Books Read and Reviewed 2008.6 (Nov.-Dec.)
Submitted by JohnnyW on Wed, 12/03/2008 - 11:31
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- 11/6/08: William Least Heat Moon/PrairyErth (1991):
- 11/19/08: Mikhail Lermontov/A Hero of Our Time (1839): Pechorin--a thoroughly entertaining character--seems to be an unholy blend of the two opposites in Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground: the Underground Man, crippled by self-analysis, and the Man of Action, impulsive and confident. The soldier Pechorin has no reservations about stealing native women, gambling and drinking away his prospects for advancement, and seducing the lovers of men he hates, but he also thinks about his dissolute actions a lot. The action also spans two complete opposites of setting: a bland, superficial spa town for prosperous Russians, and a remote military post, surrounded by barbarous natives, in the heart of the Caucasus. Not surprisingly, the more intriguing sections of A Hero of Our Time take place in the backwaters of the Russian empire--this is only natural, as Pechorin is nothing if not a Byronic hero, restless, guilty, driven, passionate, a man whose emotions can only be matched and soothed by the sublime. Playing out before a backdrop of magnificent mountains, Pechorin's kidnapping and subjugation of beautiful Bela becomes a matter of life and death, his boredom with Bela once he has won her love contrasted with her final murder by one of her native suitors, bent on retaliation. After lingering over Lermontov's novel, I still can't decide if the label "A Hero of Our Time" is an insult or a compliment.
- 11/24/08: George Orwell/Homage to Catalonia (1938): Homage to Catalonia is the fourth Orwell book I've read, after 1984, Animal Farm, and Burmese Days, and I've come to the conclusion that Orwell is an interesting, provocative writer, just not a particularly great one. Homage to Catalonia is a scattershot book, careening between political and historical analysis and personal episodes during the Spanish Civil War; without a doubt, the personal sections are much more compelling. For instance, the long (read: very long) chapter breaking down the various left-wing organizations banded together to fight against Franco and the fascists could easily have been chopped in half, and the chapter on the street battles back in Barcelona bogged down with political speculations far too often. At the same time, Orwell makes a convincing case that the Soviets, directing certain elements in Spain, sowed distrust among the various communists, socialists, and anarchists because they didn't want to lose control of any "workers' revolutions." Orwell also argues that this absurd disunity on the left let Franco win.
- Among the more striking personal sections are Orwell's descriptions of the terrible conditions in the trenches and his amazing account of being shot through the neck by a sniper--he never portrays himself as a hero, simply as a soldier stupid enough to lift his head at the wrong time. His subsequent disillusionment with the left in general and communism in particular develops naturally out of his time recovering back in Barcelona and his hairbreadth escape across the border into France. If you would like to understand where the harsh warnings of 1984 and Animal Farm come from, this is the book to read. Oh, and let me leave you with my favorite quote from the book: "in Barcelona there were hardly any bullfights nowadays; for some reason all the best matadors were Fascists."
- 11/27/08: Frances Hodgson Burnett/The Secret Garden (1911): An entertaining and touching book, if a bit slight for my tastes. Vivid scenes come along periodically, like Mary and Colin's first midnight meeting (as well as their later face-off during one of Colin's tantrums), Colin's room full of Dickon's managerie of creatures, and, my favorite, Ben Weatherstaff's fury at discovering the kids in the garden for the first time. More prominent than the plot or the characters is the driving philosophy of the book--clearly Frances Hodgson Burnett is a sort of mystic ("magic" comes up quite a bit), a fervent believer in the healing potential of nature, especially when we as humans embrace our roles as caretakes and lovers of all life. The garden also stands in as the rich, magical inner life of children--just as the garden has been neglected for ten years, so have Mary and Colin. Attention, understanding, and love bring both roses and children back to bloom. I'm looking forward to seeing Agnieska Holland's acclaimed film version now.
- 12/2/08: Wilkie Collins/The Moonstone (1868): The Moonstone reminds me that so much of what seems essential to our modern age was foreshadowed by the Victorians. The spark for the whole mystery, the spectacular diamond called the Moonstone, raises questions about foreign intervention across the seas, while the solution to the disappearance of the gemstone is reached through medical experimentation and a rudimentary form of forensics, Scotland Yard with its investigative techniques having been founded only a few years before the setting of the novel. On the negative side, we see furtive yet widespread drug use/abuse, racial prejudice, and snapshots of a violent, squalid urban underbelly, all still ills we deal with today.
- Yet despite the sweeping and gripping canvas of The Moonstone, two figures continued to haunt me once I finished the book, Rosanna Spearman and Ezra Jennings. Both are doomed, but we cannot decide if it is because of their characters or their circumstances, and Collins wisely never makes either of their back stories explicit. Rosanna's childhood--her mother forced to the streets by her abandonment by Rosanna's father--would seem to have given Rosanna no choice but to become a thief and evetual inmate in a reformatory. Lucy's outburst about the callous way the upper classes treated the poor like trash to be ignored simply fades into the background as Franklin Blake--whose insensitivity to Rosanna contributes to her suicide--is vindicated at the end as a noble, sensitive man, and who wins the hand of Rachel Verinder as a result. Was Franklin ever to feel remorse over Rosanna while surrounded by his happiness? Ezra Jennings, also pursued by his past, is further hamstrung by his status as biracial. His "gypsy complexion" and vaguely Asian facial features ensure he will never be a successful physician in England, and he determines his last chance to secure someone's friendship and respect is to ween himself off opium--taken because of his fatal illness--long enough to help Franklin conduct an audacious experiment which proves his "innocence."
- The Moonstone may or may not be cursed, but enough rot lies at the heart of Victorian England that the gem becomes almost incidental...
- 12/11/08: Ann Radcliffe/The Italian (1797): Ann Radcliffe's novel is one of the landmarks of the early gothic novel, and a basic sketch of the plot shows us why: aristocrat Vivaldi falls in love with the lovely Ellena, a girl without title or money, and his family conspires to go to any lengths to keep them apart, eventually involving the sinister and amoral monk Schedoni in their plans. Vivaldi and Ellena are sympathetic enough, but Schedoni steals the show, as all great villains do--murder, blackmail, false accusations, family abandonment, and all-around scheming only begin his list of accomplishments.
- Just as fascinating is to see the oh-so-English Radcliffe's view of Italy, a land of compelling horror for many in Northern Europe. Catholic nations were seen as claustrophobic, secretive, and treacherous, a dispiriting atmosphere set up in the prologue, when a group of English tourists see a barbarous muderer slinking through the shadows of a gloomy church; the tourists are aghast to discover that the criminal has claimed "sanctuary" and thus cannot be touched by the law! Once the plot itself begins to unfold, we find that Vivaldi, that noble youth, might as well be named an honorary Englishman and Protestant, as he questions Catholic doctrines, thinks for himself, and has a loftiness of character--a desire for justice and freedom that is blocked continuously by the feudal oppression of the Catholic church. One of the climaxes of The Italian comes when Vivaldi is arrested by the Inquisition, a subplot worthy of Kafka's The Trial. The Inquisition occupies acres of subterranean tunnels and chambers beneath Rome, a literal and figurative labyrinth; Vivaldi begs to know what he has been charged with, but perversely, until he confesses he cannot be told. The inscrutable rules and obscure customs used by the Inquisitors never fully make sense, even when Vivaldi is eventually freed by those with agendas opposed to Schedoni's. For Vivaldi and Ellena's sake, let's hope they became Protestants and moved to England!
- 12/15/08: Kate Summerscale/The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher (2008): I learned about this book when I was reading Wilkie Collins' The Moonstone, and discovered that significant details and plotlines were inspired by the gruesome 1860 murder of three-year old Saville Kent. In writing The Suspicions of Mr. Whicher, Summerscale obviously did voluminous research in piecing together not only the facts of the Kent murder, but also public perception at the time and the eventual impact on popular culture--especially the emerging mystery genre.
- The crime itself was revolting: Saville was discovered missing early one morning and found later, throat slashed and dropped down the pit of an outdoor privy. Since police could find no evidence of tampering from the outside, suspicion turned to those living in the Kent household--but who? Besides the Kent family itself, six children besides Saville, ages ranging from newborn to late twenties, several servants also lived in Road Hill House. When local police couldn't make headway, Scotland Yard sent their star investigator, Jack Whicher, to take over. Although rumors swirled around almost every resident of the house, Whicher narrowed in on Constance, the sixteen-year old stepsister of Saville. She clearly held a grudge against her stepmother, her former nursemaid who had replaced Constance's now-dead mother, and had a history of disturbed behavior and well-thought out plots. Her inability to adequately explained what happened to one of her three nightdresses (splattered with blood?) further implicated her. Unfortunately, when Whicher arrested her, public outcry became defeaning as the issue went from murder to class--how dare a working-class detective add to the grief of a respectable family! How dare he not implicate one of the servants, clearly more capable of such a horrific act! Constance was released, Whicher was eventually hounded into retirement, and the crime remained unsolved...until five years later, when Constance, now living in an Episcopal women's home, confessed! Summerscale tells the tale compellingly, although I understand why some readers might become annoyed by all of the context she provides, and she proposes, convincingly, in my opinion, that Constance may have taken the fall solitarily, but she probably had help from her brother William, her closest sibling and co-conspirator in some of her previous schemes. As much an enlightening social history as a good crime book.
- 12/19/08: William Thackeray/Barry Lyndon (1844): Barry Lyndon is a fine, rollicking example of the picaresque novel, in the tradition of Tom Jones perhaps. Redmond Barry is ambitious and headstrong, meant for a life of pleasure and recognition, but there is one slight problem--he was born into a decayed, dubiously aristocratic family in Ireland. After fighting his first duel at fifteen, he flees Ireland and goes through a hilarious series of adventures: army deserter, spy, gambler and card cheat, seducer, and sycophant. Unscrupulous but endearing, Barry narrates his own adventures, writing at the end of his life while languishing in debtors' prison--the enjoyment of the novel lies in Barry's insanely distorted view of his life. Never mind his present circumstances, Barry tells his story as though it were obvious to anyone that he simply lived his life as he had to, and any faults belonged only to others--including those he cheats, seduces, and leaves dead after duels!
- The only major flaw in Barry Lyndon is the last fifth of the novel. Once he convinces Lady Lyndon--possessor of the largest fortune in the three kingdoms--to marry him, his behavior goes from rascally and good-spirited to mean and abusive. In short, Barry--now the self-styled "Barry Lyndon"--no longer is a sympathetic character. On the way up, he is an underdog, and I rooted for him. Once he was on top, I couldn't wait for the novel to end.
- 12/25/08: Mark Twain/The Mysterious Stranger (1916): I've always heard that Twain became increasingly bitter and misanthropic towards the end of his life, but I didn't understand how true that really was until I read The Mysterious Stranger. In this posthumously published novella, a sleepy Austrian village is visited by Satan, an angel who is the nephew of the more famous, evil Satan. Satan in some ways acts as a mouthpiece for Twain, objectively pointing out how the human race is defined by fear, lies, betrayal, suspicion, and cowardice; perhaps most people mean well, but like sheep, they simply follow those who seem the boldest. Sadly, the boldest are usually those who have the worst impulses. Twain presents us with the burning of an innocent woman as a witch, the abandonment of a kind family by their friends, and a drunkard beating his loyal dog until the poor animal's eye is smashed out. As Satan observes, don't use the word brutal because brutes (animals) certainly don't act this way. Towards the end, Satan has this bombshell: he doesn't exist, and neither does God--how could there be a greater power when humanity is as sickening and loathsome as it is?
- All this said, vintage Twain also shows through, in some moments of (dark) humor. My favorite exchange comes when Satan, disguised as a villager, tells a fussy middle-aged woman looking for a husband that his uncle may be interested; when she asks what the uncle does, Satan replies that he has a vast empire down in the tropics! The Mysterious Stranger, as bleak as it is, also has some moments of grace, not letting Satan get in the last word. The boys who hear Satan's pronouncements, do some cowardly things, but their compassion and desire to do right shows through time after time. The fact that they can't understand Satan's objective judgements on humanity is to their credit--their emotions and desire to better themselves are what help them transcend the sordidness around them.
- 12/28/08: Oliver Onions/The Beckoning Fair One (1911): This 1911 ghost story is an impressive example of suggestion and atmosphere, as a struggling novelist, Paul Oleron, rents a floor of a dilapidated house and is slowly seduced by something ghostly. Onions unfolds the story languidly, beginning with incidents that could just as easily be Oleron's imagination as a supernatural presence: an ancient melody he can't stop humming, a visitor scratched by a nail he swore he removed. Uncovering the hidden, nailed-down window boxes gives us our first clue about the spectral inhabitant--Oleron finds a large, strangely-shaped piece of soft cloth, and after puzzling over it for awhile, discovers it is a harp cover. This hint that the presence is feminine continues to be reinforced, when Oleron hears hair being brushed, feels a strong desire to bring flowers to his house every day, and learns that the melody he can't get out of his head is called "The Beckoning Fair One." His seduction continues when his only female friend suffers several accidents in his house, and Oleron comes to believe that his ghost is jealous of her. Like many ghost stories, it is possible to read large sections of The Beckoning Fair One as perception rather than reality--Oleron may be cracking under the strain of his deadlines and years of financial pressures--but the horrific ending makes this line of thinking more difficult to argue.
Cloned From:
For awhile I've been frustrated by the idea that after I read a book, it begins to fade from memory. This is an attempt to keep a sort of reading log, but with impressions as well as titles.