Johnson’s thinking. When the prince expresses perplexity that someone in the “real” world would harm another person without any real benefit to himself, Imlac explains:

“Pride is seldom delicate, it will please itself with very mean advantages; and envy feels not its own happiness, but when it may be compared with the misery of others.” (p. 34)

Thus begins the real education of Rasselas, though he is continually quite surprised to learn how people act outside his pleasant prison.

The Search for Happiness

Eventually, Rasselas—with help from Imlac and his sister, Princess Nekayah—escapes and enters the world. Fortunately, Imlac is able to sell wealth the prince can claim, so they’re all accepted in society as wealthy merchants. Rasselas’s goal is to discover how true happiness can be found. When Imlac reveals that “Human life is everywhere a state in which much is to be endured and little is to be enjoyed,” Rasselas responds:

“I am not yet willing to suppose that happiness is so parsimoniously distributed to mortals; nor can I believe but that, if I had the choice of life, I should be able to fill every day with pleasure. I would injure no man, and should provoke no resentment; I would relieve every distress, and should enjoy the benedictions of gratitude.” (p. 43)

This exchange encapsulates one of the book’s central themes. Rasselas is hopelessly naive, and though he has been well educated, he is strangely ignorant. Perhaps this is the case for many who have received great amounts of education and been content with what they learned.

Imlac continues to work vigorously to enlighten his young charge, as we see in this advice about overthinking hopes and fears:

“Do not disturb your mind with other hopes or fears than reason may suggest: if you are pleased with prognostics of good, you will be terrified likewise with tokens of evil, and your whole life will be a prey to superstition.” (pp. 49-50)

The Journey Through Life

Rasselas seeks out a wide range of people representing the variability of human experience. At each turn, he quickly assumes that this culture or community has found true happiness, only to learn from Imlac’s observations: “Believe me, prince, there was not one who did not dread the moment when solitude should deliver him to the tyranny of reflection” (p. 57), or “Very few live by choice. Every man is placed in his present condition by causes which acted without his foresight, and with which he did not always willingly co-operate; and therefore you will rarely meet one who does not think the lot of his neighbor better than his own” (p. 58).

This pattern continues for quite a while, with Rasselas examining the happiness of monks, philosophers, the highly educated, and even a scientist whose deep study has convinced him that he controls the weather and perhaps even the functioning of the world.

Johnson’s Philosophy

Johnson’s melancholy view of the world is evident throughout, for Rasselas’ search remains unsatisfied. Though he is exposed to a great amount of wisdom, he does not find “optimal” happiness anywhere. The modern reader is easily reminded of many fellow travelers searching for their “best” lives while refusing to be patient or content with the life given them—or at minimum, the life within their ability to reach.

The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia is a philosophical meditation disguised as a travel narrative, and while it may feel hastily written in places, Johnson’s lifetime of contemplation shines through in every conversation and observation. It’s a timeless exploration of human discontent and the elusive nature of happiness.

I picked up So Brave, Young, and Handsome, the second novel by Leif Enger, after thoroughly enjoying his debut work, Peace Like a River. To put it simply: this is a worthy successor, though it doesn’t quite reach the heights of his first book.

The Story

Monte Becket, a former postal worker, struck gold with his first novel—a dimestore western that found success with an undemanding audience. But lightning hasn’t struck twice. Despite his best efforts, he can’t interest his publisher in anything new. Fortunately, royalties from that first book continue to trickle in, allowing him to buy a pleasant home by the river and live a peaceful life.

It’s there that Monte meets Glendon Hale, a fascinating stranger sailing a homemade boat downriver. Enger describes Glendon as “formal in the way of men grown apart, yet energy teemed behind his eyes and in some ways he seemed a boy himself” (p. 11). This intriguing man quickly captivates not just Monte, but his wife Susannah and young son as well.

Meanwhile, Monte is hiding his latest of many literary failures from his family. His heroic cowboy character, Dan Roscoe, has been abandoned. His new pirate novel is already showing “signs of decay” at just forty pages (p. 22).

Then comes an unlikely invitation: Glendon asks Monte to accompany him to Mexico so he can apologize to the wife he suddenly abandoned in his youth. Despite the apparent foolishness of such a journey, Susannah somehow knows that Monte needs this adventure and encourages him to go.

The Journey

What follows is a winding odyssey by boat, train, car, and train again—sometimes making little logical sense. The journey grows more complicated when we learn that Glendon has quite a past: he was once part of the infamous “Hole in the Wall” gang in Wyoming, alongside Butch Cassidy.

At times, you want to shout at Monte to just go home, for God’s sake. But something keeps him going—perhaps the fear of returning to his failures, or recognition that this strange pursuit is exactly what his soul needs. As Monte humbly observes: “I was used to resembling what I was—a well-meaning failure, a pallid disappointer of persons, a man fading” (p. 76).

Complicating matters further is Charlie Siringo, a rascally Pinkerton detective (and fellow author) devoted to capturing Glendon. (Fans of Larry McMurtry’s Streets of Laredo will recognize Siringo’s name—Captain Woodrow Call dismissed his book as “mostly yarns.”)

What Works

The writing is beautiful, echoing the lyrical style of Peace Like a River. Enger has a remarkable gift for seeing truth in his characters without being put off by their surface flaws.

On an enthusiastic and capable young man who lies to save Glendon from Siringo: “Hood was the purest liar I ever knew. He lied for profit as many do but he also lied for joy, which is less common—it may even be he lied for beauty, by some deeply buried rationale” (p. 96).

On an aging circus sharpshooter with a wild past: When Monte suggests she should “start thinking about her next act,” Glendon wisely responds, “Maybe she’s tried that, Monte. Maybe she don’t have a next act in her” (p. 115).

This small selection of a great many moments of insight are where Enger truly shines.

What Falls Short

While the prose remains gorgeous, the characters don’t quite achieve the luminous quality of those in Peace Like a River. Enger’s penchant for foreshadowing continues, but he’s largely abandoned the magical realism that gave his first novel such distinctive charm. Monte’s many choices to dive deeper into the madness taking him further from Susannah seem quite far-fetched.

The Resolution

Eventually, we see resolution for Siringo, Glendon, and Monte. Monte finally admits to Susannah that his writing days may be finished, humbly confessing “I am very much less than I once believed.” But Susannah shows him extraordinary grace—she was simply waiting for him to find his place.

In one of the book’s most moving passages, Monte reflects on his transformation:

“You are also different,” she said. I didn’t try to explain that. You can’t explain grace, anyway, especially when it arrives almost despite yourself. I didn’t even ask for it, yet somehow it breached and began to work. I suppose grace was pouring over Glendon, who had sought it so hard, and some spilled down on me. Susannah said, “You seemed afraid before you left. Now you don’t—that’s what I think.” (p. 271)

Final Verdict

So Brave, Young, and Handsome is a thoughtful meditation on failure, grace, and redemption. While it may not surpass Enger’s debut, it’s still a rewarding read that showcases his considerable talents as a storyteller. Recommended for fans of literary westerns and anyone who appreciates beautiful prose in service of meaningful themes.

Rating: 4/5 stars

This morning I finished reading Peace Like a River, the debut novel by Leif Enger. While he has written plenty since then, I find it quite notable that this is his first published work. The most important thing I can say about this novel (other than that I recommend it wholeheartedly!) is that it is truly beautiful. Enger’s prose is both gorgeous and reserved. He employs metaphors and foreshadowing with masterful precision. When you reach the novel’s conclusion, there’s a bittersweet sadness at finishing, but also a profound revelation—suddenly all those literary devices click into place with perfect clarity.

As a writer myself, I must admit that reading this book fills me with both inspiration and a touch of envy for my own inability to craft a story of such depth and beauty.

The Story and Its Heart

Reuben Land serves as our narrator and, as it turns out, embodies the very soul of the story. His life begins with a miracle: born nearly dead, he survives only when his father Jeremiah holds the “clay child wrapped in a canvas coat” and commands in a steady voice, “Reuben Land, in the name of the living God I am telling you to breathe.”

Breathe Reuben does, but throughout the story he never breathes easily, severely hampered by asthma. His father Jeremiah becomes his hero, and as Reuben notes with characteristic insight: “there’s nothing as lovely and tragic as telling your friends you were just about dead once.”

Miracles Woven into Reality

Miracles occur throughout this novel in ways that seem deceptively simple and completely believable. This brings Gabriel García Márquez to mind, but Enger’s magical realism springs from the Gospel and prayer rather than from magic. These extraordinary events arrive in ways our postmodern minds can accept without question. As Enger reminds us: “Such things are worth our notice every day of the week, but to call them miracles evaporates the strength of the word.”

Characters Grounded in Grace and Truth

The characters populating this novel are strong prairie stock who never seek to impress or manipulate. The Methodist pastor, faithful and loyal, “was a great advocate of forgiveness, in which he put a lot of stock. Thrilling he was not.” Throughout the story, we detect a common thread of grace and truth—elements that cannot be easily separated from one another. Reuben’s precocious younger sister Swede, already an incredible wordsmith and writer, observes that “once torched by truth, a little thing like faith is easy.”

The Central Conflict

The Land family faces a bitter crisis created by their eldest son, Davy—incredibly capable but seemingly bereft of grace, his tragic, truth-seeking act of revenge poisons their lives. Jeremiah leaves his job and takes the family west in an inherited Airstream trailer, hoping to find Davy and, hopefully, bring him to repentance.

Davy’s fundamental problem becomes clear: “Davy wanted life to be something you did on your own; the whole idea of a protective, fatherly God annoyed him. I would understand this better in years to come but never subscribe to it, for I was weak and knew it.”

This confident self-reliance leads Davy through increasingly dangerous circumstances. His competence provides some protection, but forces him to live as a fugitive. The central question becomes: Will Davy ever accept grace?

The Journey West

Meanwhile, others who deserve nothing good experience mercy through Jeremiah’s hands. When the evil school superintendent who despises Jeremiah receives miraculous healing from horrible facial sores through Jeremiah’s gracious touch, Reuben struggles mightily with the apparent unfairness: “It was the fact that Chester the Fester, the worst man I’d ever seen… got a whole new face to look out of and didn’t even know to be grateful; while I, my father’s son, had to be still and resolute and breathe steam to stay alive.”

This gives us insight into Reuben’s heart—his breathing struggles dominate his existence and serve as an overarching metaphor for his spiritual condition, though he doesn’t understand this until much later.

Finding Refuge and Family

The Land family (Jeremiah, Reuben, and Swede) eventually reach the badlands of North Dakota, their Plymouth limping along while towing the Airstream. A powerful hand seems to guide them—one that communicates frequently and effectively with Jeremiah. Great miracles occur, perhaps the greatest being their forced refuge during a massive snowstorm in the home of Roxanna, a lonely woman on the wilderness fringe.

Roxanna experiences transformation through Jeremiah’s presence, and the children quickly see in her the mother they lost when their own inexplicably abandoned them. Though Davy remains at large, the family experiences stability and learns to find peace in the joy of order and purpose.

The Crisis of Faith

But eventually, Reuben reaches a dreadful realization: “Since arriving at this house, we’d had no miracles whatever.” He reflects on their journey and concludes: “And I thought, Without a miracle, exactly what chance do I have?”

Here readers realize that Reuben views miracles as cheat codes for his own life, failing to see how they’re actually preparing him to live and see differently.

Growth and Understanding

Reuben slowly learns to value prayer, growing into his father’s example, and realizes his need for repentance regarding harbored hatreds. Through painful circumstances of his own making, he confronts his serious shortcomings. A local sheriff “earnestly told me five or six specific things he found discouraging about my character. If you don’t mind I’d rather not restate them, but they were by and large true… I agreed with them all, as the broken must.”

Eventually, Reuben stops “whining about what’s fair, begging forgiveness, hoping for a miracle—these demand energy, and that was gone from me. Contentment on the other hand demands little, and I drew more and more into its circle.”

At last, Reuben learns that “fair is whatever God wants to do.”

A Powerful Conclusion

The story’s ending proves wonderful, featuring a powerful twist reminiscent of great self-sacrifice tales from literature’s past. Without spoiling the conclusion, I’ll say that in the distant years following these dramatic events, we see Reuben explaining to his still-elusive brother Davy what their father had done for him. When Davy challenges him to “Breathe… Let’s see you breathe,” we realize the incredible distance Reuben has traveled.

Despite experiencing great physical damage and displaying moments of cowardice and betrayal, Reuben has learned grace’s proper place as truth’s partner and has found repentance. His breath has been restored through great sacrifice, and he now possesses true life. The greatest miracle of all has occurred—but it happened slowly and collectively.

Final Thoughts

In my humble opinion, Peace Like a River stands as a modern masterpiece of American literature, weaving together themes of faith, family, sacrifice, and redemption with prose that feels truly joyful. Enger has crafted a story that operates on multiple levels—as a coming-of-age tale, a family drama, and a profound meditation on the nature of miracles and grace. This is a novel that rewards careful reading and stays with you long after the final page.

Have you read “Peace Like a River”? I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.

Willa Cather has become one of my favorite American writers. After thoroughly enjoying her novel Death Comes for the Archbishop—the story of brave Catholic priests who journeyed from France to the American West—I picked up My Antonia with high hopes. It turned out to be an excellent decision.

A Portrait of the Prairie

My Antonia tells the story of its namesake character, the daughter of a Czech pioneer family making their home on the Nebraska plains. Like so many immigrant families, they’ve come to America seeking the chance to build something great. While Antonia’s mother struggles with instability and her father never stops pining for their old life, Antonia herself radiates abundance and potential. She captures the heart of the narrator, Jim Burden, who is four years her junior.

Jim arrives in Nebraska as a young boy to live with his grandparents at exactly the same time Antonia’s family settles nearby. They become neighbors in the wild prairie, where the expansive landscape dominates young Jim’s imagination.

Cather beautifully captures this sense of place and movement:

“I can remember exactly how the country looked to me as I walked beside my grandmother along the faint wagon-tracks on that early September morning. Perhaps the glide of long railway travel was still with me, for more than anything else I felt motion in the landscape; in the fresh, easy-blowing morning wind, and in the earth itself, as if the shaggy grass were a sort of loose hide, and underneath it herds of wild buffalo were galloping, galloping…”

Through Antonia’s immigrant eyes, we see a romance with the landscape and farmland that Cather suggests had been lost to many Americans. Even Jim, despite recognizing the land’s power, observes with typical American restlessness that “the only thing very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.”

The Immigrant Advantage

As Jim and Antonia grow up, they develop a close friendship built on mutual respect. But Jim recognizes the harsh realities Antonia’s family faces—living in a barely functional sod house while his grandparents enjoy a proper home, struggling with language and cultural barriers that require constant navigation by their more established neighbors.

Yet Cather observes something remarkable: over time, the immigrant families develop distinct advantages on the prairie. The Czechs, Norwegians, and Swedes possess a dogged determination to escape debt and educate their children. The older daughters move to town and send money home, helping their farm families thrive.

Initially, “The daughters of Black Hawk merchants had a confident, unenquiring belief that they were ‘refined,’ and that the country girls, who ‘worked out,’ were not.” This mindset sounds strikingly familiar today, echoing the way many urban dwellers continue to view those in “flyover” states.

But once these immigrant farm girls establish themselves in the city, they begin captivating the young city men with their unique advantages: fitness from field work, resilience born of struggle, and deep commitment to family. Their families ascend the social ladder:

“foreign farmers in our county were the first to become prosperous. After the fathers were out of debt, the daughters married the sons of neighbours—usually of like nationality—and the girls who once worked in Black Hawk kitchens are to-day managing big farms and fine families of their own; their children are better off than the children of the town women they used to serve.”

Two Paths, One Past

Jim grows up to become a lawyer, his path taking him from Lincoln to Harvard and back east. Antonia stays in Nebraska, marrying a solid Czech man whom she transforms into a successful farmer. While Jim struggles to maintain his connection to the land and his people, visiting old friends scattered across the country, years pass and he misses Antonia raising her large family.

When they reconnect twenty years later, their different relationships with the past become starkly apparent. For Antonia, the past remains an ever-present part of life, illuminating the future. For Jim, the past becomes something he must work to recover amid the distractions of his successful city career.

Two quotes illuminate this contrast beautifully. As Jim prepares to leave after Antonia’s first child is born, she tells him:

“Of course it means you are going away from us for good. But that don’t mean I’ll lose you. Look at my papa here; he’s been dead all these years, and yet he is more real to me than almost anybody else. He never goes out of my life. I talk to him and consult him all the time. The older I grow, the better I know him and the more I understand him.”

Later, during an extended visit, Jim takes a reflective walk and finds himself in the unchanged landscape: “I took a long walk north of the town, out into the pastures where the land was so rough that it had never been ploughed up, and the long red grass of early times still grew shaggy over the draws and hillocks. Out there I felt at home again.”

The Wisdom of Staying Rooted

Jim concludes by recognizing that despite their vastly different life trajectories, he and Antonia still share their past together. The difference lies in how they inhabit that shared history: Antonia lives and breathes within it, while Jim must fight to overcome life’s distractions to reconnect with it.

This is what I most appreciate about Cather’s writing—her recognition that the past forms the foundation of what we’re building, and that distraction from it can cause us to lose our way. Jim, like all of us should, recognizes that despite the wear and tear of Antonia’s hard life on the soil, she retains a level of greatness that his successful but rootless existence cannot match.

My Antonia reminds us that sometimes the greatest achievements aren’t measured in professional success or geographic mobility, but in the depth of our connections to place, people, and the continuous thread of memory that weaves our lives together.