Rebecca Reads » everyday life

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 11:00:23 +0000

Although To the Lighthouse is told in a similar stream-of-consciousness manner as was Mrs. Dalloway (reviewed two weeks ago), it struck me as different, and I’m not sure why. Was there more plot? Maybe. Was it the setting (the Hebrides versus London)? Maybe. I do know that as I read, I was less emotionally drawn in to the characters, and I found myself disliking all of them (yes, all of them). As I read the thoughts of each character, I found it to be incredibly realistic. I was in awe, once again of Woolf’s ability to capture the mental process of such a variety of fictional people. The fact that I didn’t like any of the people once I could listen in on their thoughts was telling: I suspect most of us wouldn’t get along very well if we could read each others’ thoughts!

Although I’m glad I read To the Lighthouse, I can’t say I’ll ever revisit it. I am looking forward to reading others’ posts today, though, because as with the other Woolf novel I read, I think I missed a lot! This post is a rambling collection of my thoughts about the book, and if you’ve also read the novel, I’d love to hear your thoughts too. What did I miss?

Because I read this book as a part of the Woolf in Winter read-along (hosted at Emily’s blog today), this post and the comments may include spoilers as a part of the discussion of the book.

When I suggest To the Lighthouse has a plot, I feel a bit taken aback because I struggle to specify what that plot would be. In Mrs. Dalloway, Clarissa was preparing for a party. That seemed clear to me from the beginning.

In To the Lighthouse, on the other hand, it’s not as easy to pin down, despite the fact that it seems more things are happening: James wants to go to the Lighthouse, Mrs. Ramsey is busy sewing and preparing things, Minta and Paul get engaged, James and Cam and Mr. Ramsey go to the lighthouse, Lily paints a picture (actually, two pictures). But despite the action, none of those things seem to be the key to the “plot” of the novel. How does it all tie together?

As I read the first part of the novel, I thought it was about Mrs. Ramsey. Although I didn’t particularly like her character, her thoughts seemed to drive the “action” of the novel for the most part. Her thoughts were the majority, it seemed. Yet, suddenly, she was dead (just like that) and the novel was only half way through. I was startled and felt a lump in my throat at the thought. Oh no! That couldn’t be! She was the tie.

And so maybe she was still the one who tied them together. Of course James and Cam don’t have a good relationship with their volatile father, but it is the memory of a tradition of visiting the lighthouse that drives the action here, and that is reminiscent of their mother. The last section seems to focus often on Lily’s thoughts, and Lily’s thoughts are of her pleasant memories of Mrs. Ramsey, a woman she did, but didn’t, like because Mrs. Ramsey caused her to feel guilty. Lily did, but didn’t, wish she was married, and Mrs. Ramsey’s preoccupation of marriage is something that Lily does, but doesn’t, remember with fondness. Lily’s confused about what she wants.

It was unclear to me if Lily was happy in the end. I think she kept going in circles, and the painting was just one example. Although the book ended with her satisfied, I suspect she’ll find the painting the next day and decide it’s horrible and go through similar thoughts again.

So what does “to the lighthouse” mean? I also don’t know the answer to that, but maybe it means coming to a place of satisfaction. For Mrs. Ramsey, it was not ever telling her husband that she loved him (and yet, he knew). The next day, she’d probably be frustrated with him again until she got her way again. Lily’s satisfaction was being satisfied being herself: a single woman who painted pictures (even if they’d end up in attics). For James, it was getting a compliment from his father. The next day he’d be just as frustrated again.

My favorite part was section two, where time passed so rapidly. It was heartbreaking to suddenly be removed from the house after having been so intimately in the characters thoughts (which were about the books, the wallpaper, the window, and so forth). I also loved the language in that section.

I also enjoyed the last section, as Lily painted. As she painted, I found myself wanting to paint as well. This is quite amusing to me: I am not artistic in that way and I cannot capture things by drawing or painting them. (Give me a computer and I could create something, if need be, though.) Yet, there was something so relaxing about reading Lily’s thoughts as she painted. It seemed so tranquil, like the sea James was on. This was a contrast to the stormy sea and child-filled house of section one.

Conveniently, this week, in the evenings, before I relaxed into Virginia Woolf, I have been painting in my home (continuing the project I started at Christmas time). Instead of listening to an audiobook or music, I just painted in silence and let my thoughts run. It was very relaxing! I think it’s a lesson in the need for personal meditation: not reading, not listening to music, not talking. Just thinking. Virginia Woolf reminded me of that.

As I said above, I’m not sure I understood the book, but I’m glad I’ve experienced the modern novel and I look forward to trying more in the future. I’m planning on reading A Room of One’s Own (on my own) in two weeks and I’ll rejoin Woolf in Winter in a month with The Waves.

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Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 11:00:59 +0000

In Mrs. Dalloway, Virginia Woolf captures a woman’s joys and frustrations in a single day by revealing her thought processes. Although some other character’s thoughts are captured as well, it was Clarissa Dalloway that I related to.

If you read my reading journal last week, you’ll know that I struggled to read Woolf at first. It was confusing and rambling and I didn’t want to keep reading. Someone suggested that I slow down significantly. So I did: I began reading it aloud. As I did so, the stream of consciousness writing style became clear to me.

The turning point for me – where I decided I wanted to continue reading – was as Clarissa (Mrs. Dalloway) stood looking in a bookstore window, trying to decide which book to buy for her ill friend.

“…Ever so many books there were; but none that seemed exactly right to take to Evelyn Whitbread in her nursing home. Nothing that would serve to amuse her and made that indescribably dried-up little woman look, as Clarissa came in, just for a moment cordial; before they settled down for the usual interminable talk of women’s ailments. How much she wanted it — that people should looked pleased as she came in, Clarissa thought and turned and walked back towards Bond Street, annoyed, because it was silly to have other reasons for doing things. Much rather would she have been one of those people like Richard who did things for themselves, whereas, she thought, waiting to cross, half the time she did things not simply, not for themselves; but to make people think this or that; perfect idiocy she knew (and now the policeman held up his hand) for no one was ever for a second taken in. Oh if she could have had her life over again! …” (page 10)

I do that: I try to imagine what people want from me. I try to do things because I feel I should. My husband, like her husband, is my example of what I should be: doing things for the things themselves or for myself (i.e., because I personally want to take my friend this particular book). I often find myself thinking that if I had my life over again, I’d get in the habit of doing things right.

In the next paragraph, she ponders what she’d do differently if she did have her life to live over again, and she mourns the death of who she is or was:

“…She had the oddest sense of being herself invisible, unseen; unknown; there being no more marrying, no more having children now, but only this astonishing and rather solemn progress with the rest of them, up Bond Street, this being Mrs. Dalloway; not even Clarissa any more; this being Mrs. Richard Dalloway. …”

This paragraph struck me even though I’m completely different from some of the specifics Woolf mentions. I’m young; I’ll probably have more children; I am rarely called Mrs. Reid and never Mrs. my-husband’s-first-name Reid. But somehow I did relate to Clarissa. Sometimes I do feel invisible, unseen, and unknown. I spend 12 hours a day awake with a toddler, alone, and when I do go in public, people see me as the mom with the toddler. They see me through the filter of what I’m doing, and not as myself. Clarissa’s feelings are similar to some of the feelings I have as I go through life as a busy mom with a busy kid. Who knows me?

The rest of Mrs. Dalloway has so much more in it that I got out of it on this read. As I read, I kept thinking, “I need to reread this before I can write a proper post.” Suffice it to say, I’m not writing a proper post this time around: I will have to reread it to get more of the marvelous depth I found in Woolf’s introspective look at a variety of people.

Throughout, Clarissa was the one that I was fascinated with, and on this read, I didn’t see the necessity of the other character’s detailed experiences. I’m sure if I reread it, I’d see just why certain people are brought into the story.

I related to Clarissa’s frustration at the party, even though she’d been so excited about it. I, too, often plan something only to wonder during the whole event “Why did I want to do this again?!”

In the end (spoiler warning), I found it touching that Peter was the one to recognize Clarissa as Clarissa, and not as “Mrs. Dalloway.” I felt he was the only one who never stopped seeing her as herself, and I am comforted knowing that this is the type of relationship I have with my husband. How precious it is to me to know I am not “unseen” and “invisible” to him! If only Clarissa could have had friends (beyond Peter, who probably wasn’t going to be around for long) or a husband who could have seen her properly.

I suppose Mrs. Dalloway is a depressing book, for that reason. Clarissa feels alone and sad. Despite the joy of the morning and the planned events, the evening’s party only brought her lower into her aloneness. But as I finished the novel, I didn’t feel depressed, I felt enlightened. I felt I wasn’t alone because others (even fictional characters) go through internal battles, others feel “unseen” in the middle of a busy street, and yet these “others” survive. They do find some moments of joy and friends that recognize them for themselves.

What point made you want to keep reading? Or did you enjoy it from page one?

What character did you most enjoy reading about?

[Woolf in Winter: a group read-a-long]

[Women Unbound: Because it focuses on a 1920s woman]

[A Year of Classics: written 1927]

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The Door by Margaret Atwood

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 11:00:58 +0000

I always love to pick up a slim volume of poetry, a volume that contains poems all by the same author, because it helps me to pick up on themes, it helps me get to know an author, and it lets me really feel the emotions the author celebrates.

Margaret Atwood’s The Door was published in 2007, and as such is a reflection on life from a position of maturity. Atwood was born in 1939, and the poems reflect her growing realization that she is aging. Some of the poems are sad. Some seem almost bitter. The volume I got from the library also had an audio disc of Atwood reading half of the poems – a touch that gave these poems a personality beyond the mere(!) words.

One has to be careful not to interpret poetry as autobiographical, for often it is not. But even if these poems are fiction, they are so real, I felt they were real. I felt Atwood was telling me something about her life: she was telling me what it is like to be almost 70 years old, reflecting on the world, a life, and a career.

Can you tell I enjoyed reading this volume of poetry? After I read it all, I listened to the audio. And then I reread some of the poems, hearing her voice. Atwood’s poetry is more emotional and I’d suggest slightly more complex than Billy Collins’ poetry (reviewed here). But I still think it’s highly accessible to one unfamiliar with poetry.

This titular poem is absolutely a perfect poem. In a sense it captures the entire book, as it is capturing a life through an image of a door opening and closing. In the beginning, you are scared of the spiders inside the door. Then, you don’t even notice it because you’re going to a dance. By the end, you step in. “The door closes.”

Yann Martel writes:

“The Door” … is about, well, about life, all of it, the living of it and the meaning of it, all seen through the metaphor of a swinging door and all in two pages.

Go read it right now. I can’t find it online or I’d link to it. It’s so very good.

The sections of the volume seemed to follow the various stages of watching the door, i.e., the various stages of life and experience.

Section 1 of the volume has poems that are a reflection on childhood memories and connections: the hearth of the home. A childhood pet dying; revisiting a dolls’ house as an adult; a father’s story; mother dying (this was one of my favorites, called “My Mother Dwindle…”; read it online here). The last poem in this section “Crickets,” brings it all together, comparing crickets to the familiar ant-and-grasshopper analogy:

As for the crickets, they’ve
been censored. We have
no crickets on our hearths. We have no hearths. (page 19)

Section 2 is a reflection on a literary career. This was by far my favorite section, from “Heart” which talks about how her heart (i.e., poetry) has been sold, leaving her heartless (read it online here), to “Owl and Pussycat, Some Years Later” in which Owl (who I believe to be Atwood) reflects on their life to her college friend Pussycat:

The worst is, now we’re respectable.
We’re in anthologies. We’re taught in schools,
with cleaned-up biographies and skewed photos. (page 33)

Section 3 is a reflection on the tragedies of life. Two that stood out to me were “Ten O’Clock News,” which reminds us how much we want to ignore the tragedies around us, and “War Photo,” in which the narrator strives to immortalize a dead woman in a photo (another one of my favorite poems; I can’t find it online for you to read).

Section 4 is the hardest section for me to place. In fact, I didn’t understand some of the poems in it. I think Atwood’s poems are trying to get beyond the tragedy of life and back to the everyday. “Enough of These Discouragements” and “Possible Activities” are more about of the monotony of every day, I think, but “The Line: Five Variations” is a bit too different for me to place.

Section 5 is reflection on aging and dying. “Boat Song” is about a band playing as a ship sinks; “Dutiful” and “String Tail” are reflections on a lifetime of doing what other people want, and wondering why. “The Door” ends the volume, and was also one of my favorite poems in the collection. The end was a great place for that poem: save the best for last.

After I wrote this post, I found a couple of other reviews, including Wikipedia’s description of the sections of this book. The others are very good at talking about poetry and interpreting it. I’ve never even read a poem by Margaret Atwood before. Please keep in mind that I’m not a poetry critic; I just like these poems. I’m still learning how to read poetry and I have no idea how to talk about it. (In fact, reading the other reviews makes me rather embarrassed for how unofficial I sound.)

Should I stop trying to talk about poetry? I could just say “I liked it.” I wonder if my attempts to understand the poems really help anyone trying to decide if they want to read it.

Have you read any of Atwood’s poetry? What’s stopping you?

I picked up this volume for the Martel-Harper Challenge.

Other Reviews:

If you have reviewed The Door on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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The John Cheever Audio Collection

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 11:57:03 +0000

I really like audiobooks sometimes because it gives a book a new edge. I absolutely loved listening to a selection of John Cheever’s stories via audiobook. The John Cheever Audio Collection was very well done.

As I listened to the stories, I kept recalling my time reading the short stories of Chekhov and Maupassant last year. Cheever’s stories reminded me of theirs, but it’s been so long since I read Chekhov and Maupassant that I couldn’t figure out exactly why. Maybe it’s because Cheever, like the others, focuses on normal people in regular, realistic situations.

Of course, Cheever stories take place in 1950s and 1960s suburban New York, among the upper-middle class society. His stories try to determine what would be the natural result of a given situation, and they often felt sad in the end.

After I put down some of these thoughts, I found that Wikipedia claims Cheever is “the Chekhov of the suburbs.” At least I’m right on that! His stories did remind me more of Maupassant’s stories, but still, the title fits him.

The John Cheever Audio Collection has twelve stories by John Cheever, read by various personalities.

The Enormous Radio read by Meryl Streep
The Five-Forty-Eight read by Edward Herrmann
O City of Broken Dreams read by Blythe Danner
Christmas is a Sad Season for the Poor read by George Plimpton
The Season of Divorce read by Edward Herrmann
The Brigadier and the Golf Widow read by Peter Gallagher
The Sorrows of Gin read by Meryl Streep
O Youth and Beauty! read by Peter Gallagher
The Chaste Clarissa read by Blythe Danner
The Jewels of the Cabots read by George Plimpton
The Death of Justina read by John Cheever
The Swimmer read by John Cheever

My favorite story of these twelve was The Enormous Radio. It had a supernatural element, as some of Maupassant’s stories did, and yet it felt real. In that story, a couple gets a new radio. After a day or so, the wife realizes that listening to the radio allows her to hear the private conversations of the people living in the apartment complex around her. At first, she loves this new ability to pry into other people’s lives; by the end, she realizes her life and problems are just like theirs.

The Enormous Radio reminded me strongly of all the “reality” things people have now to make their private lives public: twitter, blogs, television shows. People don’t hesitate to share with strangers the intimate struggles of their lives, and as Irene realized, that’s not always nice. Her life became one of listening in, and she neglected her own life. It became rather depressing.

Many of Cheever’s stories felt like they ended suddenly. Because I was listening to them, I wasn’t always sure if the story was over or my audio had cut out (which happened a few times too). When a story just ended suddenly, I sometimes felt I’d missed something, so look forward to rereading. I liked the stories, depressing or not, and the majority (all?) were depressing.

Now I intend to keep reading a few of Cheever’s stories every week.

If you are intimidated by his 800+ pages collection of stories, this audio selection is well worth your time. You can get a glimpse of Cheever’s stories without being overwhelmed, and they are well read by the readers for your enjoyment.

Other Reviews:

If you have reviewed The John Cheever Audio Collection or any Cheever stories on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Babylon in a Jar: New Poems by Andrew Hudgins

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 13 Apr 2009 18:18:40 +0000

I mentioned at the beginning of the month that I first “got” poetry when I heard a presentation by the poet Andrew Hudgins, so I thought I’d take National Poetry Month to revisit some of his poetry.

Now, I’m a beginner at poetry. I don’t know how to write about it clearly and I don’t know how to interpret it “properly.” What I like about the poems in Babylon in a Jar, is that many of them don’t seem to need “interpreting.” Hudgins writes frankly and many of the poems are approachable simply as they are. Others have a bit of depth that I enjoy but that I’d rather not try to detail for you – simply because I’m probably “wrong” and don’t want to embarrass myself!

One common theme in Hudgins’ poetry is the ordinariness of life, along with the things that bring life out-of-the-ordinary. For example, in “Keys”, the narrator throws his keys in the air one pleasant afternoon, only to see them get stuck high above his reach. “In the Red Seats” tells of a drunk being a little too thankful at a baseball game. In two different poems called “Ashes”, two different characters at two different memorial services reflect on the cans of human ashes. The poems are humorous and yet painful as we recognize our own short sojourn on earth and how simple things can make us feel uncomfortable when we realize that.

Other poems have deeper meanings as Hudgins reflects on how the present time echoes the past civilizations that were once great (such as Babylon). Hudgins also has a deep distaste for organized religion that he expertly explored in such poems as “Stump” (a poem that I enjoy very much; the fact that I enjoy it strikes me as rather odd because [1] I consider myself religious and [2] the poem is about a chicken getting its head cut off). These “deeper” poems were also great, although I admit I don’t fully understand them.

The poem that stood out to me most upon this read of Babylon in a Jar was “We Were Simply Talking.” In this poem, a couple nearly crashes their car and the narrator realizes all that he loves and how much he does not want to die. This poem really stood out to me at this point in my life because I had an experience a few years ago when I realized I was going to die. (Moral: If you are going to swallow meat without chewing it, make sure an ER doctor is sitting behind you.)

Here’s how “We Were Simply Talking” ends:

Suddenly the radio roared, and by the car
a dog barked wildly and, yes, we were fine.
Fine. We were fine. But what was “fine,” I wondered,
and why do we always, always have to speak?

Note: I’d love to quote “We Were Simply Talking” in full, but due to copyright, I’m unable to do so. Please find a copy of it: it is incredibly powerful.

I loved revisiting Andrew Hudgins’ poetry in Babylon in a Jar. Visit Andrew Hudgins at Poets.org. Other books he has published are these:

Ecstatic in the Poison (poetry; 2003)
Babylon in a Jar (poetry; 1998)
The Glass Anvil (essays, 1997).
The Glass Hammer: A Southern Childhood (poetry, 1994)
The Never-Ending: New Poems (poetry, 1991),a finalist for the National Book Awards
After the Lost War: A Narrative (poetry, 1988), received the Poetry Prize
Saints and Strangers (poetry, 1985), a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize

Have you read any of Andrew Hudgins’ poetry?

Other Review:

Pif Magazine

If you have reviewed Babylon in a Jar on your site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 14:00:40 +0000

While I didn’t like Hemingway’s short stories when I read them, I did enjoy Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea. While it has an element of sadness, there is also a beauty and majesty around its short plot.

The old man of the title is reaching the end of his usefulness in life. He’s a fisherman off the coast of Cuba, and he has had a series of bad luck, most recently going 84 days without catching a fish. He is lonely (his deceased wife’s portrait makes him sad, so he hides it), he is poor (he has very little food), and he is sad. The old man’s only friend is a boy who once fished with him. Now the boy fishes with a different man; the boy’s parents believe the old man is not good enough.

But both the old man (and the boy) do believe he is good. The old man knows his strengths. In the sunset years of his life, he recalls days in his youth when he saw lions dancing on the beach in Africa.

He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. (page 25)

I love the lions: I think the old man is strong like those lions.

The old man, alone, goes fishing for the eight-fifth day, hoping to change his luck. And there, in the midst of the Caribbean, he meets the battle of his life with a giant marlin.

Can a lone man catching a fish be a novella, let alone an interesting one? Yes, I think so.

I have a hard time writing a review of a book that many people have read, and I find it a challenge to discuss on this novella without divulging important aspects.

Let me just say this: it is beautiful. An old man still has faith in himself, and he is fighting against all odds for that strength he believes he has. In the end, that is what this novella is about: the internal strength of the individual.

I think it is beautiful.

What strength do we all have inside of us?

The old man’s struggle reminded me of my struggle when my son was born. “Ten more minutes of this before I die!” I said to myself again and again during the labor. Of course, once ten minutes had passed, I was able to take ten more minutes. And when my son was finally born (after a relatively short time), I knew that I was stronger than I ever imagined I could be.

I have a used Bookmooch copy of The Old Man and the Sea, and I considered giving it away. I’m sorry, but I’m keeping it, for I know that I will want to read this again and again at various points in my life.

I highly recommend reading The Old Man and the Sea: I felt it was highly relevant to each of us in our daily struggles.

Have you read The Old Man and the Sea? Did you like it? Why or why not? I never read it for school: did reading it for school “ruin” it for you?

If you have reviewed The Old Man and the Sea on your website, please leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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Stories by Vladimir Nabokov

Rebecca Reid — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 14:00:47 +0000

In his stories, Vladimir Nabokov so perfectly captures a character, or a setting, or an emotion, that I feel that the character is real, the setting surrounds me, and the emotion is my own.

His writing in these stories is so well done that I, a very amateur writer, feel the urge to try my hand at capturing the images around me, a task I will surely fail because I know I will never even remotely measure up to Nabokov’s incredible talent.

The unfortunate aspect of reading more than 60 of Nabokov’s short stories in one month is that the characters he so adroitly creates, the settings he so carefully draws, and the feelings he so perfectly captures are, for the most part, miserable, gloomy, and ultimately depressing. Also, some of his stories have fantastical elements that failed to resonate with me, and most dwell on negative aspects of human nature – subjects that weren’t pleasant for reading in bulk.

But I feel that the overall quality of Vladimir Nabokov’s writing is so extraordinary that he should be read simply for the marvelous experience that comes from reading his words, even if the reader doesn’t necessarily consider the negative underlying themes amazing.

Nabokov’s Style

Unlike the concise Ernest Hemingway, Nabokov uses many words to write his poetic stories. Some paragraphs are longer than a page; sentences are five lines long. It’s very dense, but, to me, beautiful.

Through his wordiness, Nabokov carefully creates a scene, as did James Joyce, and the scene seems to be imperative to many of his stories. Also like Joyce, Nabokov’s purpose or theme for each story isn’t revealed until the end. While Joyce’s stories often left me confused (revealing my ignorance, I suppose), Nabokov’s left me depressed. Sometimes the abrupt endings are a sort of epiphany and sometimes they are just the result of the character’s actions, and we, the readers, must determine Nabokov’s aim.

In that way, Nabokov’s writing reminded me of Anton Chekhov’s stories. Both authors seemed to describe every-day people (peasants in Russia for Chekhov; poor Russian émigrés living in Berlin for Nabokov) living their lives, with a sudden realization (either for the character or the reader) in the last moments of the story illustrate the depressing state of human nature, life, and relationships.

Guy de Maupassant also wrote about the dirty side of human nature. But, while Maupassant’s stories ended up being funny, Nabokov’s stories rarely had humor (although I may have missed any high-brow humor). Some of the stories with fantastic elements reminded me of Edgar Allan Poe‘s or Washington Irving‘s stories. (In fact, one story appropriately refers to Rip Van Winkle.)

In the end, Nabokov has a style completely his own. Just as I felt after reading Flannery O’Connor‘s stories, I can’t place his style and themes into a category with any other short story writer.

Favorites

As I mentioned, Nabokov’s stories tend to be rather sad. My two favorite stories happened to be the least unpleasant. A number of other stories have also stayed with me.

Two Stories

In “First Love,” a man reflects on his first love. In the course of his description of a childhood summer’s events, it’s unclear to the reader whether his first love was traveling by overnight train; swimming at the beach; learning about butterflies; or meeting the little French girl, Colette. This story doesn’t have much plot or grand finale, but it is a beautiful story that I’ve already reread three times.

“The Vane Sisters” was the story that Harold Bloom recommended in his How to Read and Why book list. In this story, a man reflects on his relationships with two sisters, one of whom was once his girlfriend. It also is incredibly subtle. (Highlight to read spoiler.) Nabokov’s subtle ending tells us that this man’s life really hasn’t been all that affected by the life and then the death of these sisters. It’s kind of depressing for the sisters, but an interesting realization for the man. It made me think about my own life and relationships. What impact do certain people have on me? For example, how often do I think about old boyfriends? Did they really impact my life significantly?

The Bottom Line

Have I made myself clear? Maybe not. To be safe, here it is as clearly as I can write it:

Read Nabokov’s short stories, at least one or two. His writing is incredible.

Have you read already read Nabokov’s stories? What did you think? How would you describe his writing style and the themes he writes about?

Note: Because Vladimir Nabokov’s stories are not in the public domain, I cannot link to them online. Here is Wikipedia’s information about him.

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Stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 29 Oct 2008 13:00:26 +0000

After reading Edgar Allan Poe last week, I thought I’d stay in the same era and read Nathaniel Hawthorne’s stories. To my delight, many of Hawthorne’s stories perfectly fit the “gothic” theme of Halloween in a style that I loved. Even though I dislike of being “scared,” these stories were again the perfect amount of creepy for me.

One of Hawthorne’s collections of stories is called Twice-Told Tales. As I read, I began to understand why: while many stories are on the surface about Puritans in the early days of America, they aren’t really about Puritans. Hawthorne is telling us a different story. (Links below are to the stories in the public domain.)

For example, in Hawthorne’s probably most well-known story, “Young Goodman Brown,” the titular character is invited by the devil to practice witchcraft one night. To his surprise, the people he sees with the devil are his own religious teachers and leaders. But what we read is only a part of the story. The “tale” is told again when we realize the symbolism: even those striving to lead are hypocrites full of error.

Other stories likewise have a “ghostly,” Halloween-ish feel to them. For example, in “Rappaccini’s Daughter,” the woman is literally poisonous. In “The Snow-Image,” two children make a snow person come alive; I loved this “Frosty the Snowman” precursor. Similarly, in “Feathertop,” a witch brings her scarecrow to life. In”Lady Eleanore’s Mantle,” a woman’s coat becomes the carrier of a plague of sorts. In “Ethan Brand,” the titular character has sold his soul to the devil. I think these would be perfect for a ghostly but not scary Halloween read! I think “Feathertop” and “The Snow-Image” would also be appropriate for children.

While not all of Hawthorne’s stories are gothic, all of them have subtle meanings. Some people may not like Hawthorne’s blatant messages in his stories, but I thought his stories were also entertaining stories.

Probably my favorite non-ghostly story is “The Great Stone Face.” In this story, a small rural community is looking for the fulfillment of the legend: a person whose countenance appears the same as the face on the local hillside. This person will bring honor to the community. Over the course of a lifetime, they find the image of the stone face in a rich entrepreneur, a war hero, and a poet, all of whom end up failing the community. I loved the message of this story: that we can make a difference to others without doing something grand, and humility is always better than pride.

Further, in “The Birth-mark,”a husband wants his wonderful wife to undergo his experimental surgery to remove a birthmark from her face that he thinks is the hand print of the devil; but it’s not the hand of devil. A young man enters Boston in “My Kinsman, Major Molineux” looking for his relative to help him get started in the world; but his relative doesn’t have time for him. In “The Great Carbuncle” a group of people are searching for a huge, precious jewel, each for their own reasons — to their ultimate downfall. Finally, in “The Wives of the Dead,” two sisters find out on the same day that their husbands have died. I won’t tell you what happens, but it is “touching” in the end.

There were other, well-known stories that I read and didn’t like very much. I think I disliked the slow pace and the lack of engagement I felt with any particular character. These were “The Minister’s Black Veil,” “The May-Pole of Merry Mount,” “Wakefield,” “The Gentle Boy,” “Endicott and the Red Cross,” “The Gray Champion,” and “The Ambitious Guest.” While these stories were good, and I don’t want to miss mentioning them, I wasn’t drawn in to them. Maybe I’ll revisit them sometime and find them delightful as well!

In the end, Hawthorne has a style of his own. I can almost say he’s a favorite for me, after Maupassant and Chekhov. His style may not be a favorite for you, but why not give him a try? These are short stories, after all.

Have you read Hawthorne’s stories? What do you think of his “subtle” (or not so subtle) messages?

For the rest of October, I’ll donate 10 cents to World Food Programme for every (non-spam) comment I receive on any post of Rebecca Reads. See most post on Blog Action Day 2008 here. I’m also donating any proceeds (4%) from my Amazon Store.

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Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! by Laura Amy Schlitz

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 13:00:25 +0000

When I heard the concept of Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! by Laura Amy Schlitz (monologues given by medieval children), I thought it would be horribly boring. Monologues? I thought. What is fun about monologues? I thought children would be bored by these “Voices from a Medieval Village.”

To my delight, I found Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! to be easy and fun to read. I loved meeting the youth of Schlitz’s created medieval village and I would love to see a group of children perform this collection of monologues: it is a collection of personalities, and it shows how every person in a village has a role, be they rich or poor. I think children would like this book as well!

Monologues of Medieval Life

The students where librarian Laura Amy Schlitz worked were studying the Middle Ages, and she wanted them to perform something – but plays rarely have 17 main parts, and everyone wanted a main part. So she took it upon herself to create a village setting and write monologues or dialogues for all the youths in the class. The end result was Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!, and it won the Newbery Award for excellence in Children’s Literature.

In Good Masters! Sweet Ladies!, we meet the daughter and nephew of the feudal lord, a plowboy, a doctor’s son, a religious pilgrim, the miller’s son, the village half-wit, the moneylender’s son and a merchant’s daughter, and many other peasants. My favorite was Alice, the shepherdess: her sheep was dying and she sang it back to life, a story based on a real one (in more modern times). My other favorite was Mogg, who, upon her father’s death, learns that the lord has the right to take the best of their livestock, a fact she’s quite angry about; to her and my delight, her story ends happily.

Every person of the village expresses their frustrations and challenges. As we learn of their individual worries and problems, we see how they don’t understand each other. Interspersed throughout the book are short, two-page informational sections clarifying things: Why did villagers dislike the miller? Why was the pilgrim traveling? Why weren’t Jews liked? From what was the runaway fleeing?

I finished the book knowing more about medieval society. I also better appreciated everyone’s role in society today.

Performance as Literature

Schlitz was quite right in her portrayals of Christian medieval youth as “acting” their literature. According to Chapter 3 (“Court, Commerce and Cloister”) of Seth Lerer’s Children’s Literature: A Reader’s History from Aesop to Harry Potter, just as religious services were performances, the literature of a medieval childhood was performed.

Children were given lots of responsibilities, from medieval courts of leadership to craft guilds, and each role had literature for the children. The literature of medieval childhood included the earliest lullabies, religious primers, and courtesy/conduct manuals. Much of the learning was through riddles, and these riddles were “dialogue[s] between master and students” (page 63).

Lerer illustrates how medieval literature wasn’t only performance: it was also “romance and adventure, Robin Hood and magic, lullabies and folk rhymes” (page 80). While I certainly don’t wish to have lived as a child in medieval times, it’s refreshing to see, in the history, a literature beginning to develop for children.

It seems quite appropriate that Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! allows modern children to enter the medieval world in a similar way. I’d highly recommend this book for children and parents alike.

I’m giving away boxes of books! Only one more day to enter! Visit here.

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Stories by Flannery O’Connor

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 13 Oct 2008 13:00:32 +0000

To understand Flannery O’Connor’s short stories is understand the rural South that she was familiar with in the pre-1970s. Her stories focus on aspects character in human, every-day situations all revolving around her South, dealing with race relations, Christianity, rural versus city living, parent-child relationships, etc. She brings the reader into the settings by capturing thought processes, a style I found engaging. I enjoyed reading her stories, although they illustrated a lack of hope in human nature.

Themes

Race and Class

I found the most common theme in Flannery O’Connor’s stories is race and class, looking at conflict between generations. A great example is “Everything that Rises Must Converge.” In this story, a progressive young man must ride the bus with his older mother to the YMCA because she is “afraid” of the blacks on the integrated buses. He wants to teach her a lesson, but in the end he realizes he still needs his mother, as “old-fashioned” as she is.

Race and class often mix in O’Connor’s stories. In “Revelation,” a self-satisfied judgmental woman is baffled when a young girl calls her a rude name; in the end, she (maybe) realizes the folly of her judgments.

Other stories clearly dealing with race and class also include rural versus city conflicts. Some of these stories are “The Artificial Nigger” (a father and son visit Atlanta); “The Displaced Person” (a Jewish refugee family joins the farm); “A Late Encounter With the Enemy” (Grandpa fought in the civil war); and “The Geranium” and “Judgment Day” (an old man, living in New York City with his daughter, longs to return to the South to die; these are essentially the same story, one written at the beginning and one at the end of O’Connor’s career).

Isolated, Lonely People

Some of my favorite stories were about lonely, isolated individuals seeking for a place. In “The Crop,” a lonely woman sits down to write a short story-and forgets where she is. I love this story because I can relate to this writer: she can’t figure out how to get the story from her head to paper. In “A Stroke of Good Fortune,” the woman ponders a fortune teller’s message, and the reader, following her thoughts, knows what it is. I loved how clueless she was as I followed her thought process.

While others weren’t favorites, they were also about lonely, isolated people: “You Can’t Be Any Poorer Than Dead” (14-year-old must bury his grandfather); “Good Country People” (a lonely girl with a wooden leg finally trusts someone, the good country man selling bibles); “The Life You Save May Be Your Own” (mother gets her mute daughter married to a nice, good country man); “A View of the Woods” (a lonely, selfish grandfather idolizes his granddaughter); and “The Enduring Chill” (a lonely, unsuccessful writer returns to Georgia to die).

Christianity (Good versus Evil)

Flannery O’Connor’s stories also deal with Christianity and good versus evil in general. Her view of good and evil in the face of Christianity is intriguing.

“A Good Man is Hard to Find” is probably the most familiar O’Connor story, but I really don’t like it. Grandma gets her family lost on a side road. They meet a murderer, who Grandma is sure she recognizes as a good man. I think it’s a look at how everyone has good, and yet, we’re all missing good too; we’re all condemned. I find it a bit disturbing.

In other stories, people try to save each other through religion and because of religious training. In “The River,” the boy’s caretaker, Mrs. Conin, wants to “save” him with religion. In “Parker’s Back,” Parker gets one more tattoo that he thinks his religious wife will appreciate. In “The Comforts of Home,” Thomas’s mother thinks she can save a loose woman from corruption. In “The Lame Shall Enter First,” Sheppard thinks he can redeem a criminal boy who shows more promise than his own son.

Compared to the Others

I found Flannery O’Connor’s stories to be completely unlike the others I’ve read in the past few months. And yet, I still try to compare and contrast.

As did Chekhov, O’Connor focuses on specific characters in a specific setting, keeping the scenarios tight. Somewhat like Maupassant, O’Connor’s stories focus on base human desires and situations. In contrast to James Joyce, who was careful to develop a scene, O’Connor throws us into it to a scene and we must feel our way until we understand the setting (and yet it is still marvelously developed). Also, while Hemingway captured scenes mostly through dialog, O’Connor captures her scenes through incredibly realistic thought processes.

Unlike O. Henry, her stories are not “feel good.” In fact, I almost hated reading some of the stories, because I knew, following her style, that just before the character finds redemption, something would go wrong and they’d be damned, or killed, or otherwise without hope. In subject matter, then, I think her stories most closely resemble Jhumpa Lahiri’s stories in Interpreter of Maladies, which capture the isolation immigrants feel. While O’Connor’s characters aren’t immigrants to the United States, they seem similarly confused by their loneliness in a changing Southern environment.

HTR&W

I didn’t agree with a lot of Harold Bloom’s comments in How to Read and Why on the specific stories he discusses, but his general comments on O’Connor’s style are interesting. He focuses on the religious aspect of her work, how everyone ends up damned as I mentioned above, and how O’Connor doesn’t expect anyone to be redeemed.

…the best way to read her stories is to begin by acknowledging that one is among her damned, and then go on from there to enjoy her grotesque and unforgettable art of telling.

Harold Bloom captures what my main gripe was with O’Connor’s stories, although he thinks it’s a beautiful trait. It is, but it’s still a bit annoying in bulk:

…readers need to be wary of her tendentiousness: she has too palpable a design upon us, to shock us by violence into a need for traditional faith.

I sometimes didn’t like the violent shock at the end of each story: but that may be because I was reading all of her short stories in the same week. If you read Flannery O’Connor, read her in installments.

In the end, Flannery O’Connor certainly has a marvelous but morbid story telling ability.

Have you read Flannery O’Connor? What do you think of her stories? Did you like “A Good Man is Hard to Find”?

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Stories by O. Henry (and Another BBAW Giveaway)

Rebecca Reid — Thu, 18 Sep 2008 01:00:15 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

After reading, in the past months, the short stories of Turgenev, Chekhov, Maupassant, James Joyce, and Hemingway, I found O. Henry‘s stories to be remarkably different. They were refreshingly delightful, poignant, and easy to read, and yet, I was struck by the inferiority of O. Henry’s actual writing in comparison to the others. In the end, though, I think everyone should read some of O. Henry’s stories: they are enjoyable.

O. Henry’s stories are full of irony. Like Maupassant‘s stories, his stories focus on the base aspects of human nature: poverty, crime, dying. However, while Maupassant’s stories focus on self-interest, O. Henry’s stories focus on self-improvement and the “love your neighbor” aspects of human nature. The characters in O. Henry’s stories were loving, and the endings were poignant and “tender.” On the other hand, as I mentioned when I read Maupassant’s stories, some of those characters were cruel and uncompassionate. Both writers seemed to accurately portray human nature, but I must say that Maupassant’s take was more amusing!

O. Henry was born William Sidney Porter and became O. Henry after a few years in prison, during which time he turned to his writing. I’m glad he did write because I really enjoyed his stories! My favorites were these (links to public domain etexts):

The Gift of the Magi. $1.87 is all she had on Christmas Eve, and yet she wanted to buy her husband a Christmas gift.
The Cop and the Anthem. A homeless man wants to be arrested so he can be in jail all winter.
The Last Leaf. She knows she will die when the last leaf falls from the vine.
The Ransom of Red Chief. Two criminals need $2,000, so they determine to kidnap the son of the richest man in town and hold him for ransom.

The Writing

Reading James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway before reading O. Henry may have been a mistake, simply because I was distracted by O. Henry’s writing. His writing is perfectly acceptable: it’s probably a style issue for me. O. Henry is a down-to-earth writer, and his writing seemed to have a more conversational aspect. For example, in “The Gift of the Magi,” the woman begins to cry in the first paragraphs. Then,

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage [sobs] to the second [sniffles], take a look at the home.

Now, there is technically nothing wrong with addressing the reader. But James Joyce was careful to develop a scene and Ernest Hemingway never would use so many words to describe something, so for me it was just a surprising, jarring sentence to read.

Also, along the same line, O. Henry told his stories, but none of the characters seemed developed. Even after finishing “The Ransom of Red Chief,” for example, I barely know about the two kidnappers and the young boy; they remained stereotypes in a clever story. On the other hand, while Joyce seemed long-winded in some respects and his stories were somewhat depressing, the characters and settings were so beautifully created that I didn’t mind reading it.

Has reading Joyce and Hemingway and the other authors recommended in HTR&W made me a “snob” for concise yet beautiful descriptions and carefully developed characters? I don’t know. Maybe if I’d waited a few days after Hemingway, O. Henry’s writing style wouldn’t have seemed inferior.

I suppose noticing writing, instead of just stories, is progress. After all, one of my goals in attacking a reading list like HTR&W is to learn to read well, instead of just turning pages. The other night, I picked up a less-than-100-page collection of O. Henry to read and I read it one setting: wouldn’t that be reading to “just turn pages”?

But, as I said, I really enjoyed O. Henry’s stories, and after my disappointment in Hemingway, I really needed to “just turn pages.”

Have you read O. Henry? What was your favorite story? What have you read lately when you just wanted to “turn pages”?

If you want to read some “tender” (and, yes, I admit, somewhat cheesy) “love your neighbor” stories, you should really give O. Henry a try. Read his stories online in the public domain at Project Gutenberg; most are fairly short.

If you don’t want to read online, I’d love to send you my collection as a BBAW giveaway! It’s The Gift of the Magi and Other Short Stories by O. Henry, a Dover Thrift Edition in good shape. If you’d like it, please let me know in the comments. I’ll send anywhere in the world, and I’ll select a winner Sunday.

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Stories by Ernest Hemingway

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 01:00:05 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

Hemingway’s stories are poetry: that is my first and lasting impression of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories. In his short stories, Hemingway treats words as sparsely as do poets.

I don’t usually understand or enjoy poetry because it feels so much must be inferred or interpreted. (After I finish reading the HTR&W short stories, I’m reading a number of poets for my HTR&W personal challenge. I’m a bit nervous.) While reading Ernest Hemingway’s stories, I likewise felt the need to infer and interpret beyond my comfort zone: I didn’t “get” them and I certainly didn’t enjoy reading the few stories I read. While I’ve only read a dozen of Ernest Hemingway’s short stories, I’m finished.

That, however, doesn’t mean you should avoid Hemingway’s stories: they may resonate with you, and you may love his writing style. He does a magnificent job of capturing a scene through dialog. Hemingway is worth reading.

Two Stories to Read

While I didn’t love any of the stories, there are two I would recommend others read. “The Snows of Kilimanjaro” follows an unsuccessful writer as he dies of gangrene in the middle of an African hunting camp, stranded after his vehicle broke down. It is a story with two aspects: one part follows the dialog he has with his wife, and one part follows what he is thinking and all the stories he wished he had written.

The second story I’d recommend is “A Clean, Well-Lighted Place,” which I’d read before and is probably the most well-known of his stories. In that story, a deaf, widowed old man who has recently attempted suicide sits and drinks late into the night in a café. One waiter essentially kicks out the old man because he wants to go home, while the other waiter contemplates on how the café is a nice place to sit, and everyone needs a place.

I like the stories behind these, and I like the summary of them as I write them up now (although I know I did a poor job, since there is lots of symbolism in them that I’ve missed). What I disliked about Hemingway’s stories was the writing style. The stories were dialog driven, and the parts that were not dialog (such as the writer’s thoughts in “The Snows of Kilimanjaro”), felt like run-on sentences (although all were grammatically correct). His stories also end abruptly, as did James Joyce’s stories that I read last week. Hemingway was not a bad writer; he is brilliant at controlling each tight scene. For me, however, the style was irritating: I’ve decided that Hemingway is just not for me.

HTR&W

When I picked up How to Read and Why to see what Harold Bloom had to say about Ernest Hemingway, I found that he began by discussing how Hemingway’s stories are poetry. At least I was “right” in noticing that aspect. Bloom points out all the symbolism in his favorite stories, a lot of which I missed, despite having read the stories a few times. As I mentioned, I did like “The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” which he discussed. But I really disliked “Hills Like White Elephants.” The other two stories he recommends are “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen” and “A Sea Change,” which I similarly disliked, though not as much.

The Finest American Short Story Writer?

Apparently, Ernest Hemingway is the definitive American short story writer. I hope not; I really didn’t enjoy his stories. You might love them, though. Don’t take my word for it!

Have you read Hemingway’s short stories? Which was your favorite? My volume of The Complete Short Stories of Ernest Hemingway isn’t due at the library for a few weeks yet; tell me your favorites and I’ll give him another chance.

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Dubliners by James Joyce

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 09 Sep 2008 16:37:00 +0000

In Dubliners, his collection of short stories, James Joyce captures Irish life, specifically the lives of Dubliners. Each story is a magnificent sketch of the people, setting, and situations; the entire collection presents a variety of such sketches. At the end of each sketch, I felt the despair that I believe Joyce intended to impart in each normal life situation. While each story captures different characters in a various stages of life, similar despair pervades each of their lives in related settings.

Joyce’s ability to capture the world through his words greatly impressed me. Each story is incredibly realistic and amazingly readable. However, I was not impressed with the plots behind each story; Joyce seems to hint at the issues and sometimes I felt too much was left for me to guess at. But while I didn’t love the stories themselves, I would highly recommend reading Joyce’s stories solely for the beautiful writing and careful character development. Reading the stories in Dubliners is an example to me that plot doesn’t necessarily make something I read “great”; good writing makes it great.

Could good writing make something great for you or does the plot also have to grab you? Would you read something just for the great character development and beautiful writing?

Until I picked up his volume of short-stories, I hadn’t thought I’d ever read James Joyce. He’s always intimidated me. To my surprise, I’d read one story, “Araby,” which had been assigned reading in my ninth-grade English class. It remains my favorite of Joyce’s stories because, just as at age 14, the main character’s frustrations and “unrequited crush” resonated with me. If you choose one of Joyce’s stories to read, I’d recommend “Araby.” As I said, much in the underlying plot is left to the reader to untangle, and yet, the characters, setting, and emotions are perfectly captured.

Have you read something as a teenager that still resonates with you today?

If you have reviewed Dubliners on your own site, leave a link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

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The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 05:33:03 +0000

Randy Pausch was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at age 46, when his youngest daughter was just 3 months old. As a well-known computer science professor at Carnegie Mellon University, he was a world leader in virtual reality training. But the focus of his last lecture to the university is not about programming a computer: It’s about how to live life. In Randy Pausch’s The Last Lecture, Randy tells his three young children what it means to be happy, despite the odds, and what it means to truly live. His words, given with his own death date in mind, may inspire everyone.

I had never heard of Randy Pausch until he passed away on July 25, 2008. My husband was watching “The Last Lecture” via the Internet, and I saw a little of it. When I saw the book this week sitting on my mother’s coffee table, I picked it up. I couldn’t stop reading it.

Randy’s trials were incredibly challenging. In August 2007, just one month before he delivered his last lecture, he found out that his cancer was terminal; he had three-to-six months to live. Yet his optimism in the lecture and in his book reveal true passion for living.

I don’t know how not to have fun. I’m dying and I’m having fun. And I’m going to keep having fun every day I have left. Because there’s no other way to play it. (page 179)

Randy Pausch died nine months after he delivered his memorable lecture, three months longer than his diagnosis. His enthusiasm for life seems to have remained until the end of his life.

I’d highly recommend reading this best-seller, or at least watching his inspiring talk. Visit www.thelastlecture.org for more information about Randy Pausch, his lecture, and his Carnegie Mellon University virtual reality legacy. You can also find more information about helping fight pancreatic cancer.

If you found you had three-to-six months left to live, would you remain positive, even in the midst of the pain of chemotherapy? I don’t know how I would be. But most importantly, what would you share with your family and friends?

I don’t know how I would be. But I certainly hope I could reemphasize to my family the great things that we enjoy by being alive. That positive hope is the message I got from Randy Pausch.

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Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Favorites)

Rebecca Reid — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 08:43:52 +0000

As I mentioned, Maupassant was a best-seller in his day. What makes his stories resonate with the modern reader is the attention to our own natural wants.

His stories capture greed (a woman wanting to look elegant for a party, no matter the cost; a man in need of money selling his wife; a parent in need of money selling his child; etc.), self-interest (a young man escaping from his pregnant girlfriend; society shunning prostitutes while yet accepting them; a family having the funeral before the loved one died for convenience), desire for power (a man lusting after a woman; a man trying to politically overtake a city), and so forth.

For a specific example, in “The Devil,” Maupassant captures our natural impatience. The son of a dying woman needs to plant his crop, so he hires a peasant woman to sit with his dying mother. But as the hired woman has been hired for a set pay, she doesn’t feel like waiting for the woman to die. I won’t tell you how this is resolved, but I will tell you I laughed out loud, horrid as it was! Humans are impatient by nature, and Maupassant wonderfully captured us.

I’ve now read between 80 and 100 stories (probably about 400 pages, skipping around the huge volume I have). As I’m moving this weekend, I had to return the book to the library.

I think I’ve had a good taste of Maupassant’s great stories. I’m sure there are other great ones out there. Tell me if I missed your favorite! (Links below are to the stories on the web; all are in the public domain.)

Stories I Would Reread

The Necklace: A middle-class woman really wants to look nice at a social gathering so she borrows a diamond necklace from her friend….and loses it.
The Piece of String: A stingy man finds a piece of string in the middle of the town square and stops to pick it up, changing his life.
The False Gems: When his beloved wife dies, the man eventually must sell her cherished-but-false jewels.
The Horla: An invisible creature follows a man, driving him crazy.
Was it a Dream?: A man’s beloved wife died, and he morns over her grave, only to be “haunted.”
The Father: A man abandons his girlfriend once she becomes pregnant; only later does he realize what that meant for him.
The Devil: A peasant woman is hired to sit with a dying woman and gets impatient for her to die.
A Sale: Why did he dump his wife in a barrel of water? The judge wants to know.
Simon’s Papa: Simon doesn’t have a papa, and the boys in the school yard are making fun of him. He is determined to find a papa.
Clair de Lune: A priest hates women because they are only temptresses, and nothing good can come from women. And then he learns something.

HTR&W

Harold Bloom selected as his favorites “Madame Tellier’s Establishment” and “The Horla.”

While I didn’t really love reading “Madame Tellier’s Establishment,” it did fit in to the pattern of Maupassant’s stories that I mention above in terms of addressing aspects of human’s carnal desires. Madame Tellier’s “establishment” is a whorehouse. They all take a holiday to visit Madame Tellier’s niece’s first communion. I had an odd sense as I read it that the prostitutes weren’t really people in the society, and yet we find that they were.

“The Horla,” on the other hand, was wonderfully weird. It was written during Maupassant’s own “going crazy” stage, as were a few of his stories. As I mention above, it is about a man being followed by an invisible man, and slowing going crazy. There were some great passages in it, and I really enjoyed the sense of “is this really happening?”.

In How to Read and Why, Bloom compares and contrasts Maupassant and Chekhov, much as I did in my previous post. He has some interesting comments. (Again, he has no respect for Poe, which makes me want to go read Poe again just to prove him wrong.) He concludes with this:

Why read Maupassant? At his best, he will hold you as few others do.

Yes, Maupassant really does capture your attention!

What are you waiting for? Many Maupassant stories are very short. Read some of his stories online right now (links to specific stories above):

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Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Introductory Thoughts)

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 22:00:42 +0000

Image via Wikipedia

If Guy de Maupassant lived and wrote stories or novels today, his name would appear on The New York Times best-seller lists many weeks out of a year.

As it was, in the late 1800s, his stories were best-sellers from the time the first one, “Boule de Suif,” appeared in a collection with five other previously unknown authors, until he died, mentally ill, at the young age of 42 in 1893.

But don’t let the best-seller title sway you from reading Maupassant. I tend to avoid modern-day best-sellers because, in my mind, they are (stereotypically) not written very well. But that’s not the case with Guy de Maupassant’s stories: he writes incredibly well.

Maupassant’s Style

I’ve only read about 40 of Maupassant’s stories thus far (out of a book with 270), so these are all preliminary thoughts. As I’m still reading his stories, I’ll share my favorites by Maupassant and my HTR&W thoughts in a subsequent post.

Since I recently read Chekhov’s stories, I can’t help but compare the two writers. Apparently, most people compare them. In the introduction to the volume I’m reading, Dr. Artine Artinian discusses at length why Maupassant is better than Chekhov. I don’t think I can assign one as better than the other; they are just very different.

Maupassant’s writing style is a stark contrast to Chekhov’s (read my discussion of Chekhov’s stories here). I loved Chekhov’s writing and style: it was thoughtful despite being (I suppose you could say) verbose. He explores the characters’ emotional states and their thoughts. Maupassant is much more concise. He also relies on dialog more than Chekhov seemed to, so his stories moved more quickly. But Maupassant’s stories are still beautifully written. He captures the essence of the setting in few words and makes it complete.

Maupassant’s subject matter is also a stark contrast to Chekhov. Both writers focus on the lives of everyday people, focusing on everyday matters. But while Chekhov wrote his stories with the ever-present political situation of various classes of people (money and station seemed to be a theme), Maupassant wrote with under-lying carnal desires in mind. In other words, he wrote about sex, greed, love, misunderstandings, and lying, among other things. The characters in his stories care most about themselves. Chekhov’s stories were more concerned with how people relate with each other. In a sense, Chekhov’s characters felt more sensitive. Maupassant’s characters are more “human.”

In searching for a recommended translation, I stumbled upon an Amazon reviewer who wasn’t too impressed with Maupassant. He/she says:

The real reason that everyone makes such a big deal about Maupassant is because he mostly wrote about sex. His stories are entertaining but not extraordinary…

He’s right, and he’s wrong. Yes, Maupassant mostly wrote about sex. But I believe that Maupassant’s writing has a hint of extraordinary. Some stories are simply masterpieces. I believe Maupassant deserves the credit he received.

The Verdict

As I said, I haven’t read every story in this collection of stories by Maupassant. But when I read stories like these I am glad that I don’t have a rating system on my blog. How could I assign a “score” to these painfully beautiful stories after I assigned a “score” to Chekhov’s painfully beautiful stories? I am glad I read both authors, but I can’t begin to “grade” them.

If there is one author I’d read again someday, it would probably be Chekhov and not Maupassant. But that doesn’t mean that Maupassant isn’t as good or that I find his stories “worse.” Also, don’t judge a book by it’s cover: I’m liking Maupassant despite its stench.

In the end, Maupassant’s stories feel modern in writing style and subject matter. Therefore, you (personally) may relate to them more than you would to the under-lying politics in Chekhov’s peasant Russia. I guess you could say that Maupassant is the average “Guy.” That helped him become the best-seller he deservedly was.

Questions for you:

Which writing style do you prefer to read: verbose beauty or concise beauty?
If you’ve read Maupassant’s stories, do you think they’re “all about sex” or is there something else deeper in them?
Do you assign “scores” or ratings to books or stories you read? Why do you assign ratings? How do you determine which rating to assign?

Related posts:

Stories by Anton Chekhov

Rebecca Reid — Sun, 20 Jul 2008 22:00:58 +0000

I loved reading Chekhov’s stories. I read a volume of them, translated by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky, as well as “The Kiss,” which was recommended by Bloom and unfortunately wasn’t included in the volume translated by Pevear and Volokhonsky.

My favorite stories tended to be the shorter ones that focused on one character or one couple. They each had a sad, poignant ending, and yet I loved the beauty in them. Chekhov didn’t try to say too much in each story, and I finished each one with a sigh, wanting to let my emotions simmer before I went on to the next story. Many of them reminded me that life is challenging and full of depressing things, and yet we all still go on day by day. Explaining Chekhov in those words makes his stories sound depressing, and they were in a sense, but overall, they were beautiful at the same time.

My favorites were these:

“The Student.” I discussed last week how and why the student’s transformation from sadness to joy touched me.
“The Kiss.” A shy and unpopular army officer receives an unexpected kiss from an unknown woman; his life is transformed by the experience in two ways.
“Peasant Women.” The story of a peasant woman inspires other peasant women who feel trapped in their lives.
“The Fidget.” A flighty woman marries a renowned doctor and realizes too late that her lifestyle is unfulfilling: her husband’s love could have brought her true happiness.
“Anna on the Neck.” When her impoverished father marries Anna to a rich man, her family believes their financial trials are over; Anna finds her place in her new life.
“The Lady with the Little Dog.” While on holiday, a man instigates an affair; at the end of the holiday, he and she agree to return to their spouses without further contact, but neither can forget the other.

HTR&W

Harold Bloom summarizes “The Kiss,” “The Student,” and “The Lady with the Little Dog” in How to Read and Why. He claims that Chekhov’s stories are great because of

[T]he formal delicacy and somber reflectiveness … make him the indispensable artist of the unlived life. … One should write, Chekhov said, so that the reader needs no explanations from the author. The actions, conversations, and meditations of the characters had to be sufficient… (page 37)

That is exactly why I loved reading Chekhov: the action and thoughts of the characters told the story, rather than the descriptions of the author.

I appreciate the rest of Bloom’s remarks on these stories. Although I felt differently than Bloom did on reading the stories, I still appreciated reading what grabbed his attention.

What grabs your attention in Chekhov? Do you have a favorite story I may have missed?

Related posts:

The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story

Rebecca Reid — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 22:00:50 +0000

Anton Chekhov’s “The Student” is the perfect story.

Decide for yourself by reading it at Project Gutenberg (1,500 words) or listening to it at LibriVox (10 minutes). Note that I read a new translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.

Here are some elements that make it perfect for me.

It is short

I mentioned that according to Harold Bloom, Edgar Allan Poe’s definition of short story is “read in one sitting.” But that’s not what I mean when I say “short” makes “The Student” a perfect short story. What I mean by “short” is that “The Student” captures an instant, not a lifetime. It doesn’t give too much back story; it doesn’t give too many details. It is concise and yet complete. And to me, it’s amazing to be able to create something so cohesive and powerful in so few words. (As I said when I reviewed On Writing, I don’t believe that length or quantity is a necessary measure of “good writing.”)

It captures one main character in one moment/subject

Sometimes a short story has two characters that act as one (a couple in a relationship, for example) but I think short stories that try to capture too many characters (as do some of Chekhov’s in the volume I’m reading) lack the pleasing organization or the “short and sweet” element that I like in a story. By nature, I think a short story needs to focus on one character/subject in either one moment or in one series of moments that relate (like a couple developing a relationship or a woman learning to respect her husband or a group of peasant women discussing how they will never love their husbands). “The Student” focuses on a young man, Ivan, on one wintery evening.

The character’s emotions are foremost

“The Student” follows the young man’s emotions as he walks in the wintery night, sits by the fire at the widows’ home, and then walks home. While Chekhov describes what happens and what people say, the young man’s emotions are the driving factor of the story.

Something happens, emotionally

While something physically happened in Turgenev’s stories, I didn’t feel any emotional draw to the characters. I am realizing that I approach literature through my emotions. For me, I loved the emotional draw in “The Student.” Ivan feels one way at the beginning of the story, has a very simple experience, and walks home at the end of the story feeling differently about his role in the world: past, present, and future. I think it is beautiful. Note that I don’t believe all stories necessarily need to have a positive emotional change for a story to be beautiful. But for every story that I like in the Chekhov volume I’m reading, there is some emotional realization at the end, whether that is happy or sad: I finish a story and sigh, wanting to let myself dwell on the emotion for a few moments before beginning the next story.

HTR&W

I wrote this post before reading Harold Bloom’s opinions in How to Read and Why. I may not even need to read what he says for some of these HTR&W works: I am loving Chekhov. If you don’t like Turgenev, don’t give up on the HTR&W list! These stories are better in my opinion. I’m really enjoying Chekhov’s stories, and I’ll write about Bloom’s comments and about the rest of the volume of Chekhov’s stories when I finish it.

Questions for you

Harold Bloom especially emphasized in his prologue that reading is an individual experience; what I like and am inspired by may not touch you in a similar manner. So I want to hear from you.

What makes a short story “good” for you? Was “The Student” a “good” story for you?
The back cover of my book calls “The Student” a “moving piece about the importance of religious tradition.” However, to me, I thought the religious story Ivan shares with the widows is not as important as the emotions explored. The introduction to my volume of Chekhov’s stories even admits that Chekhov, although familiar with the Christian traditions, was not a religious man. I believe “The Student” was about a young man understanding that his life can have an impact on others; his life has meaning. But what do you think? Is “The Student” a story about religious tradition?

Other thoughts:

Related posts:

Two Stories by Turgenev

Rebecca Reid — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 22:00:10 +0000

At Harold Bloom’s suggestion in HTR&W, I tackled “Bezhin Lea” and “Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands” by Ivan Turgenev. I say “tackled” because, unfortunately, these stories were evidence to me that I am accustomed to reading quickly and easily; reading them was a “difficult pleasure.” I expect not all of the stories on Bloom’s reading list will be so (dare I say it?) dull, but to me, “Bezhin Lea” and “Kasyan” failed to ignite my interest, despite the superior quality of the writing. I had intended to read all of Turgenev’s Sketches from a Hunter’s Album, but I think I’ll stop at just the two for now.

Ivan Turgenev’s Sketches from a Hunter’s Album (also called A Sportman’s Sketches) contains more than 25 stories about a hunter (assumed to be Turgenev) relating his experiences among the people he meets. The two “sketches” I read were beautifully written.

In “Bezhin Lea” (or “Bezhin Meadow” or “Bezhin Prairie”), the hunter gets lost after a long day of hunting. In the darkening twilight, he comes across a group of young peasant boys, with whom he spends the evening. Feigning sleep, the hunter overhears the conversation among the boys, which is about superstition and life and death. Bloom opines that we should read this story

to know better our own reality, our vulnerability to fate, while learning also to appreciate aesthetically Turgenev’s tact and only apparent detachment as a storyteller. (page 33)

I struggled to find my “own reality” in “Bezhin Lea.” After reading Bloom’s comments, I reread the story. Upon second reading I could sense what Bloom means: because the narrator was detached, the other characters are developed objectively to some extent. I suppose not “getting it” is just an example of how poorly I read the story the first time, but I also remember that Bloom expressed in his prologue that reading is intensely personal, and what he gets out of a story is not necessarily what I get out of the story. Maybe that is the case with Turgenev.

In “Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands” (or “Kasyan of Fair Springs”), the hunter is returning home from hunting when the axle breaks on his coach. He and his driver stop in a peasant village to have it repaired. While waiting, the hunter meets a strange peasant man, a dwarf named Kasyan. The hunter stays with Kasyan and goes hunting for grouse. The character of Kasyan was interesting to me and the writing was again beautiful, but again it took me two readings to really like him and the careful development of his character. Only after my second reading did I realize what Bloom meant:

[The hunter's] thoughts on Kasyan remain unexpressed, but do we need them? … One need not idealize Kasyan; his peasant shrewdness and perceptions exclude a great deal of value, but he incarnates truths of folklore that he himself may scarcely know that he knows. (page 35)

I think Turgenev has a superb ability to capture the individuals in peasant society within the context of a story. In “Bezhin Lea” and “Kasyan from the Beautiful Lands,” Turgenev captured the different superstitions and philosophies of the peasants without lecturing us or rehearsing it before us. While I’m not in love with his writing, I think that is a reflection on my own ingrained reading habits. I can sense the quality of his writing, and I look forward, at some point in my life and not right now, revisiting Turgenev’s Sketches from a Hunter’s Album.

Note that I read these two stories by Turgenev via the public domain project at Project Gutenberg, where the translator was different from Bloom’s. Also, if you haven’t yet read the stories and were planning on reading Bloom’s How to Read and Why, please note that Bloom does reveal spoilers: Bloom assumes that we, as readers, have already read these stories. I suspect that is how he will treat all of the works on his list. I’ve decided that I’m going to hesitate to read Bloom’s overview until I’ve read the work myself. I’m still intending to read his works in order; we’ll see if that lasts as well.

Do you consider Turgenev’s stories to be superior? Why or why not?

If you’ve read and reviewed Turgenev’s stories on your site, leave a link and I’ll post it here.

Related posts:

Alexander McCall-Smith

Rebecca Reid — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 22:00:24 +0000

Favorite Authors
When I was a child, I would go to the library on my bike with a backpack full of already-consumed books, return them, and get another full backpack full of to-be-read books. Sometimes I’d go through a series, reading every single one as they were available at the library. Other times I went through “author phases.” Then I would check out every book by a particular author and read those.

For past two years or so, I’ve been on an author kick again: I was looking for quick, easy-to-read, “empty” fiction that was enjoyable. I realize this isn’t really a good thing. I should always use my precious reading time for books that actually add something to my life. But they do: they add sanity.

I enjoyed reading Alexander McCall-Smith’s The Number One Ladies’ Detective Agency a few years ago; it’s a good book club book and every book club I’ve been in has read it. It is about a “lady detective” in Botswana. How McCall-Smith, a man in a kilt, is able to capture this delightful woman and the intriguing country in this series is just amazing to me. (I know he wears kilts because I met him in Chicago a few years ago: he was wearing a kilt. That was before I knew most of his books take place in Scotland.) When I went to find the subsequent books in that series to read them (I think I’d only read through number five), I found that he had a number of other series.

Note: Some libraries classify him as Smith (SMI) and some classify him as McCall-Smith (MCC) or both (Naperville Public Libraries). My current library has him under MACC.

Here’s the rundown.

The Number One Ladies’ Detective Agency series
These are clean, moral books, with clever characters and an intriguing setting. They should be read in order, as the plots build off of each other. As with many series, I believe the first books are the best; the formulaic style gets old further on. I love reading about Botswana. I never knew anything about it, but reading novels that take place there give me a sense of place. Now I want to go to Botswana to see the terrain!

The No.1 Ladies’ Detective Agency
Tears of the Giraffe
Morality for Beautiful Girls
The Kalahari Typing School for Men
The Full Cupboard of Life
In the Company of Cheerful Ladies
Blue Shoes and Happiness
The Good Husband of Zebra Drive
The Miracle at Speedy Motors (I haven’t read this one yet: it’s either not published yet or not in Australia yet.)

Professor Dr. von Igelfeld Entertainments Series
These are collections of short stories, each book being fairly short. The eponymous professor is incredibly conceited, which conceit places him in rather humorous situations.

Portuguese Irregular Verbs
The Finer Points of Sausage Dogs
At the Villa of Reduced Circumstances

The Sunday Philosophy Club Series or Isabel Dalhousie Mysteries
How do I say this? While the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series is full of Botswana morals and Dr. von Igelfeld is a pompous, conservative, middle-aged German professor, these books are modern. They are set in McCall-Smith’s Edinburgh, and feature an almost 40-year-old single woman’s life and decisions, including her love life. While I enjoyed the mystery in the first novel, the “mysteries” in the subsequent novels have only disappointed me and Isabel’s immoral decisions disappoint me. I’m not sure I’ll read any subsequent novels. Maybe I don’t get in to the series because I just don’t relate to her. They aren’t spectacularly written, and the setting and character don’t interest me. It’s just Scotland (sorry if that offends anyone…). It seems to rain a lot.

The Sunday Philosophy Club
Friends, Lovers, Chocolate
The Right Attitude to Rain
The Careful Use of Compliments

44 Scotland Street Series
In the tradition of Dickens, McCall-Smith writes a serial novel as a regular column in the newspaper; in this case, The Scotsman. The novels track the daily life of persons living at said address in Edinburgh (although some of the characters move to a new address) through two -to-four page chapters. There are some other interesting characters that keep me interested, such as the six-year-old Italian-speaking, saxophone-playing Bertie, who has an overbearing mother. I enjoy these very much.

44 Scotland Street
Espresso Tales
Love over Scotland
The World According to Bertie
The Unbearable Lightness of Scones (I haven’t read this yet; it either hasn’t yet been published yet or it hasn’t come to Australia yet)

McCall-Smith has also written a few collections of short stories, children’s stories, and academic text books (he was a Medical Law professor), none of which I have read.

Related posts:

Rebecca Reads » everyday life

To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

The Door by Margaret Atwood

The John Cheever Audio Collection

Babylon in a Jar: New Poems by Andrew Hudgins

The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

Stories by Vladimir Nabokov

Nabokov’s Style

Favorites

Two Stories

Other Stories

The Bottom Line

Stories by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Good Masters! Sweet Ladies! by Laura Amy Schlitz

Monologues of Medieval Life

Performance as Literature

Stories by Flannery O’Connor

Themes

Race and Class

Isolated, Lonely People

Christianity (Good versus Evil)

Compared to the Others

HTR&W

Stories by O. Henry (and Another BBAW Giveaway)

The Writing

Stories by Ernest Hemingway

Two Stories to Read

HTR&W

The Finest American Short Story Writer?

Dubliners by James Joyce

The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch

Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Favorites)

Stories I Would Reread

Other Good Stories

HTR&W

Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Introductory Thoughts)

Maupassant’s Style

The Verdict

Questions for you:

Stories by Anton Chekhov

HTR&W

The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story

It is short

It captures one main character in one moment/subject

The character’s emotions are foremost

Something happens, emotionally

HTR&W

Questions for you

Two Stories by Turgenev

Alexander McCall-Smith