"The Ball and the Cross" by G. K. Chesterton: The dome of St. Paul's Cathedral provides inspiration for this allegorical tale of science and religion. The round dome of the cathedral represents the Earth and science, while its cross stands for, well, religion. Don't exactly need the ol' decoder ring to crack that riddle.

These opposing philosophies are also represented in the characters of James Turnbull and Evan MacIan, two men with decidedly different views of religion. Turnbull is a fiery Scotsman and the editor of "The Atheist." Evan MacIan is a young country lad and a strict Roman Catholic, whose passionate zeal for religion matches Turnbull's steely strength of conviction. Naturally, these two men were destined to meet. The occasion for their introduction comes when MacIan, making his first journey to the big city, discovers the offices of "The Atheist," its front window displaying blasphemous articles only a few feet from the sacred cathedral. MacIan responds in true zealot fashion, pitching a brick through the offensive window.

Some nearby constables are quick to the scene, carting MacIan off to the magistrate. His brush with the law does little to diminish the young man's spirit. After paying his fine, MacIan challenges Turnbull to a duel in full view of the court. The judge is quick to admonish MacIan and only lets him free once Turnbull assures he would never take part in a duel, binding himself over to keep the peace.

However, Turnbull isn't about to let some punk question his manhood. Once outside the court, the proud atheist accepts the challenge, vowing to fight the younger man to the death. Swords are the weapons of choice. The two combatants travel together to purchase their tools of destruction, asking the shopkeeper for permission to settle their dispute in his back garden. When the proprietor refuses, Turnbull and MacIan tie up the man and help themselves to the waiting battleground. Before either can strike a mortal blow, the shopkeeper manages to alert the authorities, forcing the swordsmen to flee.

Word of the determined duelists quickly spreads, making them celebrities amongst the populace and public enemies No. 1 and 2 amongst the constabulary. A spirited chase ensues, with Turnbull and MacIan doing their level best to stay one step ahead of the law, all the while still hoping to kill one another. It becomes nearly impossible for them to find a peaceful parcel of land on which to settle their feud. Even when they do get a quiet moment to fight, their swords hardly clash before their struggle is disturbed by man, woman, or nature. Their shared flight eventually leads them to a most unique mental asylum, where the doctors seem more interested with inventing disease than curing patients.

At its best, MacIan and Turnbull's desperate dash towards death is reminiscent of the madcap mayhem captured in Mr. Chesterton's masterpiece, "The Man Who Was Thursday." And I'm always a sucker for endeavors of philosophy, whether religious or otherwise. But "The Ball and the Cross" falls just shy of four-shot status.

Not all of MacIan and Turnbull's adventures are as meaningful as they should be, with symbolism being neglected in favor of mere storytelling. That's fine and all, but it seems like a wasted opportunity to enlighten. It's also worth mentioning that Mr. Chesterton was a regular Charlie Church, so his overall view in the science vs. religion debate is somewhat skewed. While Turnbull is depicted fairly, and the religious MacIan is shown to have flaws, the villains of the piece are all maniacal men of science who suppress faith and imprison anyone with opposing views. In the end, faith is offered as man's sole hope for salvation. Granted, the reason an author writes a book is to express his or her personal beliefs, so it's certainly within Mr. Chesterton's rights to do so, but the book itself may have been better served by a little more subtlety.

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"Manalive" by G. K. Chesterton: Life at a London boardinghouse is turned upside down with the arrival of Innocent Smith, a remarkably strange stranger. First seen hurling himself over the garden wall in pursuit of his wind-blown hat, Innocent is a man of unique physical appearance, gigantic in stature yet small of head. Incredibly strong and agile, he seems more a force of nature than a mortal man. Thankfully, he's as affable as he is large, possessing the limitless energy and exuberance of an overgrown child.

Innocent's lust for life proves infectious, winning over the other inhabitants of the quaint little boarding house, instilling most everyone with a new appreciation for existence and all its wonders. He's barely there a day before he proposes marriage to one of the lodgers. His declaration of love inspires two other tenants to make marriage proposals of their own. Oh, happy day.

Everything's all puppet shows and candy canes until Dr. Warner, the one tenant who isn't swayed by Innocent's innocence, shows up with a doctor specializing in criminal tendencies. They have documentation stating Innocent Smith to be a lunatic and a danger to society. Everyone's favorite new friend is wanted for attempted murder, burglary, and abandoning his wife and children. Despite Innocent Smith refusing to speak a word in his own defense, the other tenants aren't willing to believe the charges, and they agree to hold a mock trial.

The doctors play the part of the prosecution, offering up written eyewitness accounts of the evil events, while two of the befriended tenants put on Innocent's defense, dismissing each accusation with a written account of their own which shows Innocent's actions to be perfectly legal, if not brilliant.

With "Manalive," Mr. Chesterton is trying to get people to appreciate life. He's attempting to convince his readers that every experience of every day, no matter how mundane or routine, should be treasured. It's a swell message. The problem is in the delivery. The second half of the book, containing Innocent's trial, is torturously dull and longwinded. Nothing is as boring as reading two lengthy, second-hand accounts of the same event. And Chesterton only complicates the matter by having Innocent's attorneys explain every detail to a nauseating degree, refusing to allow readers to think for themselves. And while we're at it, the evidence against Innocent is pathetic; it's impossible to believe any of the charges could be true. I mean, if you're accusing someone of murder, wouldn't it be a good idea to have the statement of the alleged victim?

I see two ways the book could have been saved. First, it could have ended with the revelation that Innocent Smith really was a lunatic. Now you got something. Why did it take a madman to show the tenants the beauty of life? Or the basic story could have been retained, with Innocent remaining innocent of all criminal insanity, if the trial device was ditched in favor of showing the disputed events as they happened, thereby placing the reader in the moment and allowing him or her to actually do some thinking of their own. Writers shouldn't force their agenda upon the reader. Lay the foundation; blaze the trail, leave symbols to guide, but don't preach. Trust the reader to find the truth. The ones that do will appreciate the message all the more. And the ones that don't? Well, they can go to hell.

Still, the book has a good heart, and the first half is actually entertaining at times, so it's not a complete waste. It just could have been so much more.

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