Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.

Some thoughts…

On the Poet: William Ernest Henley (1849 – 1903) was a Victorian poet and literary figure. His childhood and much of his adult years were dogged by his struggles with tuberculosis and associated complications. Notwithstanding his poor health, his larger than life personality served as inspiration for his friend, R.L. Stevenson, who modeled the character of Long John Silver (‘Treasure Island’) on Henley. Today, Henley is best remembered for ‘Invictus’.

W.E. Henley was said to be an atheist, or at least, a sceptic. Perhaps a few readers might have guessed as much from reading between the lines. It shouldn't matter, but some have objected to what they perceive as the vainglorious solipsism of this poem. Perhaps ‘whatever gods may be’ wouldn’t hold that against him; rather, applaud his valiant heart. Faith in oneself is better than none at all; and just maybe, a stepping stone to something even surer.

On this Poem: This poem was written by Henley in 1875, as he was recovering from one surgical procedure, and dreading the next that was scheduled to follow. Though originally untitled, it was later published as ‘Invictus’ – meaning ‘unconquered’ in Latin.

On a personal note: So, Readers, how was 2014 for you?

Personally, I have nothing to complain of. However, for the cup of happiness to be full to the brim, we require those we care about to be equally unscathed. We would demand of the universe that our loved ones be shielded from untoward reversals of fortune, from the waxing and waning of inconstant relationships, from illness, from hurt – from all the things that remind us of the fragility of the human condition.

 ‘Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional’ – I like the sound of that, but it seems too simplistic. When uncertainty lurks at every corner and everything that we hold dear can vanish in the wink of an eye, how do we remain the masters of our fate and captains of our soul? Yet, when we look around, the world is richly blessed with individuals who offer living proof of that quote.  They are not just undaunted; they are happy, even joyful.

When everything we hold dear vanishes in the wink of an eye…still, much will remain, for the world is full of goodness – more than can be experienced or appreciated in one lifetime.

So, to all my Readers, may the New Year bring you and yours hope, good health, good fortune, love in your heart, and peace in your home.

This year, I add an extra prayer for those very dear to me – grant us strength, grant us endurance.  And when all other resources fail, may we yet retain the fearless faith that makes our soul the unconquerable wonder that it is; and trust ourselves into the safekeeping of the infinite love and compassion that sustains this universe. 

All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr

Rating: 4 Stars

It seems like the latest crop of fiction isn't discussed much on BTL in general and not at all this year. Chalk that down to wariness when it comes to trying anything new. When browsing through lists of ‘Best Books of 2014’, one title was ubiquitous – Anthony Doerr’s ‘All the Light We Cannot See’. Surely so many critics couldn't be wrong; turns out they weren’t. At the risk of recklessly slinging hyperbole – this book is a masterpiece.

With a plot spanning more than seventy years, the main action takes place around the epochal years of the Second World War. Though the narrative glides through many European scenes, the story is firmly anchored in the historic port city of St. Malo on the northwestern coast of France. Doerr’s description of St. Malo is cinematic in its detail. From its colorful past to its near annihilation during the liberation of France, the author vividly recreates a city that lingers in the imagination long after the last page has been turned.

Just as haunting are the characters that people the book: Marie-Laure LeBlanc, blind from early childhood; her devoted father – a skilled artisan and the principal locksmith at the National Museum of Natural History in Paris; her great-uncle Etienne a traumatized veteran of the First World War. Equally compelling are the German cast of characters – Werner Pfennig a young technical wizard forced to play a role that’s far distant from his childhood aspirations; his friend Frederick, gentle and honorable in a world that has no use for such qualities; his younger sister Jutta, who sees more than her years. All are pawns in the looming calamity that will engulf them.

Without the bizarreness of ‘magical realism’ – the plot of this historical novel is both magical and intensely real. A fabled and fatal gem that men lust to possess; treasures that must be safeguarded from the maw of war; innocence lost; strength discovered; heroism in unexpected places; and Time’s healing; the stuff of clichés…and classics.

It’s easy to rhapsodize over this novel; but it’s not easy reading though. The pace of the book is inexorably slow and a nihilistic sense of pessimism overhangs it.

“It strikes Werner just then as wondrously futile to build splendid buildings, to make music, to sing songs, to print huge books full of colorful birds in the face of the seismic, engulfing indifference of the world – what pretensions humans have! Why bother to make music when the silence and wind are so much larger? Why light lamps when the darkness will inevitably snuff them?”

Yet consider this:

“What do we call visible light? We call it color. But the electromagnetic spectrum runs to zero in one direction and infinity in the other, so really, children, mathematically, all of light is invisible.”

If the book is slow, it’s the slowness of crescendo; and novels that discuss war, and omit despair and futility skirt the truth. This book is ultimately not about the pointlessness of human endeavor, but the resilience of the human spirit that seeks out invisible light.