God Is Not Great

I just finished reading Christopher Hitchens' exhaustive catalog of the violence and oppression perpetrated by the great religions from antiquity to the present day, God Is Not Great.

The book's subtitle, How Religion Poisons Everything, would have been a more fitting title.

Hitchens was a well-read atheist, a free-thinker and a good man, I think. In his book, he made the case that morality does not depend on religion—just look at how religion itself has endorsed all manner of evil from genocide to slavery.

Too true.

If only Hitchens were still alive. I would have loved to see him give the same treatment to politics, which is becoming more and more like a religion and is proving to be just a divisive with so many all-or-nothing, no-compromise players in the game. (He was certainly aware of how cynical politicians have always known how to use religion—and the religious—to their advantage.)

Hitchens' book rightly promotes free inquiry and the scientific method. To him, the explanations offered by science were far more satisfying than those offered by religion. To me, science is great with the what and how of life but not so good with its ultimate meaning.

But there, I must admit, the explanations of the great religions aren't very satisfying either.

Unfinished Books

Among the books I've tried to read but couldn't finish ...

• For Whom the Bell Tolls
• Catch-22
• On the Road
• Ulysses

Of course there are many others, but these are supposed to be classics.

What's on your list?

To Rome

Cappuccino to sit or stand
Gloves to fit any hand
The view from the roof
The sound of hooves
Hold me now and don’t let go

Vestments for sale in the window
Lingerie for a merry widow
In the streets children play
Past and present on display
We’ll walk together in the afterglow

A sleek black Maserati
The sweet tenor of Pavarotti
A procession of the broken-hearted
A grave for the dear departed
Everything is done for show

The dry bones of an ancient saint
The tears of a woman feeling faint
A walk to Trevi fountain
Enough desire to move a mountain
Now’s the time to make it so

A bottle of fine Chianti
That song by Harry Belafonte
Bells in towers chime
But we still have time
Let’s forget everything we know in Albergo del Senato

Unchained Melody

Late last night I entered an empty church hidden on a hill above the Colosseum. I thought it was empty but then I heard voices and I followed them to a confessional.

The soft voice was yours and the listening ears were mine.

I heard your confession.

I knew what you needed and it wasn’t forgiveness.

The next thing I knew I was giving communion: "This is my heart, breaking for you …"

Just as suddenly I was alone in the dark, candles flickering, incense burning. Right in front of me were the chains that once held St. Peter. They were black and holy in an unholy way and I hated them. I picked them up and threw them, spinning, into the air.

They were still spinning as I ran through the door and into the moonlight. I can’t say whether they ever hit the marble floor. I was already running down the steps and down the street. For all I knew the chains continued to spin through the centuries and were still spinning now.

I ran through the tunnel where a saxophone player blew a soulful tune. Yes, yes, yesssss ... I stopped long enough to untie the rope around my waist and drop it into his hat. Then I ran back and added every coin I had.

“Play well for me,” I said and hurried on.

I caught up with you at the bottom of the hill. You turned and smiled, or was that the sun coming up?

Publishing History

My first story was published when I was in the fourth grade. (Mrs. Hughes ran it off on her mimeograph machine and gave a copy to everyone in the class.)

Encouraged, I decided I would become the best writer who ever lived.

I had never heard of Shakespeare.

In the years that have followed, I've toiled as a newspaper reporter, magazine editor, copywriter, and ghostwriter.

Now, if enough of you buy my books—Sabrina's Window and Precarious—I promise to leave all that behind and focus on making stuff up for your entertainment.

One Saturday at Barnes & Noble in San Jose

A River So Long

I just spent the weekend with a woman who travels a lot. Her name is Veronica and I tagged along as she hopscotched between Phoenix, Boston, New York, Memphis, New Orleans, Birmingham, and Raleigh.

We visited Jamaica a couple of times, too, but that was before.

Along the way I met her husband, her cousin, her colleagues, a couple of old boyfriends, and various strangers and oddballs.

I never did learn what Veronica does for a living but I know her job requires her to be on the road a lot.

I could only guess what she was thinking.

Veronica is the protagonist of Vallie Lynn Watson's unconventional debut novel, A River So Long.

It's a trip.

Get on board.