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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

travel

The castle stole the show: Review of Tangled Ashes by Michele Phoenix

October 10, 2012

I have a thing for castles. Maybe it was the college semester I spent here or all the fairytales I read as a kid. Whatever the reason, I like castles and manor houses and vicariously traveling to places I might not see for a very long time, if ever.

In Tangled Ashes, author Michele Phoenix takes us on a trip to northern France–Lamorlaye, to be exact–where a Renaissance-era castle is in need of renovations. A wealthy British entrepreneur has plans to turn the aging château into a hotel, and American architect Marshall “Beck” Becker is the man for the job.

Beck is an interesting character who brings with him more baggage than would fit on a jumbo jet. We know he’s battling some demons from the past and his chosen weapon is alcohol. A brilliant and talented artist and architect, Beck’s personal life cripples his professional life. Entering into the mix is Jade, the nanny of the castle owner’s children. She consistently lets Beck have a piece of her mind and challenges his beliefs about his past and his present coping methods. Woven into the present-day story is the account of two young girls working at a Nazi-occupied manor near the castle in the 1940s, toward the latter end of World War II. The stories converge as secrets are uncovered.

Tangled Ashes was an enjoyable read, though I was slightly disappointed by the ending. I’m a happy ending, tie-it-all-up-with-a-pretty-bow kind of girl, most of the time, and that’s not exactly how this book ends. It’s appropriate for this story, though, because Beck is battling an alcohol addiction, and from what I’ve learned about addiction, there’s nothing pretty or tidy about it. So to end the book in any other way would have been misleading and unrealistic. Along those same lines, Beck disappointed me in his many failings. You want to root for the guy, but he’s so messed up, he fails again and again. I wanted to give up on him. Maybe that says something about my expectations for people. Thank God, He doesn’t give up on us, and Beck heads toward that conclusion as he’s confronted with the God he’s been trying to cut out of his life.

I had a minor issue with Beck’s spiritual transformation as the author implied that the traditions of the liturgical church were inadequate for bringing about change and true spirituality. I don’t know if it was intentional or a byproduct of her involvement with an evangelical church her parents helped found in Lamorlaye, but it didn’t sit well with me. I would hate for someone to walk away from this book thinking the ancient Christian traditions and liturgies were useless. I have been learning otherwise, of late, but that’s a different story for another day.

Jade has her own issues, but she’s a good complement to Beck’s brash and aggressive behavior. The castle, however, is the star, and I have a feeling that words and pictures don’t do it justice. At least, not in its heyday. View Phoenix’s photo album here. The castle could use some love. Makes me wish I had lots of money and a good reason to move to France.

Overall, I liked the book. Phoenix grew up in France, in the shadow of the Lamorlaye castle, and I’m glad she took the time and effort to write a story that shares her experience in that part of the world.

Check out the first chapter here.

—————————–

In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of Tangled Ashes from the publisher.

Filed Under: Fiction, The Weekly Read Tagged With: addiction, alocholism, architecture, castle renovation, history, lamorlaye castle, new fiction, occupied france, travel, World War II

Safe travels

October 9, 2012

I drove today. Nothing shocking in that statement; I just had a lot of time to think. None of us left the house for any reason yesterday, which was a rare treat. Still, there are days I wish we had somewhere to go.

When I worked for newspapers, I did a lot of driving. Not a truck driver’s worth of driving  or anything, but more than I was used to on a regular basis. I usually enjoy the chance to let my mind wander and ponder. On many nights driving home from a late school board meeting, I’d write the story in my head so I’d have less work to do when I got to the office. Now, I find that I do most of my in-head writing while I’m washing dishes. I suppose I should be thankful for all the dishes needing washed. The novel I’m working on takes on new dimensions every time I find myself tethered to the sink with a mound of dirty dishes.

I’ve become sort of a homebody. Almost hermitish. If I don’t have to go somewhere, I don’t look for excuses. Home is comfortable. And safe.

© Xposeld | Dreamstime.com

But I’m starting to miss the movement. I want to be on my way. Our family feels a little stuck right now. Like when I was on my way today, stopped in single-lane traffic around a curve in a construction zone not-so-patiently waiting my turn. I’m always sure that just when I pull up to the flagger holding the sign, he’s going to flip it to “stop.” That’s what life feels like, a little. Just when we feel like we’re going somewhere, God says “wait.” Or “stop.” And we sit there, letting all the oncoming traffic pass us by.On the way home, at the same construction zone, I got behind a dump truck when it was our direction’s turn to use the single lane. Part way through the zone, the dump truck pulled off to the construction side of the road and I found myself eerily alone on the one-lane road. And I thought how much trust I had placed in the flaggers to do their job and not send a horde of oncoming traffic into my path. The same is true for this zone of life we’re in. I have to trust that God can see what’s around the bend and when He flips the sign telling us it’s time to go, we can trust that we won’t be headed for a nasty crash.

Trust. So easy to talk about. So hard to live out.

As I planned my route into a city I’m not so familiar with, my husband gave me an alternate route that tested my sense of adventure. I’m forever terrified of getting lost in a “foreign” city with no one to rescue me. I’ve taken enough wrong turns–literally and figuratively–in life to make me want to avoid them at all costs. My sense of direction and driving instincts are pretty good, but sometimes I panic and take the wrong turn because I don’t trust myself to know the right way.

But I made it to my destination. Even parked in a parking garage and crossed the street to the coffee shop like a big girl. I never thought of myself as a country bumpkin but every time I have to pay for parking or dodge traffic to cross the street, I’m reminded of just how much rural there is in my system. (I’m by no means a farm girl, either. I live somewhere in between city and country.)

Trusting. Pushing boundaries. Leaving what’s comfortable. Taking a new path.

All of this plays in to the current chapter of our story. It doesn’t solve anything. But it fuels me for the continuing journey.

I’m still not sure where God is taking us, but I know we’re safe in His hands.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, Travel Tagged With: driving, driving a car, life journey, road construction, single lane traffic, travel

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Hi. I’m Lisa, and I’m glad you’re here. If we were meeting in real life, I’d offer you something to eat or drink while we sat on the porch letting the conversation wander as it does. That’s a little bit what this space is like. We talk about books and family and travel and food and running, whatever I might encounter in world. I’m looking for the beauty in the midst of it all, even the tough stuff. (You’ll find a lot of that here, too.) Thanks for stopping by. Stay as long as you like.

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