The Reformation of Lady Elinor Review

Review for REFORMATION OF LADY ELINOR by Darryl Harris

REFORMATION OF LADY ELINOR is about a young widow who is very devout Catholic during a time when the climate of religious belief was changing. Elinor is set to spy on Garrett Bloxham, a handsome man suspected of smuggling English language Bibles into England, a burning offense. She finds, however, that not only is Garrett definitely smuggling books and tracts, but why.

Elinor takes a pilgrimage to Rome in order to pay for some imagined sins in her early life she has been told by her priest has caused her daughter to be blind. She feels that the pilgrimage will earn healing for her daughter, and possibly buy her own way out of Purgatory.

On the journey she takes with Garrett Bloxham and his servant, she finds that things are rotten in Rome. Instead of finding the meeting with the Pope and his servants blissful and fulfilling, Elinor finds that he is definitely a man with feet of clay. She flees to the safety of Garrett’s arms, in spite of turning him away because he continued to throw a damper on her fantastic journey.

What Elinor learns is nothing if not earth-shattering. All her life she has been a staunch defender of the Catholic church. She begins to learn, under Garrett’s tender care, that God wanted His children to be able to read their own scriptures and make their own way back to Him.

Throughout the story in which she meets Tyndale and Luther, there is an element of menace in the form of Oswyn Pygott, a commissioner for the King, self-appointed punisher of smugglers and other heretics, and “admirer” of Elinor. I say admirer, but he actually only demands she marry him to get her money and name. Oswyn is determined to catch Bloxham at his smuggling and torture him to death.

I enjoyed this book about the Reformation. The research Mr. Harris did was exhaustive and complete. He puts you right there during the stew that was England at the time of Henry VIII. What a dangerous time in which to live! This book makes me glad that we live in a country in which there must be due process of law and separation of Church and State.

While I am a religious person, I would not want to have my every move dictated to me. I like to form my own conclusions and manage my own beliefs and morals. It is clear to me why my ancestors fled Britain for the Colonies.

There is one spot in which Princess Mary is mistakenly attributed to Ann Boleyn, when she was actually Kathryn of Aragon’s only child. I found no other slips of this nature.

My one other warning is that Mr. Harris pulls no punches. Catholics may find this book obnoxious and heavyhanded. I find it to be a mirror of the times in which the book is set. Harris lays out every tenet by which reformers like Martin Luther lived and taught. He makes it clear why those men would risk their lives as later Protestants would as well. I found this work well-researched, an interesting story, and fast-paced. Harris puts you right into the action, showing what it would be like to attend the King’s Christmas tourney, as well as what it was like to go on pilgrimage. You walk the streets of Rome alongside Elinor and Garrett.

I give this work six out of seven pilgrim staffs and look forward to reading more of Darryl Harris’ works.

You can get it here.

National Poetry Month--Day 30--Questad Poem plus spare

On this last day of April and the last day of the poetry challenge, I'm doing a Questad poem. And yes, I was just as confused as you are about it. I thought it had something to do with a quest...which it doesn't. Learn about them here.

It's been a pleasure writing poetry and stretching myself to do something creative. (Actually I'm probably going to go add bits of broken mirror to my broken glass chandelier so that ticks another creative box.) I hope you've enjoyed my often freakish sense of humor. Thanks for reading these and leaving the occasional comment. They make me feel like someone actually comes here and this isn't all a colossal wasteland where words go to die alone and unwanted.
I give you Windchimes:

WINDCHIMES

by H. Linn Murphy

Chimes dance as the world's breath blows them

Singing lovelier notes than a hundred doves (not hard if you've ever heard doves, by the way, but it sounds good on paper)

Making magical, mystical morning music 

Ting. Ting. Tinginging away

A message from the wind

Like a rippling stream

Filling my life with traceries of lacy love from the One who set it all in motion.

You are loved, they say.

And while I'm on the subject of doves....

Doves

The world loves doves, 

Mascot of peace

Chosen to lift wedding wishes

To the heavens

In a cloud of feathers rising.

Not me.

Because

In reality doves are

Idiot birds, denser

Than a bag of wet toilet paper

They lay nests 

In ridiculous places

(The ladder, a hanging planter, 

Palm trees, cupboards you use all the time, etc)

So their children fall

Paralyzed to the ground.

They freak out if you go near

Their nest, which they

Build next to your

Front door or on top of your car

And if you move that object

On which they park their butt

They abandon 

That nest and their eggs,

Choosing instead to sit somewhere close

And Who Who Who WHO WHO at you.

Plus they sing one monotonous note.

Just one.

Who. Who. Who. Who. Who. Who.

Over.

And over.

And over again

Sending me to beg

For fingernails on a chalkboard

To rid my ears of incessancy.

All of this is true. 

So why do I try to rescue 

Those poor ugly babies?

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month--Day 29--Haiku and a Wish Poem

In honor of Sunday and the reason for it.

I'm writing this Saturday night, so I have no idea what Stephanie is ordering for the poem today. I'm doing a haiku:

Christ reaches his hand

To lift his sibs from trouble

Catch on tight, brother.

Diamond studded moon

Sails on an ocean of stars

Lantern of my God

Weed whacker growling

Biting the plants we don't like

Good thing it can't get............

(One of these things is not like the others. I wrote this
while listening to my husband whack weeds. Weeds 
are Gods creations too, right?)

Here's the spot where you can find out about Wish Poems. And here's my Wish Poem for today:

I wish I could hear your voice louder than I can't hear his.
I wish the way we're together but in two different universes could change.
I wish he cared enough to break back into my universe and rescue me from the glass tower I'm stuck in.
I wish he looked at me the way I thought he used to
I wish the voices of people saying things will work out in the end would be louder and more insistent and truth-filled than the ones saying personalities won't change.
I wish I felt Your love more deeply--down into the core of my soul
I wish I felt like there was one person on this earth who needs me to be me, and who cares.
If wishing were chocolates, I'd be a hippopotamus.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month--Day 28--Superhero Poem

It seems like we're celebrating superheros today, since yesterday a big superhero movie came out. And while I like superheros and think the movies are entertaining, I think they're mostly rather two dimensional. You never really see them doing anything but fighting (except maybe the Incredibles).

So my poem today is an ode to the sidekicks and the clean-up crew we never hear jack about. They can be every bit as much superheros as Superman and Thor are (sort of). If you want more information about superhero or courage poems, go here. Otherwise read on.

THE JANITOR

We think of superheros like Superman and Flash 

And Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and Thor

But somehow no one asks just who will pick up trash

When these fighting heroes generate some more

They blast the guy with freeze rays, some giant rocks, or cars

Without a thought to what is getting wrecked

Who cares about those runners getting squished and seeing stars

While the buildings all around them blow to heck.

I'm for the mighty Janitor--comes in when fighting's done.

He sweeps up all the broken glass and bricks.

He picks up all the little kids and makes sure that they run

Instead of concentrating on hot chicks.

He's the one who cleans the roads and picks the buildings up

He turns the cars and buses back upright

He reunites the mommys with their weeping little pups

I'm sure that watching him would be a sight.

Of course we're always grateful that we don't have to endure

The terrible debacles of Thor's Loki

Or any of the thousands of other villains to be sure

But I'm thankful for the Janitor, okey dokey.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

National Poetry Month--Day 27--Terse Verse

Today we're doing Terse Verse. If you want to see what that is, go here. I'll get down to it, shall I?

What do you call vitamins?
Ills Pills

What do you call liquor that causes problems?
Randy Brandy

What do you call it when you hope for a genii to do your chores?
Dish Wish

What do you call a boyfriend who showers you with gifts?
Candy Dandy

What do you call people who drink bovine excretions?
Milk Ilk

What do you call frozen bovine refreshment?
Scream Cream

What do you call goop that fixes what you wear on your feet?
Shoe Goo

What do you call a conveyance that takes your livestock across the river?
Goat Boat

What do you call your alarm?
Sleep Beep

What do you call the place where they draw the line around you?
Chalk Walk

What do you call it when your lunch comes out of the microwave?
Done Bun

And now my offering is just that. Done...:o)

National Poetry Month--Day 26--Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day

So today is Poem-in-Your-Pocket Day, which I didn't know until just now. I could totally have shared my poem at the dentist if I'd known. Ah well. We get to see the dental surgeon today too, so there's that. If you want to know what this is, go here. Otherwise, I'm writing something today but I'll probably show yesterday's poem since I really love how it came out. Anywho, here's today's children's poem:

Nosy

Ever had something get stuck in your nose 

And you can't seem to get the thing out?

It could be a bean or a button or block

And all you can do is shout.

It's hiding way up there where nothing'll reach

Not a crochet hook, toothbrush or pen

When you tell your sweet mom about the obstruction

She freaks out and goes round the bend

She doesn't want screaming or stomping around

And she won't let you use your finger

It's a pretty sure bet that she'll haul you away 

To the doctor and that's a real zinger.

He'll try not to snicker with the nurses in back

He'll endeavor to get the thing out

And if you complain about no lollipop

You can bet you'll have reason to pout.

And your mom is irate at the time that you've shot

But she adores her fabulous kid

It's a much better plan that instead of all this

Don't stick it up there like you did.

© 2018 by H. Linn Murphy

Fields of Glory Review

If you like your Land Girls with a bit of a mystery, this is the book for you. Recently Anna J. Buttimore wrote a book called Fields of Glory, about a pair of British farm girls (sisters, actually) three years into WWII.

Eleanor, sixteen, works like a Land Girl, even though her family owns the farm they labor on. A boy comes to the door one day, begging to be hired as a farmer. Luckily her father employs Jim, an evacuee from London, who is full of evasion, but a hard worker and loyal to his family. Eleanor works at the mysteries surrounding Jim, until she learns the truth about his poor family. It doesn't stop her from making him a friend.

Pat, her older sister, has formed an attachment with Chas, a black American soldier. He charms her and is kind and interesting, but soon ships off to the war, leaving Pat wondering just where she stands.

Someone else wonders that very thing. Alex, the rich boy who has known her all her life but only been friendly perks up and finally takes notice. Just as things are stirring up, a whole wing of Alex's mansion blows up. When the girls return home, they find that their mother has been taken into custody because it becomes known that she has been colluding with a German.

The girls must learn who the real German spy is, and who blew up Thundersley Hall so they can free their mother.

Anna painted us a wonderful picture, putting us right into the story. I felt the ache in my back as Anna showed me what it felt like to have to produce the food people were queuing for, since the men were off in the war. I felt the brush of a dress like Patricia's threadbare frock against my legs where I'd, like her, drawn a brown line down the back of each leg to make them look like stockings.

Was that an inquisitive neighbor, or someone hiding a German spy? Did the old man who shopkeepers wouldn't sell to really blow up a British think tank, or was he merely a lonely old man who kept a lush garden?

And I felt the anguish they must have felt at having an empty bedroom full of a brother's no longer needed things. I felt their fear as they wondered why someone is bombing the manor next door. Why was their mother carted off, possibly never to return? How can they prove her innocence? How can they get all that work done? And who should Pat walk out with, the rich boy next door who has never been more than a friend, or the black American soldier who might never return from war? It was a time when you either kept your family close or risked never seeing them again.

I enjoyed this mystery. Eleanor and Pat felt like sisters to me. This book featured:
Zero sex or bad language.
Nada for guts and blood.
No visible corpses.
A pinch of stolen kiss.
A teaspoon of substance abuse at a bar.
A gallon of going on instinct.
A shovelful of rallying home spirit.
Bombs, spies, and Germans, oh my!

My take? I give this book seven out of eight shovels.
You can get this book here or here. I highly recommend it.