Every morning, I visit four or five sites online to acquire the news of the day, the opinions of favorite commentators, and any ideas that might spark an article of my own. For twenty minutes or so, I make my rounds, my first cup of coffee at hand and dawn winking at the small window above my desk.
Before I begin my own writing, however, I often turn to one essayist for inspiration: David Warren.
Before I begin my own writing, however, I often turn to one essayist for inspiration: David Warren.
Mr. Warren and I share certain attributes. Like him, I am white, male, regressive rather than progressive in my politics, and a believing Catholic, which makes both of us members of that unique postmodernist club, the kicking boys for everyone else on the planet. These similarities aside, we have led different lives: Mr. Warren is Canadian, I am American; he worked much of his life as a journalist, while I earned the bulk of my income from a bed-and-breakfast, a bookstore, and a classroom; we spell words differently. (Gigs (me) vs. gigues (him)).
In terms of education and learning, Mr. Warren is my superior, which is a chief reason for reading him. In the past two weeks, he has introduced me to the Gaelic word for schoolteacher, described the symbiotic relationship between ducks and rice paddies, and told me of the religious history and faith of “that French gendarme, Arnaud Beltrame, who surrendered himself in ransom for a kidnapped woman, and died as he could only expect, shot and with his throat slashed by a Muslim terrorist.” Other online accounts I read of this brave man had omitted all reference to his conversation or faith.
In addition, Mr. Warren is a fine writer. I admire him for his style, very different from my own, and which, compared to the style of so many other online essayists, is delightfully eccentric, a term I intend as a high compliment. Here is a man who knows how to make language sing, who can in a single essay turn not just one phrase, but half a dozen, who mingles formal and colloquial language into a delectable stew of words. A column describing his encounter with a Muslim woman and her children provides a worthy sample:
On this morning’s walk I was arrested, though not by Justin Trudeau’s Pronoun Police. Rather it was by a beautiful sight. It was a Muslim woman, from her complexion and headdress, walking her daughter to school. (I say “was” out of an abundance of caution: I’m sure she was a Muslim woman at 8 o’clock this morning; but do not presume to know what she is now.)
In addition to her daughter, she was carrying a baby. Ah, what a picture. The failed painter within me immediately saw an ideal model for Madonna and Child—coached, curiously enough, by some words of Girolamo Savonarola that happened to fly through my head.
Finally, I read David Warren because he daily reminds me what it means to be a writer. Nearly every day, he posts a new essay on his site, and each new offering reveals a man dedicated to his craft and to the existence of truth. Truth, indeed, is a recurrent theme in his essays. In a recent piece touching on a half-a-dozen topics, including the Enlightenment and Darwinism, Mr. Warren writes “You know there is such a thing as Truth, and will not be put off it by bullshit. You know that the truth is not something that changes. What was true yesterday, stays true today. The task is to discover what the truth is, not to gauge which way the wind is blowing.”
That statement could serve as the credo for the modern writers I most admire: Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Orwell, Mark Helprin, Jordan Peterson, and many others, including, now, Mr. Warren. We inhabit an age when many people—politicians and commentators in particular—keep one damp finger to the wind. It is a great pleasure to find a writer who, however unpopular his views may sit with some, refuses to twist, like some shabby weathervane, in the constantly changing breezes of our culture.
A friend of mine from Richmond, Virginia, first put me onto David Warren’s site. I have already thanked him for that gift. To Mr. Warren, I owe another thank you. His is a voice and example that keeps the rest of us going.
Below is the link.
https://www.davidwarrenonline.com/
In terms of education and learning, Mr. Warren is my superior, which is a chief reason for reading him. In the past two weeks, he has introduced me to the Gaelic word for schoolteacher, described the symbiotic relationship between ducks and rice paddies, and told me of the religious history and faith of “that French gendarme, Arnaud Beltrame, who surrendered himself in ransom for a kidnapped woman, and died as he could only expect, shot and with his throat slashed by a Muslim terrorist.” Other online accounts I read of this brave man had omitted all reference to his conversation or faith.
In addition, Mr. Warren is a fine writer. I admire him for his style, very different from my own, and which, compared to the style of so many other online essayists, is delightfully eccentric, a term I intend as a high compliment. Here is a man who knows how to make language sing, who can in a single essay turn not just one phrase, but half a dozen, who mingles formal and colloquial language into a delectable stew of words. A column describing his encounter with a Muslim woman and her children provides a worthy sample:
On this morning’s walk I was arrested, though not by Justin Trudeau’s Pronoun Police. Rather it was by a beautiful sight. It was a Muslim woman, from her complexion and headdress, walking her daughter to school. (I say “was” out of an abundance of caution: I’m sure she was a Muslim woman at 8 o’clock this morning; but do not presume to know what she is now.)
In addition to her daughter, she was carrying a baby. Ah, what a picture. The failed painter within me immediately saw an ideal model for Madonna and Child—coached, curiously enough, by some words of Girolamo Savonarola that happened to fly through my head.
Finally, I read David Warren because he daily reminds me what it means to be a writer. Nearly every day, he posts a new essay on his site, and each new offering reveals a man dedicated to his craft and to the existence of truth. Truth, indeed, is a recurrent theme in his essays. In a recent piece touching on a half-a-dozen topics, including the Enlightenment and Darwinism, Mr. Warren writes “You know there is such a thing as Truth, and will not be put off it by bullshit. You know that the truth is not something that changes. What was true yesterday, stays true today. The task is to discover what the truth is, not to gauge which way the wind is blowing.”
That statement could serve as the credo for the modern writers I most admire: Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Orwell, Mark Helprin, Jordan Peterson, and many others, including, now, Mr. Warren. We inhabit an age when many people—politicians and commentators in particular—keep one damp finger to the wind. It is a great pleasure to find a writer who, however unpopular his views may sit with some, refuses to twist, like some shabby weathervane, in the constantly changing breezes of our culture.
A friend of mine from Richmond, Virginia, first put me onto David Warren’s site. I have already thanked him for that gift. To Mr. Warren, I owe another thank you. His is a voice and example that keeps the rest of us going.
Below is the link.
https://www.davidwarrenonline.com/