Little House on the Prairie (Laura Ingalls Wilder)

Little House on the Prairie, book three in a series, is Laura Ingalls Wilder's account of her family's life on a prairie south of Independence, Kansas, where they lived for two years before moving [back] to Wisconsin. The book starts leaving their former residence and heading west on a covered wagon with Ma and Pa, big sister Mary, little sister Carrie, their dog Jack, and two horses. Once they ford a dangerous creek and arrive on the plains, they settle on open land (in Indian territory) and build a home and stable, eeking out a difficult (if content and joyous) existence full of close calls and adventure until they had to relocate due to government decisions on where Indians and settlers could[n't] stay. The book ends where it started, with them taking what they can in their covered wagon and heading out. 

I didn't realize this was book three in the series. And that it took place well before the family's Walnut Grove years portrayed in the television series of the same name. Nevertheless, I enjoyed this read. I was struck by 1) how little they had, 2) how content they were, 3) how hard they worked, 4) how industrious they were, 5) how simple life was, and 6) how resilient they remained in their transient existence. Pouring two years of hard work into a homestead, only to pack up and move and start all over with nothing to show for it, must have been hard. But per Pa, "we're taking more out of Indian Territory than we took in," meaning that their experiences together [and, presumably, the grace they experienced] more than accounted for the material loss. A good lesson for us all.

I'll add: there is a 'weird' mix of self-reliance and need for neighbors on display here. On the one hand, the family had incredible skill in many things, and could get by quite well off the land and their skills. On the other hand, they relied on neighbors (miles distant) for everything from news to a helping hand to supplies to protection. We need each other, but it seems to me that the pioneering way of life was an experiment in how to be as independent as possible. Similarly, their understanding of the Gospel (from what little I could glean in the story) was a mixture of helping others wherever possible, and needing occasional help, too, but also trying to be as self-reliant as possible and not wanting to owe anyone anything. Overall, it was an educational and enjoyable look into life on the plains for settlers in the midwest only 150 years ago. How we have changed since.

Rating: A

The Laudable Logo

I admire logos and enjoy studying them; sometimes, I am even drawn to (or away from) an entity based on them. In hockey, I like the Calgary Flames (see logo above), for example, in part because Macgyver mentioned them on his television show during my formative years. But the mere mention was insufficient; I was drawn to the team by Macgyver's hat, with sported their logo (see below). I've been hooked every since.

Why do logos matter? Why is their role so important? Whether in sports, businesses, universities, or other spheres, a good logo can have a powerful impact. Google's AI summarizes, mentioning how logos are:

. . . visual symbols [that] build brand identity, create emotional connections with fans through the mere exposure effect, and convey a team's values and history.

The AI answer focused on sports, but the attributes are broadly applicable to any entity where branding and recognition matters.

Logos are symbols, and a picture is worth a thousand words. It is impressive how much a simple logo—even a minimalist one—can convey. In fact, sometimes the best logos, and even the most informative, are not overly complex designs meant to convey every facet of an entity in a symbol, but rather a simple design that communicates a few key truths. Let's look at a recent one, sticking with hockey: the Utah Mammoth.

In 2024, the Phoenix Coyotes (who were previously the Winnipeg Jets) moved from Arizona to Utah. Their first year, they were known simply as the Utah Hockey Club, but they donned a new brand for this year and became the Utah Mammoth. Their logo impressed me. It is, appropriately, a mammoth, but note two other pieces of information conveyed:

- the crown of the head is a mountain range

- the tusk is oriented to be a 'U'

So in a simple logo, it communicates at least three things: they are the mammoth, they play in Utah, and they are near mountains. Pretty cool.

I could give a lot of other examples, from Hillary Clinton's 2016 campaign logo (widely ridiculed) to some of the most iconic company symbols (widely praised), but I'll stick with this one today. When you see a logo in any sphere, take a moment to study and enjoy its design. What is good about it? Bad? Why does[n't] it grab you? And why does it matter?

All-Star Superman, Volume 1

Superman saves an expedition to the sun, but mortally injures himself in so doing. Slowly dying, he sets his affairs in order with Lois and others in the first volume of the All-Star Superman storyline.

This series is widely lauded as one of the top story arcs about the Man of Steel. This first volume underwhelmed, though. It collects six individual issues, some of which appear unrelated to the overall arc of Supes dying. It is hailed as a fresh (but classic) look at Superman, both in story and art, and I see elements of that, but not in a captivating way. Maybe it ties together better if I would read more volumes . . . I'm not sure I will. 

Rating: C+

The Flash

Barry Allen is fast. Really fast. Harnessing his 'speed force' as part of the Justice League, he uses his powers to help humanity. When he discovers he can walk through time, he journeys to the past to save his parents from tragedy (and, later, to correct mistakes). But doing so has a ripple effect and changes many other things—and starts to mess with the fabric of time itself. The Flash must choose: can he accept failure and tragedy? Or is it worth destroying the universe to right the wrongs of the past? 

This film got mixed (but mostly negative) reviews, which is one reason I wasn't in a rush to see it (it came out two years ago). That said, I enjoyed it more than I expected. It focused on an important theme: the reality of failure and tragedy—the wrongs we do and the wrongs done to us—and their role in shaping our lives. When Flash realizes he might be able to stop his mother's murder, he doesn't realize how that event was necessary. Batman enlightens him: "Those scars we have make us who we are. We're not meant to go back and fix them." And elsewhere, as Flash struggles with how to fix things, he is reminded that "Not every problem has a solution. Sometimes we just have to let go." While the movie doesn't get all the right answers, I think it is important to think on this. We all have regret for our past actions and pain we wish didn't exist, but if God is sovereign and good, even the sins and horrors of humanity can end up playing a positive role. And our desire to go back and change things is ultimately humanity trying to be God, which is what made us fall in the first place. 

Theme aside, the movie had mixed elements. It plays on the rich history of DC movies, combinng them with time travel weirdness, to feature cool cameos (so being familiar with older films will aid your enjoyment). The humor was decent in places. The CG was weirdly (but I understand deliberately/artistically) bad at times. The film invested too much in action/spectacle and too little in character/message. There is some foul language. And in the end, it's clear Barry didn't fully learn the lesson. But overall, it wasn't terrible.

Rating: B-

You are Not Your Own (Alan Noble)

Modern society claims that "I am my own and belong to myself." We imagine freedom as "the absence of constraints." This false anthropology imposes a terrible burden on us: if this is true, it puts on us "the responsibility to justify our existence, to create an identity, to discover meaning, to choose values, and to belong." Author Alan Noble refers to these as the "Responsibilities of Self-Belonging." 

Noble argues that our culture's embrace of this self-belonging concept has ultimately led us to where we are today: we spend our lives seeking affirmation ('like and follow!') and meaning (so long as it's optional), putting efficiency as the ultimate good (no rest for us! always more to do), and pursuing (but never achieving) a satisfied or content life (focusing instead on medicating ourselves through meaningless "sad-making" distractions or other coping mechanisms).  In short, such a society "will develop into a hypercompetitive society, one in which we all must fight for survival, validation, meaning, attention, and affirmation." It promises (but never delivers) "a full and satisfying life." We respond by affirming (if we're one of the 'winners') or resignation (if the 'losers'). In either, we are overcome by fatigue and/or inadequacy. "Thank God we are not our own."

The question is not "who am I?" but "whose am I?" If we belong to God, our life looks very different indeed. "If we belong to God, then knowing and abiding by His limits enables us to live as we were created to live, as the humans He designed us to be." And we'll find that "our longings are met in union with Christ when we accept our belonging to Him." 

In Christ, we see that "your existence is good and right and significant because a loving God intentionally created you and continues to give you your every breath. Your life is significant whether you choose to see it that way or not . . . " and you will realize "that your life is not a quest for significance or self-actualization, but an act of joyful participation in God's grace." We will have God's standard and guidelines for how to live. We will see our sinfulness—how far we fall short of God's standard. And if we belong to Christ through believing in him (and his sacrifice on the cross, in our place), "God looks at our face and sees the beauty and righteousness of His Son. And the judge of all assures us that we are loved, accepted, and adored." We will be free to serve God and neighbor not to belong, but because we belong. And our "obligation is to honor God with our lives." He calls us to faithfulness, not success. To love our neighbor and seek the good of the city in which we live, but not to be personally responsible for saving it (as only God can). And to rest, trusting in his sovereignty and goodness. And there is true freedom and comfort indeed. As the Heidelberg Catechism states, 

• Q. What is your only comfort in life and death? 
• A. That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ.

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Great book! Repetitive and wandering at times, but well worth the read.

Rating: A

Thrawn (Timothy Zahn)

Mitth'raw'nuruodo of the Chiss Ascendancy has been abandoned on an alien world. Rescued by Imperials, and having once known Anakin Skywalker, he is brough before Emperor Palpatine and given a chance to start afresh in Imperial Navy. His genius is soon on full display, and he rises quickly in favor and rank. He is not without his enemies, but he will prevail. This is the origin story of Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Thrawn holds a special place in my heart, having been the antagonist in the first Star Wars Expanded Universe book, Heir to the Empire, I read some thirty years ago. When Disney bought the franchise, they relegated all such material to 'legends' status, saying it was no longer canon, but then proceeded to bring some elements back—Thrawn among them. He has since appeared in animated and live-action TV shows alike, keeping the core components of the character the same while altering his adventures, but his beginnings have always been shrouded in mystery. Here, author Timothy Zahn (who authored the original Thrawn books) returns to tell his origin story.

How was it? Okay. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't overly interesting, either. It's always hard when you know the end of a story . . . this is basically an expected tale where Thrawn comes up through the ranks and encounters challenges along the way. He's smart; he uses art to analyze enemies; he has integrity. Some parts were cool; others were boring. There were some plot points that seem far-fetched. It wasn't terrible, but it was vanilla enough that I'm wondering why they bothered to tell the tale. Sometimes impressions of depth are best enjoyed by leaving them unexplored.

Rating: B-

K-Pop Demon Hunters

The Huntr/x are a K-pop girl group. They are also [secretly] demon hunters, charged to protect the realm through song and violence. But one of their members has a secret . . .

The Saja Boys are a K-pop boy band. They are also [secretly] demons, charged to get the population under their sway to steal their souls. But one of their members has a secret, too . . .

The natural and supernatural worlds collide in this musical tale of living with your faults and fears in a society that teaches you to hide. 

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My initial take on this was "frenetic, bizarre, and catchy." From the same studio that animated Across the Spider-verse, you see the stylistic similarities. The music was good (one song reached #1 in the real-life charts), the humor was zany but fun, and the point was awesome—I think. Let me explain.

The main characters in the film wrestle with their faults and fears, the repeated refrain being "our faults and fears must not be seen." But charged to fix the world, they cannot fix themselves despite their best efforts—and hide as a result. They fear being known, assuming that such knowledge would erase any love others have for them. And they can't let go of their past failures, listening to their demons that won't let them forget: "all we get/deserve is to live with tons of pain and misery." The result? They are alone, and the demons are near victory. What is the way forward?

According to the film, the point is to be open about your faults and failures and "bring jagged edges to the light." Be there for others and know you are not alone. See the scars as part of yourself, and "see the beauty in the broken glass." And sacrifice yourself for the good of others, giving your soul to others rather thank taking. 

There are a ton of good messages here. The only point that gave me pause—and which wasn't explained in the film—was whether brokenness should prompt any degree of repentance or sorrow. If it was calling you to see beauty in the broken glass or despite it. One line spoke of "darkness and harmony," and I couldn't tell if they meant making peace with the fact that we are fallen people [but to strive against it] *or* making peace with the fact [and embracing it]. That's a huge difference. I will assume the best, though, and give this film high marks. See it for yourself and let me know.

Rating: A