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Theology: Christ Is Time: The Gospel According to Karl Barth (and the Red Hot Chili Peppers) by Mark James Edwards. As the title indicates, this is not your usual tome on Barth. Based on his own long teaching experience, Edwards puts this most voluminous of twentieth-century theologians in conversation with the kind of music your mother didn’t want you to listen to, with illuminating results. This may be the only theology book in existence that comes with a playlist; diagrams in the text even show you exactly what part of which song to listen to. All that could be a gimmick, but Edwards is nothing but sincere and passionate about his theologian (and musicians) of choice. I hadn’t spent any time with Barth since my seminary days and thought I needed a refresher course, which is why I picked it up. Christ Is Time is that, and more. I was powerfully reminded of all the things I’d learned from Barth, and for the good. Also, in all fairness, I was reminded of what I didn’t like in Barth. But I’m not gonna tell you what those things are, because it’s so much better if you wrestle with this magnificent mind on your own. Edwards is the ideal cicerone for your journey. Cookbook: Flatbreads and Flavors by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid. I picked this one up back in the days when spending $8 on a used book required long thinking and careful budgeting. It more than repaid my investment, ultimately falling into that elite and distinguished category of cookbooks I’ve cooked every single recipe from. I didn’t even know the category of “flatbread” when I got the book, much less the variety around the world. And this is most certainly a trip around the world, including recipes for things to eat with the wonderful flatbreads. If your pandemic sourdough project has left you bored (or your starter has died), this is the place to reactivate your love of baking. Novel: The Rose and the Yew Tree by Mary Westmacott. Mary Westmacott is the best-selling female author of all time. The reason you don’t recognize her name is because it’s a pseudonym for Agatha Christie. Nothing irritates genre fans more than not getting what they’re expecting; already by 1930 Agatha realized that was the case, and published her first non-mystery, Giant’s Bread, under her alter ego’s name. The secret was kept successfully for quite some decades. The Agatha Christie-industrial complex knows better now, so both names are splashed across newer editions. The six Westmacotts in all show that Agatha was fully capable of developing engrossing character and plot aside from the convenience of a murder. The Rose and the Yew Tree (1947) is my favorite of the set. Its conceit and conclusion don’t entirely convince me, but to focus on them misses the point. Unusually for a novel, it’s everything in the middle that grips the attention, which I would describe as fairy-tale figures suddenly forced into becoming real people, what that does to them, and what it does to their fantasy land. Living as we do more than ever in a culture of performance over reality, the story hit startlingly close to home. If you enjoy it, try next Absent in the Spring, a close examination of what would happen if you saw yourself as others do (the horror, the horror!).
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