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Prisoners of their own secrets

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On a recent journey through Europe I was honored to be a lecturer alongside the esteemed historian Jeremy Black, MBE, a Non-Resident Senior Fellow at the Foreign Policy Research Institute in Philadelphia and Emeritus Professor of History at Exeter University. In addition to being the author of more than 100 books on history, Jeremy is also a fan—and reviewer—of murder mysteries. After a week together on a river cruise we had both finished the mysteries we brought with us, so Jeremy proposed a swap.

Which is how I was introduced to old Edinburgh and the Raven and Fisher series.

Scott Monument (credit: Wikimedia)

The Death of Shame (2025) by Ambrose Parry is the most recent installment of the Raven and Fisher mystery series. Set in 1854 Edinburgh, a prologue has the reader at the top of the Scott Monument, where we see one character’s dramatic response to public humiliation and shame. After some scene setting we then move into the heart of the work. In a world with strict moral codes and very restrictive societal roles for women, Sarah Fisher—a young widow left with financial resources after the death of her husband—is helping fund Dr. Will Raven’s emerging medical practice in exchange for being secretly trained as a doctor. As the story progresses, Will and Sarah are drawn into an ever more confusing and dangerous web of treachery, blackmail, secrets, and murder among the city’s more sordid residents.

The mystery begins when one of Raven’s first patients does not require medical attention. Will is summoned to the foot of the Scott Monument by Inspector McLevy to identify the body of a well-respected Edinburgh businessman whose death will cause waves. The dead man also happens to be Raven’s father-in-law. Fisher, meanwhile, is being asked to help locate a missing young lady, Annabel Banks, who came to the city at 15 years of age with a job lined up through an agency but has not been heard of in the month since she left home. Annabel, it turns out, is a niece Sarah has not seen in years. She gets no help from McLevy and the police, but Sarah is dogged in her search and finds support from Raven. Together they begin to uncover a horrific trade in young girls that Annabel may have been lured into.

If you haven’t discerned by now, the relationship between Will and Sarah is clearly important to the story. Their concern and care for each other is obvious and they should clearly be together. However, there are many reasons why this isn’t possible, not the least of which is that Will is married and has two children. That subplot is a key element of this new book, as Will balances his deep feelings for Sarah with his love for his family.

Will’s wife Eugenie has difficulty returning those feelings, however. After the grief following her father’s death and her growing distance from Will and her family following the difficult birth of a second child, Eugenie moves with her children back into her father’s home with its retinue of servants on fashionable St. Andrew’s Square.* Will remains in the smaller building in the New Town, with his office and an apartment for his growing family above. Sarah lives in the home of their former employer, the brilliant Dr. James Simpson and his family in Queen Street, working both there and with Raven.

In the midst of Raven’s concern about his wife’s increasing alienation and his work to discover the truth behind his father-in-law’s suicide, the reader sees the mutual respect and collaboration between the two lead characters. Will helps Sarah to achieve her medical aspirations and she takes on leading parts of their investigations. Both characters are well drawn, sympathetic, and willing to go to great lengths to uncover the city’s dark secrets.

Those secrets revolve around the fact that morality in Victorian Edinburgh was a weapon used to control women. A hint of being “impure” would spell ruin. The shame in the title leads to blackmail. Men are also not immune from coercion, as many so-called outstanding citizens had secrets and desires that they were desperate to keep out of the public eye.

Late in the story Sarah confronts her personal feelings on shame and virtue. In the process she finds that she can understand why a man would choose to leap from the Scott Monument. However, she also discovers “that she is not willing to be controlled by men wielding shame.”

With this revelation, Sarah uncovers the way to break the bonds held over this cast of characters by unscrupulous and vicious men and women, leading to a successful conclusion to the case. In the process, we learn more about Will, Eugenie, and Sarah. Eugenie shows a feminist side that is apparently new to the series, and her decisions at the end of the story have life-changing consequences for Raven and Fisher.

Ambrose Parry is the penname for Chris Brookmyre, an internationally bestselling and multi-award-winning author, and his wife, Dr. Marisa Haetzman, a consultant anesthetist of twenty years’ experience. The couple teamed up to write a series of historical crime thrillers, having extensively researched not only the places and social issues of the period but also the key figures and medical treatments. Many of the events in The Death of Shame are based on true historical characters and events, some first uncovered through Dr. Haetzman’s masters degree in the History of Medicine.

If you are new to the series, it is probably best to begin with the first book. However, I found that Brookmyre and Haetzman included enough backstory to bring new readers up-to-date with the lives of the main characters. And readers of historical fiction will be pleased to know that the blending of realities uncovered by the research with fictional storylines is handled with assurance and skill.

Even though I am generally not a fan of historical fiction, I found The Death of Shame a very satisfying read. I suspect that I’ll return to Victorian Edinburgh along with Dr. Will Raven and Sarah Fisher in the months ahead.

More to come . . ,

DJB

*I stayed in a boutique hotel on St. Andrew’s Square on my most recent trip to the city.

Historic homes on St. Andrew’s Square in Edinburgh, from my 2022 visit

The authors even include two snippets about Lord Melville’s role in blocking the abolition of the slave trade, which I have both written and lectured about in recent years.

Monument for Lord Melville in St. Andrew’s Square
New plaque outlining Lord Melville’s role in blocking abolition of the slave trade

Photo of Edinburgh by Joshua Earle on Unsplash.

Telling the story in a most delightful way

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On the third day of our Great Journey Through Europe with National Trust Tours we did what millions of tourists have done for years—visited the lovely Central Switzerland city of Lucerne. With the majestic Alps as backdrop for Lake Lucerne, the city is a photographer’s delight.

More than most communities, Lucerne tells its history and celebrates the present through art. Painted murals on buildings in the Old Town, pictorial panels on Europe’s oldest covered bridge, whimsical fountains, magnificent churches, and store signs all join together with an arresting landscape to tell Lucerne’s story in a most delightful way.

Our day began early at the “Lion of Lucerne” before the crowds arrived. Unveiled in 1821, the dying lion of Lucerne was sculpted from the rock of the cliff and commemorates the Swiss guardsmen who died in 1792 during the French Revolution. It is a moving tribute, a beautiful work of art, and part of the nation’s story.

Lion of Lucerne (credit: Switzerland Tourism)

We then walked through the local market to arrive at another city landmark: the Chapel Bridge and Water Tower.

Lucerne is well-known for its wooden bridges. The Chapel Bridge, built in 1332 as part of the city’s original fortifications, connects the New Town to the medieval Old Town, bending along the way as it passes the water tower.

Pictorial panels were incorporated into the bridge in the 17th century, showcasing scenes of local and national history as well as the biographies of the city’s patron saints, St. Leodegar and St. Maurice. The bridge and panels were burned in a catastrophic fire in 1993, but all of the structure and many of the panels have since been restored.

Panels depicting Swiss history
Burned panel awaiting restoration
Restoration work in progress (credit: Ann Telnaes)
Historic water tower

Lucerne is defined and designed by water. The River Reuss flows swiftly through the city where it is crossed not only by the fourteenth-century Chapel Bridge (or Kapellbrücke) but also by the fifteenth-century Spreuerbrücke.

The “new bridge”—the 15th century Spreuerbrücke

The river is fed by Lake Lucerne, also known as Vierwaldstättersee or Lake of the Four Forest Cantons (the Swiss term for states). Small villages dot the shoreline and the Alps make for a breathtaking backdrop.

The story of the city is also shown on the faces of many of the historic buildings. Murals tell of the city’s millers and brewers, showcase the various guilds that were once prominent in the region, speak to the pursuit of hunting, highlight biblical stories, and display the city’s rich Carnival (Mardi Gras) history which dates back several hundred years.

Eduard Renggli’s 1928 painting of the biblical feast of Canaan
Scenes of work and justice on an old guild hall that now serves as a hotel
A quote at the top of the facade of the Müllersche Apotheke reads “Amor medicabi lis nullis herbis” (There is no herb that will cure lovesickness).
A delightful celebration of Carnival

Finally, Lucerne is filled with gates and fountains . . .

. . .churches, alleyways, and broad vistas . . .

. . . and so much more that adds to the charm of this vibrant city.

Panoramic view from the Chapel Bridge

More to come . . .

DJB

For the first in the series about my Great Journey Through Europe with National Trust Tours see Seeking the beautiful and awe-inspiring.

Sunrise in Lucerne photo by Simon Infanger on Unsplash. All other photos by DJB unless otherwise credited.

A compass, not a manual

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When dealing with moral cynicism and the uneven terrain of life, we often hope for a manual that will tell us how to respond or a map that points toward the path which leads forward. But the manuals and maps of our modern world too often prioritize transactions over reciprocal relationships, individual success over community wellbeing, and linear thought as opposed to whole systems planning, where everything is connected and every action has consequences.

The Lakota professional who made these observations in a recent LinkedIn post noted that in place of a manual for climbing the corporate ladder, he was using his indigenous knowledge as a compass.

A writer whose worldview, knowledge, and wisdom has long served as a compass for me has just released a new work of essays “in praise of the indirect, the unpredictable, the immeasurable, the slow, and the subtle.” Action, she notes, is shaped by vision—the frameworks through which we understand the world. In this important new work, she provides a compass for our times.

No Straight Road Takes You There: Essays for Uneven Terrain (2025) by Rebecca Solnit is a celebration of indirection. Focused on history, power, change, and possibility, Solnit writes in beautiful prose poetry to inspire hope in dark times. She builds this work on two terms she suggests we all adopt: One is “longsighted,” which she writes is “the capacity to see patterns unfold over time.” The other, as alternative to “inevitable,” is the rarely used adjective “evitable.” As she notes in the introduction, the “misremembering of the past (or not remembering the past at all) ill equips us to face the future.” In a series of essays grouped into sections on Visions, Revisions, and More Visions, Solnit uses her formidable storytelling skills to seek out examples of slowness, patience, endurance, and long-term vision. “I’ve come to recognize,” she writes, “that changing the story, dismantling the stories that trap us, finding stories adequate to our realities, are foundational to finding our powers and possibilities.”

Solnit begins with a meditation on an antique violin as a symbol of sustainability and the connectivity of everything. It is a reminder that the past tells many stories and always points to one story—that change is constant. For the better. For the worst. In the essays that follow she writes that radical ideas move from the fringes to the mainstream, a journey we can see if we take the time to follow the crooked path. “The present only looks incomprehensible to those who ignore the past.”

Calling on her readers to let go of certainty in how things will unfold, Solnit writes that destiny hangs on a thread and turns on a dime.

“Martin Luther King, Jr.’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech was not scripted; it came about because Mahalia Jackson called out to him as he was partway through a more pedestrian, scripted speech, ‘Tell them about the dream, Martin! Tell them about the dream!’, and he pushed the paper aside and shifted into the more prophetic voice of that greatest of American speeches. It almost didn’t happen—she was bold enough to call out in a historic moment; he could’ve ignored her, but somehow he dared to listen and was nimble enough to improvise in front of that vast crowd in the nation’s capital.”

Her chapter “In Praise of the Meander” builds on Solnit’s love of labyrinths, where to get to the center “you turn away from it again and again as you follow the windings that will, in the end, take you to the center.” That leads her to note that there are subjects better understood “through analogy, context, parallels, the view from the distance, rather than via direct and dogged pursuit.”

I have marked this book with underlining and marginal notes to the point that it looks as if there are fewer words without highlights than those that I’ve called out for remembrance. Because you’ll see these again and again in my writings, I want to highlight just a few, to provide a context for why I love this book and this writer.

  • “I’ve cherished unpredictability as the other face of possibility—if you already know what’s going to happen, there’s nothing more or nothing else possible, a view that often leads to disengagement and passivity.”
  • “To refuse to participate in the shaping of our future is to give it up.”
  • “There is a tendency to think that what we see in the present moment will continue. We forget how often we have been astonished by the sudden crumbling of institutions, by extraordinary changes in people’s thoughts, by unexpected eruptions of rebellion against tyranny, by the quick collapse of systems of power that seemed invincible.”
  • “We are always in one way or another in the middle of the story.”
  • “Categories too often become where thought goes to die.”
  • “Memory produces hope in the same way that amnesia produces despair.”
  • “We are shaping the future we long for and have not yet experienced. I believe that we are in an imagination battle.”
  • “What if we imagined wealth as consisting of joy, beauty, friendship, community, closeness to flourishing nature, to clean air and water, to good food produced without abuse of labor or nature?”

And one of my favorites:

  • “The past equips us to face the future; continuity of memory tells us we are both descendants and ancestors.”

Both descendants and ancestors. What a critical reminder of our place in the world and the interconnectivity of everything.

We can make a better world, Solnit asserts, but it takes participation, defense, and expansion. And belief. But the changes are only possible “with intangible changes in our sense of what we means, what we care about most, who we think we can be, what we believe is possible.”

Two key thoughts run through the whole of this stirring work: the importance of hope, and the power of storytelling. And she ends with the following in a Credo written at 11 p.m. on November 5, 2024:

“There is no alternative to persevering, and that does not require you to feel good . . . Take care of yourself and remember that taking care of something else is an important part of taking care of yourself, because you are interwoven with the ten trillion things in this single garment of destiny that has been stained and torn, but is still being woven and mended and washed.”

Amen.

More to come . . .

DJB

Compass image from Pixabay.

Seeking the beautiful and awe-inspiring

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Rachel Carson wrote that in exploring nature with a child, adults “become receptive” to what lies all around them. “It is learning again to use your eyes, ears, nostrils and finger tips, opening up the disused channels of sensory impression.”

A child’s world is fresh and new, yet we often lose that clear-eyed instinct about what is beautiful and awe-inspiring before we reach adulthood. Many don’t attempt to know.

The spectacle planned in Washington this weekend has been concocted by those who have lost that instinct. They want to redirect our gaze away from the beautiful, the lovely, the inclusive and towards a cult of personality. Terms such as shock and awe are used, yet these are small individuals who do not understand wonder and reverence. They seek to misplace joy with terror. They want us to be afraid, and to forget about things in life that bring a true sense of gratitude.

Awe—of things extraordinary and ordinary—is the feeling we get when we’re in the presence of something vast that transcends our current understanding of the world. Goosebumps, tears, and chills are all emotional responses to things greater than ourselves. We respond emotionally in the moment, but then we begin an intellectual searching.

On a recent trip to the Swiss Alps and the World Heritage Site of Jungfrau-Aletsch I was reminded of my good fortune late in life to see magnificent and elemental things. Places that bring awe, in the best sense of the word. Places like the fjords of Norway. The glaciers of Alaska. The Alpine mountains and valleys of Switzerland. I’ve also encountered awe in the ordinary that’s all around us.

As it takes us beyond our normal ways of thinking, awe moves, empowers, stretches, and can transform.

Norwegian fjords

As we were coming out of pandemic lockdown in 2022, I traveled for the first time in my life to the fjords of Norway, where the majesty of the snow-capped mountains and the immense waterfalls put an important perspective on the time we had just come through and our place in the world.

Sailing through a Norwegian fjord

Thanks to the Flam railway, we came close to rushing waters cascading down the mountains after the spring melt. Chills were definitely a part of the experience.

Alaskan glaciers and the tall one

The next year we were sailing in Alaska, where we were so close we could hear the boom at the calving when huge pieces of the Dawes Glacier broke off and fell into the water. That was awe-inspiring.

Dawes Glacier in Alaska, calving as pieces of ice break off into the water

Later on that same trip, we spent two days viewing what the natives called “the big one” — Mount Denali. Nine different Native groups have used unique oral place names for the mountain, words that translate as “the tall one” and “mountain-big.” In 1794 George Vancouver referred to the “stupendous snow mountains” while Russian explorers had several names for the peak, including “great mountain” and “Big One.” Its name is Denali. And no, William McKinley had nothing to do with this special place.

Mount Denali, Alaska

Traveling to the top of Europe

On June 1st we began our Great Journey Through Europe tour in the Swiss Alpine village of Engelberg, where nature’s grandeur was already in evidence when we arrived.

The next morning we traveled to the gorgeous alpine valley of Lauterbrunnen for our transfer up to the mountain heights.

Lauterbrunnen Valley
Waterfalls in the Lauterbrunnen Valley
Village of Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland

Next we took a cogwheel train ride up to Kleine Scheidegg, a mountain pass known for its stunning, unparalleled views of the Eiger, Jungrau, and Monch peaks, which make up the UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Swiss Alps Jungfrau-Aletsch UNESCO World Heritage Site (credit: UNESCO)
Cogwheel train
View of the Alps
View from the cogwheel train

When we reached the pass we had views of the Alps that literally took your breath away. The rain stayed away until we began our descent in a cable car to the village of Grindelwald.

There is an observatory that is known as “The Top of Europe.” It was visible to us from the pass, even on a cloudy day.

Observatory at the Top of Europe (Credit: UNESCO)
Cable car descent to Grindelwald

We returned to our rooms in Engelberg exhilarated by all we’d experienced. Engelberg means “Mountain of Angels” and it reflects the history of an early 12th century Benedictine monastery, which remains active today.

One final bit of inspiration from our trip to the Alps came as Candice and I slipped in on our last evening in town to hear the monks sing Vespers at this beautiful Abbey. The monks in the video below were a bit more musical (to be polite) than those at the Engelberg Abbey, but it nonetheless made for a moving experience.

But not all beauty has to be of the snow-capped mountain peak variety. On our first day home we drove to a favorite place for dinner and saw a neighbor’s yard filled with glorious day lilies. Yet another connection with beauty, the ordinary, the extraordinary, and awe.

Living a life open to awe helps us understand that we are part of systems larger than ourselves. It is about “knowing, sensing, seeing, and understanding fundamental truths.” It is a recognition that there is much we cannot know in this life. It is an embrace of mystery, and the fascinating journey we share with others in this time and in this place.

Embrace the awe. The awe that inspires.

More to come . . .

DJB

All photos by DJB unless otherwise credited.

From the bookshelf: May 2025

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I have a monthly intention to read a minimum of five books on a variety of topics from different genres. Here are the books I read in May 2025. If you click on the title, you’ll go to the longer post on MORE TO COME. Enjoy.

James: A Novel (2024) by Percival Everett is a brilliant reimagining of Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn told from the perspective of Huck’s enslaved sidekick Jim. The first part of the book follows Twain’s general outline, but when Huck and Jim are separated Everett takes James down different paths. A masterful writer, Everett works through tales and scenes that move between gripping terror and laugh-out-loud humor, all while putting forth observations from his protagonist that cut to the bone. James is depicted with intelligence, compassion, and agency in a way seldom seen in American literature about slavery. James was just awarded the 2025 Pulitzer Prize for fiction. Everett has said, “I hope that I have written the novel that Twain did not and also could not have written. I do not view the work as a corrective, but rather I see myself in conversation with Twain.” Do yourself a favor. Read this book.

A Better Man (2019) by Louise Penny is the fifteenth work in the Canadian author’s long-running Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series. The former superintendent of the entire Sûreté du Québec, Gamache has returned after a controversial suspension and demotion and immediately faces devastating spring floods, relentless social media attacks, and a law enforcement force that appears split on the question of whether he should have even been allowed to return. Gamache is now sharing the position as head of the homicide department with his former second-in-command—and his son-in-law—Jean-Guy Beauvoir who is preparing to leave the force and move with his family to Paris. As if these challenges aren’t enough, Gamache is approached by a desperate father seeking help in finding his missing daughter. In the fast paced and multi-layered story, the Chief Inspector and many others are struggling to find their footing.

Window Shopping with Helen Keller: Architecture and Disability in Modern Culture (2025) by David Serlin is an academic work that seeks to reassess modern architecture and urban culture when it comes to addressing the needs of people with disabilities. Serlin’s work draws upon fields as diverse as architectural history, disability studies, media archaeology, sensory studies, urban anthropology, and feminist science studies and as such can too often take the reader on a dense and winding path. Nonetheless, there is plenty here to capture the reader interested in the topic, either from the perspective of well-known historical figures such as Joseph Merrick (aka the “Elephant Man”) in London and Helen Keller in New York and Paris, or for those who want to study institutions and buildings that had outsized influence in this space. Serlin has us consider “a series of influential moments when architects and designers engaged the embodied experiences of people with disabilities.”

We Are Free to Change the World: Hannah Arendt’s Lessons in Love and Disobedience (2024) by Lyndsey Stonebridge is the book we need for these times. A compelling biography but also a primer for how to think if we want to be free. Arendt was not perfect and not always the easiest person to understand but she thought and cared deeply about humanity. Thanks to Stonebridge’s very accessible and thoughtful writing, readers are brought into Arendt’s world to see why she came to think the way she did. In doing so, Stonebridge takes us from fascist Germany to twenty-first century America. Arendt’s life and work is in a dialogue with today’s turbulent times in this masterful biography.

Stoner (1965 and reprinted in several editions) by John Williams has been described as a novel in which nothing happens and everything happens. William Stoner is raised on a hardscrabble farm and that life seems his destiny. Then his father suggests he go to the University of Missouri to study agriculture. Surprisingly, he finds he has to take a class on English literature and in the experience embraces a scholar’s life. A mentor points out the obvious to him: that he will be a teacher because he has “fallen in love. It’s as simple as that.” And yet as the years pass in this career he loves, Stoner encounters a succession of disappointments: from an unfulfilling marriage to academic infighting, from the loss of the affection of his daughter to new love that threatens to embroil him in scandal. His last few years are spent embracing the silence and solitude of his forebearers. There is a universality to William Stoner that can be both comforting and very sad at the same time. Stoner has been described as “the greatest American novel you’ve never read.” It is certainly worth your time.

What’s on the nightstand for June (subject to change at the whims of the reader)

Keep reading!

More to come…

DJB

NOTE: Click to see the books I read in April of 2025 and to see the books I read in 2024. Also check out Ten tips for reading five books a month.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

The many forms of love

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The ultimate success of some books cannot be explained. There are many overnight sensations that are forgotten by the following year. Rarely, however, do we find a book that was written more than 50 years earlier that has gone out of print and then inexplicitly becomes an international bestseller. Especially when the book is about the academic life and one man’s journey from the farmland to the academy.

Stoner (1965 and reprinted in several editions) by John Williams has been described as a novel in which nothing happens and everything happens. William Stoner is raised on a hardscrabble farm and that life seems his destiny. Then his father suggests he go to the University of Missouri to study agriculture. Surprisingly, he finds he has to take a class on English literature and in the experience embraces a scholar’s life. A mentor points out the obvious to him: that he will be a teacher because he has “fallen in love. It’s as simple as that.” And yet as the years pass in this career he loves, Stoner encounters a succession of disappointments: from an unfulfilling marriage to academic infighting, from the loss of the affection of his daughter to new love that threatens to embroil him in scandal. His last few years are spent embracing the silence and solitude of his forebearers.

Through it all Williams writes with a clarity and style that is a joy to read. One page leads to the next and then the next and suddenly this book about a midwestern academic of the mid-20th century has captured your mind and soul. By the final pages Stoner may never leave you.

Williams has a religious reverence for education and literature, and it shows in the care in which he constructs this tale of the academic’s life. Some have called this a quiet novel, and that’s an apt description. Even in the well-written passages when Stoner falls in love with a fellow professor, the passion and chemistry are crafted with care and love.

There is a universality to William Stoner that can be both comforting and very sad at the same time. The person who recommended it to me (the owner of my barber shop, no less) said he was sobbing at the end of the book. I had a similar, though not quite so dramatic, reaction. I didn’t weep, but I did connect.

Stoner has been described as “the greatest American novel you’ve never read.” It is certainly worth your time.

More to come . . .

DJB

Photo credit: University of Missouri

Architecture, disability, and modern culture

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Before wheelchair ramps, curb cuts, and other such accommodations became standard practice, how did people with disabilities interact with the built environment? Rather than being precluded from participating in modern culture, a new book makes the case that the subjective experiences of people with disabilities were at the generative center of modern architecture.

Window Shopping with Helen Keller: Architecture and Disability in Modern Culture (2025) by David Serlin is an academic work from the University of Chicago Press that seeks to reassess modern architecture and urban culture when it comes to addressing the needs of people with disabilities. Serlin’s work draws upon fields as diverse as architectural history, disability studies, media archaeology, sensory studies, urban anthropology, and feminist science studies and as such can too often take the reader on a dense and winding path. Nonetheless, there is plenty here to capture the reader interested in the topic, either from the perspective of well-known historical figures such as Joseph Merrick (aka the “Elephant Man”) in London and Helen Keller in New York and Paris, or for those who want to study institutions and buildings that had outsized influence, such as the WPA and Stanley Tigerman’s Illinois Regional Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped. Serlin has us consider “a series of influential moments when architects and designers engaged the embodied experiences of people with disabilities.”

In a lengthy introduction followed by four chapters, Serlin argues that there is empirical and representational evidence of “an adjacent universe” in which architects and designers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries “took a keen interest in the embodied experiences of people with disabilities.” Merrick and Keller’s experiences make up the first two chapters. In the third case study Serlin suggests that the New Deal’s Works Progress Administration provided little-known but important services for people with disabilities, both as an employer and as producer of services. The WPA’s capacity to “think about disability as a potentially generative economic, social, and educational opportunity was the last gasp” of a democratic pluralism that evaporated by the beginning of the Cold War.

Publishers Weekly explains more about Serlin’s interest in the WPA.

“As the New Deal institution responsible for so much of the modern built environment, other scholars have pegged the WPA as deeply under the sway of eugenics, incorporating little accommodation for the elderly, infirm, or disabled, but Serlin surfaces evidence that in fact it contained fairly advanced thinking on disability (he especially focuses on architectural and design projects meant to accommodate children suffering from polio-induced paralysis), and that it was Cold War–era design that actually swept away disability-accommodating features.”

In the book’s final chapter Serlin is considering Tigerman’s design of the Illinois Regional Library for the Blind and Physically Handicapped. He suggests that the architect thought about the disabled as a user—not what their disabilities prevented them from doing but what they made possible.

A point from his introduction is instructive.

“If one measures successful architecture only by the intentions of the designer and not by the experiences of the user, then one is willfully and brazenly ignoring what a user’s perspective can lend not only to the utility of the design but also to its meaning.”

I strongly agree.

Serlin’s book can be difficult to digest, theory heavy, and not for the casual reader. But it is an intriguing work and there is much of value to consider here.

More to come . . .

DJB

Image of Sargent Claude Johnson WPA-commissioned proscenium (1937) for the California School for the Blind in Berkeley (credit: Huntington Museum)

Protecting space for the ancient questions

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In a recent post entitled The Marker Tree, priest and writer Barbara Brown Taylor talks about places where one feels the sense “of being guided by a presence that does not speak my language but knows something I need to know.” In her telling, she is in a forest asking if this is where she belongs.

There are so many ways we hear from the divine that are not from scripture, a preacher, or a piece of sacred music. Ways that we’ve forgotten in our buttoned-down, always-in-a-hurry, modern world.

Talk like that makes some religious people uncomfortable, I know, though I don’t always know why. Biblically speaking, God is a ventriloquist, able to communicate through promising rainbows, burning bushes, bright stars, fiery serpents, pillars of cloud, ravens with bread in their beaks, thunderclaps, and even a stubborn donkey with a gift for seeing angels. Where is the fine print that says the possibilities stop there? Or to put it another way, who is the person who will tell God to stop?”

Quaker author Parker J. Palmer writes of something similar in his recent post A Wilderness Pilgrimage. He begins by noting that “we must protect space for ancient questions about what it means to be human, to live and to die.”

Sunset on Pose Lake, Minnesota, in the Boundary Waters Canoe Wilderness Area (via Wikimedia)

“When madness crowds out those questions,” Palmer continues, “we lose touch with our souls and our shared humanity, sources of the power we need to overcome tyranny.”

Palmer is writing from the Boundary Waters Canoe Area of northern Minnesota, a million acres of federally protected wilderness along the Canadian border that is currently under threat by the regime controlling our federal government.

“Years ago, before I had seen this place, a friend tried to describe it to me. ‘Everywhere you look,’ he said, ‘there’s a perfect Japanese garden.’ And so there is: rocks, trees, water and sky in endless permutations of elegance.”

Palmer has been coming to this place for three decades for a pilgrimage “to holy ground, to a place of healing and renewal.”

And when he isn’t able to visit there during the rest of the year, he makes the pilgrimage in his imagination whenever things get tough. In his mind he can hike or canoe, hear “the unforgettable call of the loon,” watch “the cosmic drama of the Northern Lights,” or eavesdrop on “the ancient conversation between those two old friends, the lake and the land, as the cold, clear water laps gently against the shore.”

But what gives him the most comfort in this place is seeing the resilience and persistence of nature.

“It’s not tranquility alone that makes this wilderness a place of healing for me. It’s the patient, resourceful, resilient way nature heals itself, reminding me what it takes to heal my own wounds so I can show up in the world as a healer. Watching wilderness overcome devastation has helped me see how suffering can serve as a seedbed for renewal. Even more, it has offered reassurance that in the great cycle of life and death, new life always gets the last word.”

The ancient questions often revolve around “how shall we live?” As we get older they often turn to “how shall we die?” Like Palmer, I don’t have much interest in heaven as a gated community where only people from my tribe are admitted. There is much that we do not know about how we shall die, if we are honest with ourselves.

Writing in the introduction to the C.S. Lewis meditation A Grief Observed, author Madeleine L’Engle notes that while no one can say what happens to the dead, “The important thing is that we do not know. It is not in the realm of proof. It is in the realm of love.”

As difficult as it seems at times, this period of trouble in our lives will end. Tyrants always fail. In both of these pieces, spiritual writers show us how in times of personal and political distress, “nature gives us a model of persistence and the promise of new life.” The darkness of night leads to dawn and a new day, where new possibilities await. It will be a day different from the one just completed.

And we can begin anew.

More to come . . .

DJB

The wilderness known as the BWCA is under threat. If you’d like to help protect it, please visit Friends of the Boundary Waters.

Photo of rainbow by Cindy Lever from Pixabay.

Life is finite . . . love is not

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I just learned that a friend and former colleague passed away about a year ago after a difficult battle with pancreatic cancer. Nancy had moved away from Washington and although I had seen her at lunch once or twice over the past decade, I’d lost regular touch. A big redhead, Nancy was from Texas and could come across as larger than life. However, she was one of those individuals where you sit down after not seeing them for two or three years and the conversation just picks up mid-sentence where you last left off.

When Judy, another friend, passed along the news I was stunned.

Judy described Nancy best as “quite the over-bright star.” Anyone who spent any time with Nancy knew “she lived almost all her minutes fully and with great joy and emphatic honesty.”

Nancy and I first connected more than 20 years ago, as I was stepping aside from day-to-day fundraising and she was joining us to help build a professional, long-term development office. I learned so much from Nancy about how to gather support for the mission of nonprofit organizations. I also learned a lot about life. She left a legacy of grace and wisdom everywhere she went.

When I was interviewing Nancy, I noticed something on her resume. Soon after college she went to the U.K. and served as the personal assistant to Brian Epstein. Now anyone of a certain age would immediately recognize that name. I asked her about it and she said, “Yes, it was a long time ago but someone once told me to never take it off my resume!” That was great advice.

So I loved seeing the following in Nancy’s obituary:

“[S]he graduated from the University of Texas in 1967, where her love of the arts inspired seeking wide experiences.

This curiosity led Arata from Texas to England, working as a personal assistant to Beatles manager Brian Epstein. After two formative UK years, she headed west to San Francisco, serving as assistant company manager for the first ‘Hair’ touring production at the Orpheum Theatre. Roles followed at the American Conservatory Theater and San Francisco Opera, growing her arts career.”

I laughed out loud. That Beatles reference stayed in to the end!

Judy shared Nancy’s last message sent to friends and family just a few days before she passed. In it, Nancy talks about drawing from a great reservoir of gratitude for the wonderful life she’s been given. What a beautiful way to think about our time on earth, and it was so typically gracious of Nancy.

Then she ends by saying, “Please take good care of yourself and remember to love the people you love every day.  Life is finite … love is not.”

I think Nancy would appreciate my ending with a couple of Beatles references. As John Lennon sang, there are special people we all remember who touch our lives.

“And in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make.”

Rest in peace my friend.

More to come . . .

DJB

Photo of sunset by Artem Sapegin on Unsplash.

Observations from . . . May 2025

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A summary of the May posts from the MORE TO COME newsletter (sent a couple of days earlier than usual this month).

Earlier this week I returned to AFI Silver to watch a film on the big screen that I first saw days before the pandemic lockdown. As I wrote at the time, Portrait of a Lady on Fire is a gorgeous movie where perspective is all-important. A stirring romance coupled with a meditation on remembrance and regret, Portrait is a stunning work of art seen through a woman’s eyes.*

Detail of painting from “Portrait of a Lady on Fire” (credit: NEON)

During the month of May I’ve been thinking a great deal about perspective. As well as fragility.

And gaps.

In this era of moral cynicism I find myself questioning the perspective of many of the traditional narrators of our national story. Our news feeds reinforce the fragility of life and community. Throughout our busy days, as we rush from here to there, we should constantly remind ourselves that life is more than scenery.

In the post that ranked at the top of reader views this month, I also thought—probably more than is healthy—about the gaps in life. So let’s jump in to see what piqued my interest in the May MTC newsletter.

TOP READER FAVORITES

A gap in my front teeth—inherited from my father—had bothered me through the years. But a recent comment from a fellow traveler, my resolve to accept and even enjoy life’s imperfections, and a photo shoot led me to realize that the gap in my smile—rather than something to be ashamed of—was really about openness. Possibility. Room to savor. Gaps make life interesting was the top post in terms of reader views in May. Pair this with Bashing into joy and you just might decide that I’m throwing caution to the wind in my old age. I’m not there yet, but that’s the road I’m taking.

THE BOOKS I READ THIS MONTH

In May I highlighted four terrific books. It doesn’t happen every month, but I can honestly say I’d highly recommend them all.

  • As the winner of the 2025 Pulitzer Prize for fiction, the novel James by Percival Everett is the best known among the four. Reimagining perspective and agency is my review of Everett’s magnificent reimagining of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn from the perspective—there’s that word again—of Huck’s enslaved sidekick Jim. Do yourself a favor. Read this book.
  • A good friend and brilliant MTC reader loaned me her copy of A Better Man by Louise Penny, the fifteenth work in the Canadian author’s long-running Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series. She thought I’d enjoy it. I did, as you can discover in Be not afraid.

And I wrap up last month’s readings in From the bookshelf: April 2025.

MUSIC, A MOVIE, AND A BIT OF MISCELLANY

  • A conversation about the Oscar-winning film I’m Still Here led to thoughts on our own agency. Bringing our unique strengths to the task is a film review plus a bonus: music by Bruce Springsteen and Woody Guthrie.
  • We see things as we are explores another conversation, which led me to ponder how many of our memories are based on misunderstandings or misremembrances.
  • Travel can change us. In Traveling in order to be moved I share three instances of times where I was moved during our April visit along the Dutch waterways.

COMMENTS I LOVED

Two different comments this month jumped out and grabbed me. In response to Gaps make life interesting, brilliant reader Ellen wrote:

“I inherited my dad’s front teeth as well. My great-aunt once told me to tell my dad that I needed braces. I was about 10 years old at that time and I relayed her message to Dad at the dinner table that night. Dad looked at me and said ‘that space between your teeth gives you character!’ Thanks for your story!”

Brilliant reader Sarah was responding to We see things as we are when she wrote:

“This post gave me a lot to think about and helped me understand more of what you were saying at dinner the other night. It strikes me that contemplative prayer, sitting with the divine and simply being, allowing our thoughts to come and go, is a way of letting the manufactured self go to see things as they are. The former monk who gave that seminar recommended using a sacred word or phrase and sitting for a minimum of 21 minutes, because he said it takes 20 minutes to quiet our brains.”

CONCLUSION

Thanks, as always, for reading. Your friendship, support and feedback mean more than I can ever express.

As you travel life’s highways be open to love; thirst for wonder; undertake some mindful, transformative walking every day. Recognize the incredible privilege that most of us have and think about how to put that privilege to use for good. Women, people of color, LGBTQ+ individuals, immigrants, public servants, and others can feel especially vulnerable . . . because they are. Work hard for justice and democracy as the fight never ends.

When times get rough, let your memories wander back to some wonderful place with remembrances of family and friends. But don’t be too hard on yourself if a few of the facts slip. Just get the poetry right.

Remember that “we are here to keep watch, not to keep.” Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it. And bash into some joy along the way.

Life is finite . . . love is not. Try to be nice. Always be kind.

More to come . . .

DJB

*The last showings at AFI are, alas, today and Thursday, May 28th and 29th.

For the April 2025 summary, click here.

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Photo of bees at work at Giverny by Claire Holsey Brown