Over at arieljvan.com I wrote a post on prayer that some of you might like.

I'm still figuring out the working relationship between this blog and that blog (they like each other, which complicates the office environment), but I'll probably mention stuff over there from time to time. Excerpt:

I am trying to work prayer into my life more, similar to the way you work chalk into your palms to get a better grip on your climbing surface, or spray Stickum Grip Spray on your hands so that you can throw down a really sick dunk. Prayer has a great deal to do with our ability to navigate reality accurately and find traction–conversing with God has this calming, gracious, strengthening effect.

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Anytime you’re a Rookie of the Year, a Platinum debut artist, or a Best-Selling first-time author, your sophomore season is bound to be a doozie.

Leif Enger’s first published book, Peace Like a River, became a surprise best-seller with a headlong chase plot, strong but endearing characters, a modern-day western motif, and a surprise ending that was both haunting and satisfying. He proved himself as a master of language and a maker of legends and earned your trust as an author.

So Brave, Young, and Handsome (a phrase from a cowboy song), Leif Enger’s second book, is a solid novel with a meandering chase plot, weak but somewhat endearing characters, a modern-day western motif, and an ending that you see coming a mile away and hope you mistake. Nevertheless, it’s an enjoyable read, and Enger has lost none of the pure writer’s knack that shone through in his first book.

So Brave, Young, and Handsome struck me as a typical second novel in the sense that the characters are sketched with more whimsy and a lighter touch. The book is filled with fledgling desperados, beautiful women and ruthless lawmen, but their stories make them self-effacing. Instead of being carried along by the speed of their passage, you’re prodded to contemplate the foibles of their personalities—sometimes damning, sometimes redeemable. It’s as if Leif Enger backed off a little after scribbling, with fierce creative intensity, his first novel. And why not? Authors need rests too.

Nothing I’ve mentioned so far qualifies as a serious flaw, but I believe the book does have one, an absolutely critical plot point that occurs about halfway through. I read the scenario, wincing, No, that wouldn’t really happen, not with the characters he’s created, and when I compared notes later with Lindsay, her reaction was the same. The repercussions from this interaction control the rest of the novel—but the pivotal sequence of events is unbelievable, based on the way that Enger frames the characters up until that point. As a result, you read the rest of the novel with a feeling of suspended disbelief.

I’m being intentionally vague in my descriptions because, while So Brave, Young, and Handsome fails to measure up to its older brother, Peace Like a River, I still encourage you to read it. Enger is a superb writer with a colorful imagination, and even when he’s not at the top of his game, you experience vivid landscapes, adversarial cat-and-mouse games, adventurous journeys, and portrayals of law and grace that feel and smell like real life.

** Enger has the enviable predicament that only the best of authors encounter—writing to be better than himself. I award So Brave, Young, and Handsome two stars--Well worth your time. Especially if you've already read Peace Like a River and are ready for more. Oh yeah, this one is on the Master Book List.

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Every once in awhile, circumstances align themselves in such a way that you realize that circumstances definitely aren't smart enough align themselves in such a way. If you know what I mean. Moments of remarkable correspondence and well-timed resolution point beyond mechanistic randomness to a God who keeps an eye on Blogger and cares about whether I get my degree.

Three very important narrative strands collide today, to the point that I need to comment. Years from now, you'll be able to say that you were here, reading the blog, at the very moment this historical juncture took place. Ready?

Here's what just happens to be going down this week:

1. BitterSweetLife is four years old.
2. I'm finishing grad school.
   
3. I'm experiencing the storied Dalgliesh Point for the last time.

Doesn't that list make you want to stand up applaud? Isn't this occasion incredible? No? You have very little idea what I'm talking about?

Good, that was the intended reaction. I started out intending to whirl these three topics together into a post of unmitigated goodness, but that mutated swiftly into a post of unreadable lengthiness, so I'll be filling you in with 1, 2, 3 installments--at which point you can jump up on your hind legs and yell, You're out, sucka!

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You know, after we perform background checks to make sure you're literate, a fast crawler, and a Jayhawk fan.

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From Goodmanson comes this gem of a photo. If you've been reading this blog for awhile, you might recall me expressing similar sentiments back when our car was stolen.

Of course, I didn't resort to firepower--I just broke the guy's knees.

Just kidding.

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We were driving west across the state line from Missouri into Kansas, which involves crossing the Missouri River and driving alongside it for a couple miles.

Aidan: The river is hungry. The river wants lunch.
Me: Personifying nature
at his age, that's impressive.
Lindsay: I think he's making a point. Aidan,
are you hungry?
Aidan: Yes. I am 'tarving.

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As reported by Spyder, the Kansas City bloggers' gathering happened last night. Lindsay and I left the kiddos at home with The Incredibles on TV and a large lemon meringue pie in the middle of the carpet, and headed over to Rincon Columbiano, a cleverly concealed Columbian restaurant not too far from us. Excellent food, and good conversation too. We had a fun time.

One humorously weird thing that I absolutely should have been prepared for was the way that people went by the names of their blogs--so Sponge would carry on a conversation with Banky, before chatting with Toast for awhile--at least, I think that's how it worked. In the next few days, you may notice the title of this blog changing to something along the lines of Stud, President Boss Man or Your Awesomeness...

Lindsay and I thoroughly enjoyed ourselves, even the stretch where we sat back like spectators at a high-speed tennis game while a discussion about politics ran up and down our table like wildfire. I may have to get my political groove back, since I haven't debated politics much for the last decade... Then again, the neck exercise doesn't hurt.

If any of you other KC bloggers are eying these meet-ups and thinking about taking the plunge, you should. Fun group of people, diverse opinions, and they're kind to newcomers (after they stopped beating us with wet noodles, we really had a good time). I understand these things happen about once a month, and you can keep an eye on the Kansas City Bloggers site for details.

Courtesy of Spyder, here's the list of sociable local bloggers who showed up:

arieljvan.com / BitterSweetLife and lovely wife Lindsay New to the group
Average Jane /Kansas City Kitty
Banky For President New to the group
Bea's Weblog
Beneath the Ginko-Kanga
Hip Suburban White Guy
Logtar's Blog
M.Toast Hivemind
Sponge Worthy

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I had just turned on my espresso machine when I heard a sound in the living room that sounded like someone was running back and forth very, very quickly through a hanging bead curtain. No such luck.

I entered the living room to see Aidan holding my bag of Broadway Cafe espresso beans upside down, carefully shaking the last few beans onto the carpet with a kind of quizzical expression on his face. As if, THIS is what happens when you upend a bag of the venerated coffee beans? What, no explosion? No flashing lights or wailing sirens?

As each coffee bean was picked up one at a time and dusted off tenderly, I knew exactly what it must feel like to be a South American coffee farmer--except they don't have to deal with cracker crumbs and carpet lint. Also, they don't brew everything they harvest.

When the last bean was dropped in the bag, I realized that I should have taken a picture of the scene--unfortunately, I was too distraught at the time. Besides, the sight of me cracking that whip over Aidan's head might have been disturbing to some people who weren't fully cognizant of the circumstances.

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