I read the copy of Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang, published by NYRB; there are a total of four novellas¹ and two stories.

I’ll start with the story that I loved. In “Sealed Off,” a lonely but capable Wu Cuiyuan sits on a bus, utterly bored with life and wishing someone would notice her. Lu Zongzhen, self-important accountant also sits on the bus, criticizing those around him. For unnamed political reasons, the bus is stopped and unable to continue on its route. Lu Zongzhen wants to avoid talking to an acquaintance, so he begins talking to Wu Cuiyuan during the bus stoppage.

“Sealed Off” is a great story for many of the same reasons that I found “The Student,” by Anton Chekhov a great short story almost two years ago. If Chang’s story has any failings it is that it is not quite succinct enough in capturing the two characters. (I wanted it to focus on Cuiyuan a bit more than on the unpleasant man, but I realize it it is unfair of me to want it to be different.) But that said, it captures the moments on the bus so completely and so realistically that at moments I almost doubted that it is fiction. I also loved how it captured the two characters – both Cuiyuan and Zhogzhen – during their conversation. Chang switched back and forth between their thoughts, and in some respects, that made it a more complicated story than Chekhov’s. (Chekhov’s story was three pages; this was fourteen.) Finally, I loved the emotional progress of the story; I thought it was masterfully done. I felt Cuiyuan was the main character in this, and I most liked her tragic emotional realization at the end. I also loved the parallels of the bus being “sealed off” and the characters’ feelings being sealed up. In short, “Sealed Off” pulled me in and got me emotionally involved in the story.

“Love in a Fallen City” was probably my next favorite, although, as a novella, I struggle to place it. I think I struggle with novellas a little. Novellas are a little too short to really sink into, but as stories they are too complicated: they have too much back story, too many characters, and so forth. Nevertheless, I felt I learned a bit about Chinese history and culture, so that made it interesting to me. Sixth Sister, Bai Luisu, has finally been widowed: her abusive husband that she left seven years previous has died. When she meets Fan Luiyuan, a prospective husband for a younger sister, it becomes clear that he and she have struck up a friendship. As she meets with him in Hong Kong, her own position and what she had considered their mutual love is called in to question. She has been used. There are some satisfying twists, and I enjoyed learning a little bit about the history in Hong Kong. In the end, this story, as with “Sealed Off” was one about dissatisfaction: love only leads to disappointment. Even when you “win,” you lose.

Such was the feeling from the other stories in the volume. “Aloeswood Incense” (a novella) was about a young girl joining her aunt in society, only to be used. “Red Rose, White Rose” (a novella) was about a man’s relationships with his girlfriends, wife, and mistress. “Jasimine Tea” (a story) was about an unsuccessful man’s relationship with the only friend who is nice to him. Each story captures a sense of the overwhelming hopelessness of finding joy in life through relationships.

But that, ironically, is not to say that reading Eileen Chang was depressing. Rather, I loved her straight-forward way of description. I enjoyed the magical way she introduced some of the stories:

First, pour yourself a cup of tea, but be careful – it’s hot! Blow on it gently. In the tea’s curling steam you can see . . . a Hong Kong public bus on a paved road, slowly driving down a hill. (page 79, “Jasmine Tea”)

Although Chang won’t be a favorite for me, I really enjoyed her storytelling style, and I’m glad for the time I got to spend in Hong Kong and Shanghai. This was therefore an appropriate book for inclusion for the Orbis Terrarum Challenge: Asia.

• Great Short Stories by American Women + Thoughts on A Few Other Great Stories
• The Touchstone by Edith Wharton
• Bookworms Carnival: Relationships
• The Iliad by Homer, trans. Robert Fagles: Love and Hate But Mostly Love
• Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
• Stories by Vladimir Nabokov
• Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
• Carmen by Prosper Merimee
• The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham
• Stories by Tommaso Landolfi

I never intended that my first post for My Victorian Summer would come a full month after the inauguration of my project, but I’ve found that with summer weather, long books, and family in town, my blogging is becoming less of a priority than before. To my surprise, I’m okay with this. I may continue to leave things rather “hands off” for the next little while. Maybe I’ll get back into a blogging groove at some point, but for now, I’m living my life.

The two Victorian-esque books I have finished this month are completely different.

We Two: Victoria and Albert, Rulers, Partners, and Rivals by Gillian Gill is a non-fiction biography of the monarch and her husband. It was not, of course, written during the Victorian era, but I read it to get a sense of what made the Victorian Era a distinct era. I found the biography quite fascinating, even if the relationship between Queen Victoria and her husband Prince Albert was not quite as satisfyingly romantic as Hollywood made out in The Young Victoria.

Armadale by Wilkie Collins, on the other hand, was a fantastic sensation novel from the 1860s, complete with dual and mistaken identities, poison, attempted murder, and above all superstition. While the almost-700-page novel seemed a little slow to begin, the convoluted plots and depth of characters made it a satisfying and delicious book to devour.

I also share my current Reading Journal below.

We Two by Gillian Gill

I loved watching The Young Victoria, a recent Hollywood portrayal of Queen Victoria’s courtship and early marriage to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. That movie prompted me to go on my “Victorian Summer” reading frenzy. Reading the true story of the couple’s life together was a bit disappointing after Hollywood, simply because theirs was rather a non-romantic and more practical relationship. We Two: Victoria and Albert, Rulers, Partners, and Rivals by Gillian Gill provided a biography of both Victoria and Albert’s youth and then a biography of their life together until Albert’s premature death at age 42 of typhoid fever.

Princess Victoria of Kent was just a few months past eighteen when her Uncle passed away, leaving her Queen of England. Her first eighteen years of life were sheltered by her overbearing mother and her mother’s power-hungry associate Sir John Conroy in Kensington Castle. So upon receiving sovereign authority, she was determined to rule her way. She did not want to marry. She wanted to make a difference for her nation, which she loved.

For the first three years of her reign, she worked closely with Prime Minister Lord Melbourne, making mistakes but really putting her all in to her work. Yet, after a few years at court, she found that she longed for male companionship; her cousin, Prince Albert, had been groomed since childhood to be her husband, and so she consented to the marriage. It is evident that the two were quite fond of each other and certainly in love, but theirs was a convenient marriage: neither really seemed to have much choice about who they married.

Reading of Victoria’s and Albert’s life was somewhat of a tutorial in gender and family politics in England in the 1800s. The fact that Victoria was a married female altered her ability to rule England in part because of the Albert’s view of women; Albert was the one who made a political difference for much of their married life.

Had Queen Victoria not been quite so fertile (or as Gill points out, had they had any type of understanding of natural birth control), she may have dominated the political scene. She was prepared to lead and be a dominating force. As it was, she had pregnancy after pregnancy for the first two decades of her reign, left physically exhausted by the wear on her body. Also, Prince Albert was raised in a misogynistic environment and therefore seems to have stifled Victoria’s abilities somewhat.

Prince Albert, although not legally a monarch of England, was therefore the behind-the-scenes leader of England. So many of the things that seem definitively “Victorian” are really “Albertian.” His upbringing had been to prepare him to be consort to the isolated and virginal Princess Victoria, and since his family was known for their debauchery, he had been the family exception, raised to conform to a different morality than his brother and uncles. His arrival in the English court may have been what prompted the Victorian morality that we now think of. Further, Albert’s influence on the “Great Exhibition” is also an example of how he influenced England to think ahead. He was fascinated by developing technology, he had an interest in social innovation, and he was well trained in political discourse. He was, like Victoria, a born leader.

Gillian Gill’s biography of the two focused on their relationship, and the book was well researched and engagingly written. It was only a bit disappointing to read the truth, especially of how dominating Prince Albert was. (For example, it was Queen Victoria who always begged forgiveness when there was a disagreement between the two; in their relationship, Prince Albert expected her to see her place as a woman, which was of course below himself.) When their marriage came to an end with Albert’s early death, it was Queen Victoria who had succumbed to Albert’s position on women: no longer was she the strong teenaged queen, eager to make a difference in the world and unexcited about being tied down. When Albert died, she was the dutiful wife who proclaimed the goodness of her dead husband. Despite the fact that she was the sovereign ruler of England, Queen Victoria was also a wife as trapped in the familial duties just as many other women in Victorian England. She did have nannies and fine medical care, but she was still trapped in her role, with a domineering man at her head.

I’m glad I read about Albert and Victoria, even though it was rather disappointing to me. As I read the novels from the era, I think it may help to remember the influence of the queen and her consort. Since I love history, it was also fascinating to see how the family fit in to the international political picture.

I should note that Gill does not come to the same conclusions that I’ve mentioned above in so many words; that’s what I got from their story. At just under 400 pages (plus notes), We Two is not a comprehensive account, and much is left unsaid. Yet, if you are interested in reading the story of Queen Victoria and her husband, We Two is great place to start.

Armadale by Wilkie Collins

And then we go to fiction.

Oh, Wilkie Collins. I love you so much! The Woman in White was delightful and may have been better written than Armadale (a reread is in order to determine if that is so). The Moonstone, as a mystery, was well developed but simply okay for me, a non-mystery person. But Armadale just topped them both in terms of suspense and emotional attachment. No one beats Lydia Gwilt as a complicated villain.

Twenty years ago, two boys named Allan Armadale vied for the attentions of a young woman. Now (in 1851), their two orphaned sons – each also called Allan Armadale – cross paths. The mysterious money-hungry redhead Miss Lydia Gwilt shows up and things get a little bit crazy.

Like the other Wilkie Collins novels I’ve read, Armadale dealt with the question of identity: people had multiple identities and multiple names. It also dealt with generational identity as the Allan Armadale that form the bulk of the action are the children of men of the same name. Armadale seemed to ask questions: Are these young men destined to be their father’s sons? Are they, by nature, destined to similar wrong choices, for example? Collins also drew heavily on superstition because the story keeps circling back to Allan Armadale’s mysterious dream. Do these characters have choices or are events destined?

Another theme that seemed central was the one I most enjoyed, the question of good and evil. The first two hundred pages of this chunkster seemed a bit slow, but once Lydia Gwilt began to interact with the men at Thorpe Ambrose, I did not want to put it down. Miss Gwilt is a villain through and through, but I couldn’t help feel sorry for her. Wilkie Collins doesn’t quite excuse her actions but as we progressively learn more about her, the story truly becomes hers and we see a bit of where she is coming from. I liked her, ridiculous and bad as she was even on good days. I absolutely loved how Collins created her character, for she makes this story the fascinating page-turner that it is. She was captivating in a way no one else in the novel was. Collins gave us pages of her journal (progressively more throughout the book) so we’d see just what she was thinking and how she was developing. Though the book is called Armadale, I believe that Miss Gwilt is the main character within it.

Collins puts in plenty of excitement (poison, attempted murder, coincidence, and a lunatic asylum), yet it is utterly convincing and real. I feel I have barely touched on the main points and the depth that is in Armadale. Believe me when I say it is a fun ride.

For more insights into the novel, see Shelf Love, Bibliolatry, Novel Insights, Becky’s Book Reviews, and Savidge Reads.

Reading Journal (30 June)

I’m trying to let go of schedules a little bit more and just read what I want. I have so many Victorian reads on my radar I could just read Victorian for the rest of the year!

Recently Finished: The Audacity of Hope (audiobook, abridged) by Barack Obama

Recently Abandoned (for now): The Inferno by Dante, Hollander translation (I may have a post about this abandonment)

In Progress: Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell (for My Victorian Summer); Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome (audiobook, for My Victorian Summer); Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang (for Orbis Terrarum/Asia); Nineteenth-Century Russian Reader (for Imperial Russia Classics Circuit); I Am A Cat by Natsume Soseki (my personal JLit Challenge); Undaunted Courage by Stephen Ambrose (for my other book club)

On Deck: The Art of Victorian Fiction (essays for My Victorian Summer); Great Expectations (for My Victorian Summer); The Stranger and The Plague by Camus (the former for my Classics Reading Group); The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop by Lewis Buzbee (for the Spotlight Series); whatever other books as please my fancy.

• Introducing: My Victorian Summer
• The Life of Wilkie Collins (Biographies by Clarke and Peters)
• The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
• Victorian Second Helpings (The Moonstone by Collins and North and South by Gaskell)
• May and Milton in May in Review + Challenges Update and Reading Journal
• Reading Journal (16 December): A Classics Circuit TBR List from Wilkie Collins to Harlem
• Reading Journal (21 Oct): Victorian Second Helpings + Giveaway of an Abandoned Book
• Reading Journal (18 Nov): Planning for a Quiet December
• November in Review + Reading Journal (2 Dec)
• Reading Journal (29 July): Summer Mode to Blog Reading

Reading Balzac certainly gave me a different perspective. In a sense, it’s kind of a mix between Dumas (humorous exaggeration) and Zola (heart-breaking realism). Honoré de Balzac, who wrote Père Goriot in the 1830s, is named the “father of realism” and this book seems an apt precursor to Zola’s sagas (one of which I read earlier this year).

Père Goriot is not a book I’ll label as a favorite. It was overly dramatic and yet full of humor that I didn’t find funny. But beyond the writing, I simply didn’t like the story and failed to seriously care about any of the characters. I wanted to care. I wanted to overly moved as Balzac  warned in the beginning that I would be:

you who sink down in your soft easy chair, saying to yourself: Maybe this book is going to be fun. And then, after you’ve read all about Père Goriot’s miserable secrets, you’ll have yourself a good dinner and blame your indifference on the author, scolding him for exaggeration, accusing him of having waxed poetic. Ah, but let me tell you: this drama is not fictional, it’s not a novel. All is true – so true you’ll be able to recognize everything that goes into it in your own life, perhaps even in your own heart. (page 6)

Balzac succeeded in writing of universal things, but as we discussed in our book group, it’s a somewhat negative portrayal of human nature. In Père Goriot, Balac depicts a young man (Eugéne de Rastignac) who will do anything to get to the top of society. At times, he seems to struggle to balance his upbringing with the questionable activities he seeks after. Yet, for the most part, it seemed to me that Eugéne was abandoning and using his mother, even as he was upset with Goriot’s daughters for abandoning and using their father. What a negative view of humanity to equate Eugéne’s desire for power to the politicians and business people today who likewise abandon family for positions of prestige! Yet, such is Balzac’s point.

Not all humanity is power-grubbing and selfish. The sweet scenes between Eugéne and the old man are precious, and I did get rather chocked up towards the end. But even Goriot was a man who had cheated his fellows during the years of the Revolution, spoiled his daughters, and lived for a powerful life (not that he succeeded). In some respects, his miserable end seemed to me what he deserved. But that makes me sound rather heartless.

I read this for my classics book club, and we had a great discussion Wednesday night. Will I be reading more Balzac? Probably not. But I’m glad I read this and could discuss it with a book club.

I read the Norton Critical Edition, translated by Burton Raffel. I loved the translation: it was easy to read and yet had a depth of writing that the other I tried (Henry Reed) didn’t have.  While I didn’t read much of the end matter, that which I did read was very interesting.

Have you read Balzac? Do you like his “realistic” portrayal of society?

• Possession by A.S. Byatt
• May and Milton in May in Review + Challenges Update and Reading Journal
• Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
• A Taste of Imperial Russian Literature
• The Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy (In Chancery and To Let)
• The Help by Kathryn Stockett
• East of Eden by John Steinbeck (Thoughts on a Reread)
• Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
• Baby’s Sunday Salon, January 4
• Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

The first part of the month was taken up by reading a Dover Thrift anthology of stories by American Women. Edited by Candace Ward, the volume had thirteen stories, one of which I skipped because I couldn’t get into it. (That story was “Life in the Iron-Mills” by Rebecca Harding Davis. The blurb about it compared it to Emile Zola, and that was enough to turn me against it. It also started quite slowly.) The anthology has (mostly) public domain works in it; I’ve found an online link where available.

The stories I did read, with my thoughts about them, were as follows. This is the order I read them in. A dark red font indicates it was one of my favorites.

1. “Sweat” by Zora Neale Hurston. An unappreciated laundry lady deals with her adulterous husband. I thought this was an interesting story, but the writing was not as impressive as I thought Hurston’s other works are. As in her novels, Hurston writes dialog in dialect, and the characters and situations were realistic. This was her first major publication, and it appeared in one of the Harlem Renaissance journals, so I appreciated it for its historical value as well, even though it wasn’t a favorite story.
2. “Sancturary” by Nella Larsen. Loyalty is put to the test when a young man shows up in Annie Poole’s house seeking a hiding place. I have Larsen’s novel Passing on my TBR, so I was really hoping I loved this story, which was one of her last published works. It was so short that I felt I couldn’t get into the characters. Yet, the theme is one that couldn’t have been extended. It was a plot and issue-based story, not a character one. Read it online >>>
3. “A New England Nun” by Mary Wilkins Freeman. Louisa has been waiting fifteen years for her lover to return with his fortune and marry her; the time has come. I think it’s a great short story because the characters and setting are well introduced, and I also have an emotional connection. In the end, there is a catharsis, and someone is changed by the end of the story. I had read this before and once again I found it subtly satisfying. Read it online >>>
4. “Trancendental Wild Oats” by Louisa May Alcott. A family settles in an utopian community. The note in my book indicates that this was semi-autobiographical, and I could sense Alcott’s bitterness toward the event. As a short story, though, I found there to be little point to this story. I didn’t connect with any characters, I didn’t think it was humorous, and I was plainly bored. (Apparently, this is a satire. I totally missed that!) Read it online >>>
5. “The Yellow Wall-Paper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. A woman is put on house rest to calm her mental state, only to find the wallpaper tormenting her. I’ve read this many times before, and I’ve always enjoyed it. It was definitely time for a reread. Although it was not my favorite story from this collection, I think it’s a necessary story because it does such a great job of capturing a tormented woman’s mind.  Read it online >>>
6. “Smoke” by Djuna Barnes. The weakly child of a strong couple struggles to meet their expectations for the family. This was the most unmemorable story that I read in the volume. I wasn’t impressed with the writing or the story line (such as it was). I didn’t feel drawn in to the characters in any way.
7. “The Stones of the Village” by Alice Dunbar-Nelson. A mixed-race young man tries to escape the racism of his past by “passing” for white. While I knew a lot of Harlem Renaissance stories dealt with “passing,” I haven’t read any, other than Schuyler’s satire. I found this quite interesting for that historical reason. I didn’t feel drawn in to the characters or the story but there is plenty there in this story. Maybe it deserves a reread someday so I can give it another chance.
8. “The Storm” by Kate Chopin. During a violent rainstorm, a happily married man stops in the house of a former lover, who is now a happily married woman. This was a great story. It was incredibly short but the two characters’ thoughts were foremost in the action, and the concept of the raging storm was an appropriate symbol for the passion of the young people. Chopin did a great job of capturing people and characters in little space. It made me want to read more Chopin (see below). Read it online >>>
9. “The White Heron” by Sarah Orne Jewett. A young New England woman meets a traveling young hunter who wants her to reveal the home of the local white heron. I read this years ago and I had hoped I’d “get” it more now. Unfortunately, I still didn’t really enjoy it much. The introduction indicates that Sylvia’s decision (help the man or save her friend the heron) allows her to gain “an awareness both sexual and spiritual.” I didn’t see that at all. I just never connected to the characters and I felt bored as I read it.  Read it online >>>
10. “The Angel at the Gate” by Edith Wharton. Paulina feels it is her duty to keep up the House of her famous ancestor, even though no one else remembers him.  Wharton always seems to write about “duty” and makes us think “what would you do?” From what I’ve read by Wharton, this was not her strongest work. I didn’t feel any sense of connection with Paulina. But I’m not one to hold on to strange traditions for no reason; maybe if I did, I’d have related to Paulina’s predicament more.
11. “Paul’s Case” by Willa Cather. A young man seeks for his place in the world, only to be constantly thwarted. This was a complicated story. At parts, I felt like I was getting to really know Paul, but other times he felt just out of reach. In some respects, I think that was the point. Paul was supposed to appear non-understandable. Since I’d hoped to love Cather’s contribution, I was disappointed, but this may be because I was getting bored with the short story overall by this point. Read it online >>>
12. “A Jury of Her Peers” by Susan Glaspell. A quiet and unassuming local woman is accused of murder and her neighbors visit her house to try to figure out what happened. I loved this story! Although it was plot driven and not character driven, it was a refreshing look at how women were underestimated and discriminated against in a small community at the turn of the last century. I connected with the women in the story and loved the ending punch. Read it online >>>

After I finished this volume of stories, I decided to read my volume of Chopin’s stories. (I have her novella The Awakening, with about 10 short stories afterward). I wasn’t, overall, impressed with the Louisiana short stories. I struggled with the dialect, the French, and the unfamiliar themes. But I really enjoyed the stories about women in distinct situations. Two stood out to me.

My favorite story this month is one I think all should read. In “The Story of an Hour,” Chopin follows the thought process of one woman when she gets news of her husband’s death. It is so perfect, and I love the irony at the end. Because it is incredibly short, I don’t want to say anymore. Instead, go Read it online >>>

The other Chopin story I really liked was “A Pair of Silk Stockings.” In this, a busy and frugal woman spends her $15 on herself instead of on her children. Chopin doesn’t follow the woman’s thoughts, but rather her actions in this. I loved it because, I admit, I can relate to some extent! Mothers certainly need time to splurge on themselves. I felt sorry for this woman who hadn’t had the chance to do so for so long a time. Read it online >>>

I also have a volume of Mary Wilkins Freeman short stories, and since she’s contemporary to these other authors, I thought I’d give hers a try to. At this point in May, though, I was quite tired of short stories. I only read a few Freeman’s stories before I ended the project early.

The one Freeman story that I really did like was “The Revolt of Mother.” As with the last Chopin story, this is an action-driven story rather than one that follows the character’s thoughts. I cheered for the woman’s choices, for she was also a slighted woman who deserved something for herself. Read it online >>>

In the end, I have decided that a short story a day is far too many. I don’t like them that much, and reading that many shot stories gets tiring. I like a plot and characters that I can sink into, and short stories can’t do that. That said, I have rediscovered some old favorite stories, and I need to read more of them at some point. Just maybe not all at once.

What are your favorite classic short stories? How often do you read short stories? Do you get tired of them if you read them in bulk?

• Stories by Anton Chekhov
• The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story
• Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Favorites)
• Stories by Guy de Maupassant (Introductory Thoughts)
• Why Women Should Rule the World by Dee Dee Myers
• Love in a Fallen City and Other Stories by Eileen Chang
• Stories by O. Henry (and Another BBAW Giveaway)
• How to Read and Why: Short Stories Retrospective
• Stories by Vladimir Nabokov
• Stories by Flannery O’Connor

Little Boy Lost

In the aftermath of World War II, Englishman Hilary Wainwright is trying to come to terms with his life, which is now in tatters. Since he’d been living in Paris before the war, friends are no longer where they once were, and post-occupation Paris is nearly unrecognizable as itself. His beautiful European wife, Lisa, has been captured and killed by the Gestapo. Most significantly, his son, John, whom he met only on the day he was born, has been lost.

I honestly had never considered the impact of the war, occupied France, and so forth, on the families that had been living in France. As I read, I felt the pain that Hilary was going through. I felt like I was emotionally on edge at the stress of the situation and the heart-breaking events of occupied France, from families torn apart to fear and betrayal. My own son is two years old, and so I was constantly thinking of him as Hilary thought of his own son. In that respect, I could better relate to Lisa, the mother who had been killed but who had first found some way of protecting her son. I loved how the story all worked out.

In some respects, I think Laski wrote with a detached perspective. I never felt quote like I was completely relating to Hilary, and only in retrospect do I see that that is how it needed to have been done. Laski was writing herself very close to the horrors of the war. She herself could not immerse herself into the horrors; she needed to have a little bit of distance as she presented the facts. The best part of this approach was that I never felt manipulated. I was emotionally drawn in, but never tricked into emotion. That is a successful novel.

The title, I think, refers not just to the young child but also to the man Hilary, who is looking for his son. He also is lost without love, and he’s afraid. I love how it all comes together in the end. For a while I was pretty frustrated (and horrified) by Hilary’s selfishness. It made him truly real, though, for after all the heartache and loss he’d been through, feeding his passions and loneliness through superficial means did make sense.

I read Little Boy Lost because after all the reviews during Claire and Verity’s Peresphone week, I thought I’d give another Peresphone book a chance. Claire at Kiss a Cloud had a very short glowing post about Little Boy Lost that caught my eye and then Nat at In the Spring is the Dawn also had a review. I was able to find a copy of it in the state of Illinois via Worldcat, so I was pleased to be able to read it. Note that, ironically, the only copy I found is not the new Peresphone-published copy but the original 1949 printing. Nonetheless, the book is the same!

In the end, I enjoyed it. It was a perfectly satisfying quick read that let me become emotionally attached to the characters and left me thinking. It’s given me a definite interest in reading more Persephone books! In fact, I’m off to search for more that may be in my library system or in the state of Illinois somewhere.

• I Kill Giants by Joe Kelly and JM Ken Nimura
• Any Interest in a May Read-Along of Paradise Lost?
• Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
• Milton in May Week 1: Introduction and Paradise Lost Books 1-3
• Milton in May: Paradise Lost, Books 4-6
• Milton in May: Paradise Lost, Books 7-9
• Milton in May: A Paradise Lost Read-Along
• Milton in May: Areopagitica and Adam and Eve’s Choice in Paradise Lost
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
• Milton in May (erm, and June): Paradise Lost, Books 10 to 12 + Two Reading Aids

It was not an enjoyable read for me. Coming from both a Western perspective and a modern one, I found just about all the aspects of the dying Japanese upper-class culture to be dreadful. The attempts at an arranged marriage for the aging third daughter, the repression of the modern and talented fourth daughter, and the family and social politics (that is, trying to keep up appearances as a successful and happy family) all seemed pointless.

Yet, Tanizaki captured the family so exactly that I could not help believing that such a family did exist. I better understand the era of Japanese history and the pain that came from rapidly modernizing centuries-old traditions.

The eldest (and married) Makioka sister lives Osaka, and the two youngest (unmarried) sisters live with the second sister (Sachiko) and her family in the nearby suburb of Ashiya. The sisters are all quite different, and the ultimate goal of marrying off the shy and quickly aging third daughter, Yukiko, causes stress and strife among all personalities. Further, the youngest daughter, Koi-san, is intent on living a modern life, which constantly conflicts with the traditions of respectability the older sisters insist on conforming to.

Much as Jane Austen’s novels of social propriety surrounding marriage (as Tanabata mentions in the review that got me to pick up this book), The Makioka Sisters is a study of traditional social mores and necessary traditional steps to a proper marriage. With the clash of modern and western ideals, such traditions are not welcomed by all the sisters. Unlike in Jane Austen, the results of accepting such traditions are not altogether romantic and satisfying to the parties involved. This is a realistic novel.

I am not familiar with Japanese politics prior to World War II, yet all references to politics seemed to me to give the novel a sense of foreboding. Just as in their daily lives obscure events are deemed “lucky” or “unlucky,” various political events were deemed as positive developments not just for the future of Japan but for the sisters.

Tanizaki wrote the novel from 1943-1948, in serial form, meaning that he wrote the beginning (which was the late 1930s) before the war had ended. Reading the long (500+ page) novel at a slow pace myself, I found it interesting to consider the significance of the war on the development of the novel. Tanizaki increasingly mentioned the war at the end of the novel,  because the end of the novel took place in 1940. It had been written probably eight years later, so Tanizaki’s perspective had changed in that time. I sensed that all would not be right in the end, either for Japan’s plans to dominate China or for the Makioka family’s arrangements. It ends, as I mentioned, with diarrhea. This is not a happy ending, although I cannot imagine it ending in any other way.

Most reviews include some indication of whether or not the reader liked it, and whether or not I’d recommend it. When it comes to The Makioka Sisters, I do not feel I can answer either direction, yeay or nay. I read it over the course of nearly two months, and at times I found it horribly dull. The characters were irritating and boring, their lives were boring, and there was no hope for change. But having finished the novel, I can look back on it as a whole. Such boredom was utterly realistic as it pertains to life. It was perfectly crafted, and Tanizaki’s ability to capture the social mores of the Japanese social world was exquisite. For those with the patience to deal with the gloomy details of everyday life, it is edifying. I am ultimately glad I read it for it is truly a classic Japanese masterpiece.

Translated from Japanese by Edward Seidensticker.

• Naomi by Junichiro Tanizaki
• Silence by Shusaku Endo
• The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon
• The Old Capital by Yasunari Kawabata
• Beauty and the Beast + The Complete Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault
• The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
• The Forsyte Saga by John Galsworthy (The Man of Property)
• The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Arnim
• The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa
• Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares was a perfect book for such a time. Although I read the novella quickly and enjoyed it simply as a fantasy story, it has depth that I suspect would benefit from more serious reading and study.

An unnamed narrator has fled to an abandoned island to avoid serving a sentence. After a few months, strange visitors, including a beautiful woman, arrive. His reaction of paranoia caused me to wonder at first if the story was really a psychological study. However, I quickly came to see that it is a science fiction/ fantasy story that questions reality.  Suffice it to say that things are not as they appear on a few different levels. In the introduction, Suzanne Jill Levine writes, “[Bioy’s] narrators say less rather than more, inviting one to read between the lines” (page xiv). I think that is a perfect way to describe what is going on, and what Bioy Casares wants us to find in the story.

I was intimidated by Bioy Casares because I knew he was friends with Jorge Luis Borges and I didn’t really “get” Borges when I read him last year. I was delighted to find The Invention of Morel to be such a quick and engaging read, and yet one that has depth if I chose to read it on a deeper level in the future. (I checked out the Spanish original as well, but since it’s been a heavy reading month for me, I chose not to read it at this time. Maybe I’ll try Spanish when I decide to revisit it!)

I realize I haven’t shared very much about the book. It’s less than 100 pages, though, so I wanted to avoid spoilers. If this mysterious and fantastical island sound like it appeals to you, you should give it a try. I have to say I’m also curious to read The Island of Moreau by H.G. Wells which was somewhat of the inspiration. Have you read that book?

If my word isn’t enough, take the word of Jorge Luis Borges, Adolfo Bioy Casares’ close friend and literary mentor. He did not hesitate in his praise:

To classify it as perfect is neither an imprecision nor a hyperbole. (from the Prologue by Jorge Luis Borges, page 7)

I can’t say I loved it quite that much, but I certainly did enjoy it.

A question: I say “science fiction/fantasy” because I’m not sure what category it fits in. It’s supposedly explained by science, but I suspect such science is actually impossible. What makes a novel science fiction? What makes it fantasy?

I picked up this book because I saw it in the New York Review Books catalogue. The Spotlight Series is highlighting this small publisher in May. Sign up before April 30 to invite them to your blog!

• Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges
• Stories by Tommaso Landolfi
• Foundation by Isaac Asimov
• Genre Fiction: A Tolkein, A Heyer, and A Verne
• I Kill Giants by Joe Kelly and JM Ken Nimura
• January 2009 Month in Review and February Reading Journal
• March in Review
• Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn
• My Life, According to Literature
• We by Yevgeny Zamyatin

At first glance, there is no mystery. The answers to “who, what, when, and where” seem self-evident, especially since the murder occurs center stage in the first 80 pages of the novel. Yet the “why” behind Raskolnikov’s crime arrests attention, and the mystery is determining exactly what is the “punishment” of the title. From the beginning section to the epilogue, Fyodor Dostoevsky’s psychological novel captures a disturbed mind in turmoil from its own philosophic ideals. Raskolnikov’s expectations for himself as a “Napoleon” above the law are distorted by his own inner turmoil, and his “punishment” may be realizing his place as a human in the midst of humanity.

But I say “at first glance.” The best facet of Crime and Punishment is its depth. An abundance of characters, some stereotyped and some individual, and layers of complexities of situation and personality illustrate just how each one of us has both a “devil” and a “saint” inside us.

As the Penguin Reading Guide asks, “Who among us is not a criminal? Who among us has not attempted to impose his or her will on the natural order?” I love Crime and Punishment because of the universality of that concept. The concepts do not seem specifically Russian or nineteenth century. Instead, it is universal in its look at human nature, and human nature has not changed much in the past 150 years, although the specific settings vary.

Upon this reread (probably my third reading), I was struck by some new things such as the structure, the variety of characters, and the family relationships. Most particularly, though, the religious elements stood out to me on this read. Although I realized before that there were religious elements to it, this time it seemed much more religious in retrospect. In my book group last night, I came to more of an understanding of the significance of the raising of Lazarus to the story. Raskolnikov’s request that Sonya read the passages from the scriptures was a way of asking her to help him with his faith. I have more thoughts about it, but since I am no longer in school, writing papers about such elements of the novel, I’ll leave that here for future reference: next time I read this book, I should consider Lazarus from beginning to end.

Crime and Punishment is a novel that I cannot praise sufficiently and that I could not reread frequently enough. Subsequently, I struggle to discuss it in an impersonal internet-post format. Just as with the murder motive, I cannot properly explain the “whys” behind my passion for this novel. I love it, and this post will have to remain as is. If I had more time, I’d do a three-part “why I love this” series as I did when I read The Iliad a year and a half ago. But I don’t have time for that anymore. Instead, I’ll look forward to yet another reread, and maybe then I’ll revisit it on this webpage.

I’ll just leave with a (rhetorical) question: How did Dostoevsky create such a complex psychological portrait? He did create a realistic and intimate portrait in this volume. Yes, there is such complexity in each person, yet Dostoevsky’s ability to portray humanity so realistically in text testifies that he is a truly great writer. I am in awe.

What novels leave you in awe of the author’s ability to create?

• Hunger by Knut Hamsun
• How Reading Order Affects Reading a Book
• Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
• The Student by Anton Chekhov: A Perfect Short Story
• Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
• A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle
• The Beekeeper’s Apprentice by Laurie King
• A Stop in South Africa (Two Novels by Alan Paton) + Giveaway
• Reading Journal (May 4) and April in Review
• Reading Reflections (Reading Old Books) + Reading Journal (31 March)

Whenever I recalled that Naomi was written in the 1920s, I was again taken aback. It felt so modern. Kawabata’s 1950s novel of the old capital of Kyoto (read last month), on the other hand, seemed steeped in tradition. Seeing the two novels in context to each other clarifies the clash between the Western traditions and the Japanese traditions, and I can now better understand Kawabata’s novel. Kyoto truly was the old capital, for Tokyo, where Naomi takes place, was much more Western even 40 years earlier.

I began Naomi knowing very little, so I hesitate to write very much about it. I knew that it revolved around a man who was obsessed with a mysterious Western-looking woman.  Although Naomi is definitely Japanese, her features seem “Eurasian” and so she stands out in a crowd. If I tell you further any of the details as to why this woman is engaging, it may somewhat spoil the effect of the novel. Suffice it to say, the mysteries that Tanizaki leaves unsaid for much of the novel left me wondering and interested. It was very well done.

In some respects, since Joji begins his obsession with Naomi when she was just 15, I wondered if this novel was similar to Nabakov’s Lolita (note to self: must read that some day). I felt uncomfortable throughout the novel. Joji’s obsession seemed to become progressively stranger as it progressed, and I became more and more convinced that Joji was insane. But while Tanizaki wrote sensually, it never was sexually uncomfortable to read (as I mentioned last week, I don’t normally appreciate sex scenes in my fiction). After all, this was published serially in the 1920s: things are suggested by not written out. It was, in that sense a tame book.

But beyond that, the question seems to me to be whether the obsession is on Naomi-the-woman or Naomi-the-representation-of-Westernization. I suspect Tanizaki is also capturing his society’s own obsession with the West. Seeing the novel in that light gives it a greater relevancy, and it makes me sad for the abandonment of the Japanese traditions.

Naomi dealt with an uncomfortable subject and had frustrating characters (I seriously wanted to hit Joji over the head a few times), so it was not a favorite read. Yet, I am very glad I read it. I learned something about the Japanese culture conflict with Westernization in the pre-World War II days.  It was a quick and engaging read, and although I was reading late into the night, I seriously could not put it down because I wanted to see how it resolved. Frustrating as it was to read (like watching a train-wreck), it is a novel I won’t easily forget. It is one that anyone interested in Japanese literature or culture should experience.

Do “train-wreck” novels keep you engaged or turned off? What “train-wreck” novels have you liked?

• The Old Capital by Yasunari Kawabata
• The Makioka Sisters by Junichiro Tanizaki
• Silence by Shusaku Endo
• March in Review + New Challenges + A Brief Reading Journal (7 April)
• The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order by Samuel P. Huntington
• The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon
• Reading Journal (17 March): Happy St. Patrick’s Day
• Baby’s Monday Salon: Dogs, Trains, and Simple Illustrations
• The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa
• Reading Journal (24 February): My First Vlog

I want to depict the artists’ struggle with reality, the sheer effort of creation which goes into every work of art, the blood and tears involved in giving one’s flesh, in trying to make something that lives.  (Introduction to Oxford World Classics edition, page ix.)

In telling the story of the doomed Claude Lantier, Zola does capture a painful side to creation. As a self-absorbed painter, Claude is unable to see beyond his skewed perception of the world, since he sees all through the eyes of his “impressionistic” painting style. (Although Zola does not use the word “impressionism,” it is clear that such is the era of art.)

I didn’t enjoy reading the story, but I certainly appreciated it as a whole. Zola shows a realistic disconnect for people who struggle with a vision, and I felt like I was glancing at real lives between the pages of the novel.

Zola’s own judgments come out through the story because he doesn’t appear to understand the new style of painting. To the omniscient narrator, Lantier’s paintings appear to be a mess of colors. They are ridiculous failures. It’s obvious that Lantier is aiming for some degree of symbolism when he depicts the naked woman in the center of all his paintings. Yet, Sandoz (the novelist in the story that represents Zola) finds it ridiculous and mourns for Lantier’s apparent insanity. The editor of the introduction indicated that Zola was not able to appreciate impressionism; his taste in art was rather immature as was evident in his art criticism essays of the day.

Incidentally, Lantier’s first major painting is based on one by Eduard Manet, which was displayed in the Salon des Refuses as was Lantier’s in the novel. Seeing Manet’s painting helped me to understand the reasons behind the ridicule, not that the painting was bad but that the concept was bizarre for the era.

Eduard Manet, Luncheon on the Grass (via Wikipedia)

Zola was somewhat careful to make sure that no character in his novel fully represented a person he knew in real life, yet the similarities were plentiful enough so that many of Zola’s friends were offended. Paul Cezanne, who shares many of the qualities with the doomed Claude Lantier, for example, never spoke to Zola again after publication of The Masterpiece. (See the introduction to the Oxford World Classics edition for more discussion of similarities.)

But the similarities were only one reason to be offended. Zola’s premise seems to be that it is hopeless to try to capture the world in art and create something original. Truly, artists of the day would have been slighted by such a premise. Further, attempting to do so leaves one isolated from reality. In the novel, Lantier failed to develop any real human relationships. Christine tried to bring Lantier back to reality, yet the art always called and Lantier was doomed in the end, for without art he was nothing.

Despite the hopelessness depicted in the novel, Zola’s friend Cezanne truly was an influential painter who began a new way of thinking about art: impressionism. I found it interesting that Zola’s counterpoint in the novel, the writer Pierre Sandoz, was not as doomed as Lantier the painter. Yet, Zola’s writing was apparently as cutting edge as Cezanne’s paintings: seeing the world in a new way.

Paul Cezanne, Montagne Sainte-Victoire (via Wikipedia)

I didn’t enjoy reading Zola. The only parts that captured my full interest and attention were the moments when he meets and courts Christine. Throughout the book, I kept waiting for a tragedy to capture my emotions and help me feel fully engaged. Yet, even when mortal tragedy struck, it was told in a matter-of-fact way that left me completely emotionless. That was, I’m sure, Zola’s point. Life is not a romantic experience. It’s harsh: we each suffer and in the end, everyone lives with their own life and their own suffering.

“And now, back to work!” a character says at the end of the novel (which is not a happy ending, I’ll warn you). Such is life.

While I’m sure I’m a romantic girl at heart, I am glad I’ve experienced Zola. It truly did help me see the world in a new light.

I read Zola as a part of the April Classics Circuit. See where Zola will visit here.

• Two Neuroscience Books (Proust was a Neuroscientist by Lehrer and Sacks’ Musicophilia)
• How Reading Order Affects Reading a Book
• To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
• The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
• Moses, Man of the Mountain by Zora Neale Hurston
• The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Cordelia's Farewell by Edwin Austin Abbey (via Wikipedia Public Domain)

Shakespeare’s King Lear captures family relationships (father to daughter, father to son, brother to brother, sister to sister) in an undeniable tragedy. Lear is betrayed by his two eldest daughters and Gloucester is betrayed by his eldest (and illegitimate) son. But although there is broken trust and mourning, there are also tender expressions of true love from children to their parents. Cordelia and her father and Gloucester and Edgar give the play a gentleness that I did not at all expect in a high dramatic tragedy highly reminiscent of the Ancient Greek tragedies.

As King Lear retires, he asks his three daughters how much they love him. His two eldest daughters flatter him as he desires, but Cordelia, who truly loves him, refuses to speak eloquently and is disowned. As Goneril and Regan, the older daughters, shame Lear into madness, Gloucester’s illgeitmate son, Edmund, seeks revenge for his belittled status in the family by gaining power over his brother Edgar. I loved these parallel sides to the same type of relationship: children refusing to honor the parent; children insisting on honoring the parent. I most appreciated Cordelia’s devotion to Lear and Edgar’s devotion to Gloucester. The latter relationship seemed much stronger and I loved the touching scene on the “beaches” of Dover.

I really like the way the editor summed up these relationships as follows: “Gloucester shakes his head sadly over Lear’s in justice, folly and selfishness as he duplicates his actions.” (page 23, introduction by Alfred Harbage in the 1970 Pelican Shakespeare.) Some people who read or watch the play will see the two fathers as the ones to blame for the end result. On the contrary, I pitied them both. They are old men tired after long lives. They make mistakes in their parenting because they are old. In the end, I found myself fascinated by the two children (Cordelia and Edgar) who dedicated themselves to saving their fathers, despite the harshness with which they’d previously been treated. It reminds us that we can choose our reactions to the follies of those around us (“Timshel!”).

There are other relationships in the story that could be explored, such as master to servant and husband to wife. I mention the first because Kent was one of my favorite characters; I loved seeing his loyalty to King Lear as he served him in disguise. Gloucester also served the King with bravery. Oswald’s servant relationship to Goneril and the Fool’s relationship to Lear were also key, but neither of them interested me much. I also noticed that the women were stronger than their husbands in this play, much like in Macbeth (which I read in October). The introduction to my edition mentioned these two plays were written about the same time, and that seemed like a convenient coincidence to me.

I wasn’t going to read King Lear right now, but my husband and I recently watched the Laurence Olivier version. (He was 75 when he played King Lear, and deservedly won an Emmy for his performance.) While he couldn’t stay awake, I was enthralled. I couldn’t take my attention away from the train-wreck that was this story. I had to read it. Watching it first really convinced me that plays are meant to be watched and not read. While reading it let me take in all the great speeches and possibly remember them better, reading King Lear lacked the magic that the acting created. It was so well done.

Reading and watching King Lear reminded me how much I love Shakespeare. I really must visit him more often than every six months.

Which do you do more often: watch a play via movie or live performance or read a play? I can’t really get to the theater much now but I think I should watch them more often. I enjoy them!

• Macbeth by William Shakespeare
• Bookworms Carnival: Relationships
• Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare
• Poetry for Young People: William Shakespeare
• The Adventures of Pinocchio by Carlo Collodi
• The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
• On Writing by Stephen King
• Poetry Friday: Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare
• Medea by Euripides
• The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger

And then I read until an embarrassingly late hour. I couldn’t put it down. The next day, I persuaded my toddler to take a nap. Then, instead of taking a needed nap myself, I finished the book. This was a book I wanted to keep reading. I wanted to see what happened.

The Help has flaws. It is not a perfect novel in any way. But I really enjoyed reading it, and the themes it addresses and the way it is written (for the most part) all work together to bring me into it and make it a page-turner.

The Help is about three women in 1960s Jackson, Mississippi, two of whom are black maids and one is a young white woman trying to come to terms with the civil rights movement so present in those years.  From the first pages (once I got used to the voice, which is written in a black dialect for the most part), I wanted to know what happened to these people. I felt drawn in to the setting; it was like I was in Jackson, Mississippi. I liked that, and as my story above attests, I couldn’t stop reading this book once I started. I wanted to know how it all worked out, I wanted to see Hilly and her friends shamed, and I wanted to see the black maids, who had been discriminated against for so very long, come out on top.

My favorite character was Aibileen, who I found to be most clearly defined as an individual. I suspect Ms. Stockett began with Aibileen and created the other characters afterwards. I really wanted to know more about Aibileen’s story, her relationships with her charges, and pretty much anything. She was so clever. I loved Mae Mobley too. I wish she had a chance of not becoming like her mother.

I haven’t ever been to Mississippi, nor have I read much Southern literature, for some of the reasons Ms. Stockett mentions in her afterward/author note. I don’t have a favorable opinion of Southerners, given the history of racism. (I’m not to excusing Chicagoans from being racist, of course, but…) Of course, this is bias against the South is completely unfair, and Stockett’s book helped me to see that. But still, some of the things I noticed that I consider flaws might not be so if I had a better understanding of the Southern way of thinking.

The things in the novel that bothered me revolved around the characterization. Skeeter didn’t seem real to me, as compared to the two maids. It was inconsistent that Skeeter didn’t have a southern “voice” as the two black maids did, and Skeeter’s viewpoints also seemed unrealistic since she was suddenly noticing the race issue for the first time at age 24. I never understood how Skeeter was friends with Hilly. I didn’t think Skeeter’s personal development felt complete by the end. I also found the lack of Serious Repercussions to be unrealistic. I suspect it would have been difficult to get away with what they did.

In my book group last night, there was one woman who was raised in the South (although her parents were from California) and one who lived there for a decade in the 1990s. Both of them thought Skeeter’s attitudes and gradual realization of racism were accurately portrayed, and people still have attitudes like Hilly’s toward blacks. I guess I just have a hard time wrapping my mind around the Southern way of life. To think people still have these attitudes toward African-Americans makes it seems like a foreign country. Both of those women in my book group indicated that people in the South like Hilly still exist and don’t think they are racist. That is the most disturbing thing to me.

My new wonder is what do African-Americans think of this white woman’s portrayal of them? I wondered that as I read as well.

In the end, I really enjoyed reading The Help (given I couldn’t put it down!). I didn’t think it was perfect, and I probably won’t ever reread it. Maybe because I went in to it with low expectations, though, I found it a satisfying, engaging read well worth the hype.

• A Stop in South Africa (Two Novels by Alan Paton) + Giveaway
• The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares
• Stories by Flannery O’Connor
• Naomi by Junichiro Tanizaki
• The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson
• Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell
• The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
• Jazz by Toni Morrison
• The Collected Poems of Nikki Giovanni
• Stories by Tommaso Landolfi

Yet, the overall mood to Ethan Frome was so bleak that I felt depressed both while I was reading and afterward. It also felt like a study in symbolism for high school students to read: it seemed Wharton was hitting us over the head with “subtlety” to discover if we just read close enough. I felt it didn’t have the depth that The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth had, nor the matter-of-fact dilemma that The Touchstone had.

I love Wharton’s writing: she so accurately captures a setting. Ethan Frome is mostly about the setting: the cold, New England town of Starkfield. This is the perfect winter book, and I only wish I read it a few months ago (there are already some hints at spring now, despite the snow that came Saturday).  Starkfield is everything the name implies: a remote New England town with little exciting happening, few joys, and plenty of cold weather and snow, come winter. The novella is about the winter, especially the bleakness of winter that is our life.

When the unnamed narrator asks about Ethan Frome, he says, “He looks as if he was dead and in hell now!”

“Guess he’s been in Starkfield too many winters. Most of the smart ones get away,” says his companion.

The subsequent story, as told by the narrator, captures a little bit about some of the winter events that made Ethan Frome this symbol of hell. He is stuck in Starkfield, and there is no hope in his life.

The story revolves around Ethan, his wife Zeena, and his wife’s cousin Mattie Silver. Because it is such a short novella (about 140 pages in my edition), I’ll leave the details of the plot for your discovery. Suffice it to say, it’s about life, and the futility of finding joy. It’s about relationships, and one’s inability to find satisfaction in life through them.

I read this for my Classics Reading Group, and we (all three of us) found it a quick read, one that leaves you feeling depressed and not overly impressed (I hope I’m not misspeaking for any of us). I believed the unnamed narrator is unreliable, possibly skewing the facts of what really happened, but I was the only one who thought that. I like the supposition “What if the story had been told from Zeena’s perspective?”because I think something was left unsaid.  I found Ethan horribly weak, but as the others in my group pointed out, what could he have done differently?

I found some guides online to help in garnering discussion and I found it amusing that Cliff’s Notes, for example, emphasized so much of the symbolism. It seems like a book a high school teacher would assign, because even things like the name “Starkfield” is full of obvious symbolism. It’s a shame, because I think this book would be a hated high school book.

Ethan Frome is an interesting work by Wharton. It reflected the lower classes and her other novels seem to be of wealthy New Yorkers. In the end, I didn’t love it, mostly because the frigid temperatures seemed to seep out of the city and into the souls of the characters. That was, I think, Wharton’s point.

• The Touchstone by Edith Wharton
• The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton
• My Antonia by Willa Cather
• The Odyssey by Homer: The Story
• The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
• Comfort Reading
• Lord of the Flies by William Golding
• Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell
• A Stop in South Africa (Two Novels by Alan Paton) + Giveaway

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.

• Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf
• The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton
• A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf
• The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham
• Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See
• Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
• Dubliners by James Joyce
• The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
• Stories by Vladimir Nabokov
• Reading Journal (30 December): Happy New Year (Briefly)

Obviously, comparing Ogawa’s modern novel to Shonagon’s 1000-year-old journalistic notes is like comparing apples to oranges. If you ask, I’ll say I much prefer the old classic. But I did enjoy the Japanese novel too. Now I feel I am about to embark on a new genre of interest: Japanese literature, classic and new.

The professor of the title was once a famous mathematician, but a car accident 25 years ago left him unable to remember more than 80 minutes at a time. Now he lives in the past and every 80 minutes he must learn again the events and people from the 25 years he’s forgotten. Nevertheless, the housekeeper is able to develop a friendship with him as she learns about the beauty of numbers. Mathematics, not memory, is a universal language of their friendship. Although the science of the memory aspect of the book seems suspect, the themes of friendship are universal. In the end, it was an enjoyable book, although not a favorite.

As a part of the book group, Tanabata at In Spring it is the Dawn asks a few questions and includes the publishers’ book group questions. Note that this post (and probably the comments) will include spoilers as a part of the discussion of the book.

Did you enjoy it?

I did enjoy reading the novel. I don’t read a lot of modern fiction, but this was a nice addition. I can’t say it was a favorite novel, but I’m glad I read it.

The one thing that bothered me was the portrayal of memory loss as an 80-minute increment thing. I thought the author did not make it very realistic in her portrayal, although I struggle to pinpoint just why. I recently listened to one of Oliver Sacks’ audiobooks about neuroscience and memory; Sacks talked about some people with 15 second memories, but the professor’s memory was so unbelievably following a clock, it just seemed a little unrealistic to me. I’m nitpicking here, but the mathematics was so well-researched (it’s obvious the author is a mathematician) that the science of the memory seemed, by contrast, off.

How does this book compare to other Japanese literature that you’ve read?

As I mentioned above, the only other Japanese literature I’ve read is Shonagon, which doesn’t really compare. Reading Housekeeper, though, I was struck by the universal quality of the novel. It didn’t feel “Japanese” at all, and maybe that’s because the characters were nameless (see next question). I felt like it could have taken place anywhere, at any time.

The characters in The Housekeeper and the Professor are nameless (“Root” is only a nickname). What does it mean when an author chooses not to name the people in her book? How does that change your relationship to them as a reader? Are names that important?

Because the characters are nameless, I forgot I was reading a “Japanese” novel. I know it doesn’t matter where a novel is written but one thing that was hard with The Pillow Book for me was all the long names that I couldn’t pronounce in my head. I found myself skimming over them. Without names in Housekeeper, I felt I was reading a book from anywhere: baseball and mathematics, memory and friendship became the themes, not the setting. I enjoyed that aspect. I admit I need to get over my difficulty with Japanese names and words, but still, the book became like mathematics: anyone and anywhere can understand mathematics, once you learn the language of mathematics.

How is it possible for this seemingly one-sided relationship to thrive? What does Ogawa seem to be saying about memory and the very foundations of our profoundest relationships?

I think what kept their friendship “alive” was the current events. Although the housekeeper was able to remember the details of the professor’s preferences, because she kept doing things with him and for him, their relationship continued to grow. It’s interesting that for the professor, it’s as if it never happened. I think it’s a lesson for all of us in relationships: in order to keep it alive, we need to build on the past but also keep doing new things that we enjoy. We have to enjoy the present.

At the same time, it didn’t seem one-sided, and again, this is where the memory problems didn’t convince me. Why was the professor still feeling close to the 22-year-old Root at the end, when before he only felt close because he was a child and he loved children? There seemed to be something unexplained there about his memory. Did Root somehow become an unconscious part of his memory?

Generally, how does Ogawa use math to illustrate a whole worldview?

I love how Ogawa uses mathematics (which I’ve always hated) as a universal language of friendship. The professor meets the housekeeper at the door with “What is your shoe size?” and finds connections between her birthday and his own award number. I loved the entire concept of “amicable numbers” and thought it a good comparison to amicable people too!

Baseball is a game full of statistics, and therefore numbers. Discuss the very different ways in which Root and the Professor love the game.

The professor seems obsessed with all the statistics, but it seems to me that Root is more interested in the action of the games. The professors’ interest in numbers seems to rub off on Root, though, in the end. And the professor definitely appreciates the baseball players too, especially when they are wearing a perfect number!

Ogawa chooses to write about actual math problems, rather than to write about math in the abstract. In a sense, she invites the reader to learn math along with the characters. Why do you think she wrote the book this way?

I think Ogawa wrote the book with the mathematics as well because that was such an imperative part of the housekeeper’s friendship. If the housekeeper hadn’t fallen in love with the concept of amicable numbers and prime numbers and all that, she wouldn’t have been so fascinated by the professor himself. It was their connection. Besides, I think Ogawa is a bit fascinated by numbers. I suspect she hoped we’d all become converted as well! Although I can’t say “I like math” now, I still found it interesting.

As I said, I enjoyed this book, but it wasn’t a favorite. I’m still looking for my next Japanese literature read.

Questions for You

What favorites of Japanese literature have you read (classic or new)?

Do you struggle when you read foreign names? I have a hard time because I want to pronounce them right. (I have the same problem with Russian literature.)

• The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester
• How to Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Foster
• Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See
• Reading Journal (27 January): Addicted
• Naomi by Junichiro Tanizaki
• Reading Journal (20 January): Distracted
• Reading Journal (9 Dec): Thoughts on Being a Selective Reader
• A Few Science Book Reviews (The Great Equations by Crease and Two by Gawande)
• The Makioka Sisters by Junichiro Tanizaki
• January in Review: A Good Start to 2010

In some respects, Jazz seemed to capture the complexities of two different generations of African-Americans living in Harlem in the 1920s: the middle-aged and the young adult. But it also deals with redemption and forgiveness. It wasn’t a beautiful novel for me to read, but I’m glad I did read it.

Although Violet and Joe have been in Harlem for twenty years when the main action takes place (1926), we learn of their childhoods and marriage in frequent flashbacks. The novel begins brutally, by telling us what happened: Joe shot his 18-year-old lover of three months, Dorcas, and his wife Violet attacked the dead girl at the funeral, slashing her face with a knife (page 3).

The rest of the book is going back in forth in time, trying to determine what happened and why. It was fascinating to examine how memories and events in the past influence current events or our understanding of current events, and the confusing nature of the narration was a way of portraying the confusion Violet and Joe feel as they struggle to come to terms with their past and what they’ve done. Contrasting Violet and Joe’s complicated back stories of life growing up in the south is the story of Dorcas and her friend Felice, who are both young and have different attitudes toward life, death, and Harlem in general.

One aspect that made Jazz so difficult for me was the narration and writing style. The narrator is an unknown omniscient viewer of some kind, telling the story in first person. I never could figure out if I was supposed to know who or what was narrating, and that was a little disconcerting. As I went to write this post, I referenced Wikipedia and an interview with Toni Morrison and it makes more sense now, but that’s after finishing reading it. For a first time reader, it’s important to know that the narrator is unreliable. What really happened? I really need to reread it.

In the last pages of the novel (*spoilers*), the narrator says “I invented stories about them” (page 220) and talks about the healing that Violet and Joe were able to do. It really is a story of redemption. They were able to rise above their past and look toward the future, and I think (just think, because I’ve only read this once and it needs a second read) that jazz music was what helped them do that.

The pattern of the story telling is, appropriately, a “jazz” style (according to Wikipedia). I don’t listen to jazz music (except for Christmas music by jazz artists) so I missed the “call and response” side to the novel’s writing. It just felt uncomfortable to read for me. Beyond the style, though, the main characters were incredibly complex, mostly because they kept being recreated by the narrator. I struggled to follow their thought progression through the novel.

In preparing this post, I found a Time magazine interview with Toni Morrison. She is asked about jazz music and here’s her response:

I try to echo some of the basic characteristics of jazz music in that book by refusing to have a narrator or leader who knew everything and exactly how the music was going to turn out. Instead, the narrator had to listen to the characters the way Miles Davis listened while he performed with his musicians,and depending on what they did, that would affect the next solo or alteration in the music.

Now I want to listen to Miles Davis! Maybe then I’ll reread Morrison’s Jazz. And because I loved this interview, here’s another quote from Ms. Morrison about Jazz. (*Spoilers*)

I had to keep in mind, and I think readers should keep in mind, that all of it is artifice. It’s all planned, but it should look unplanned. The narrator was designed to be unreliable and to have only part of the story and to be the one that was most inaccurate by the time one reaches the end, but at the same time, the narrator learned about its own vulnerability. I wanted to explode the idea of an all-knowing, omnipotent, totalitarian, authorial voice and to parallel the democratic impulse of jazz ensembles.

I read Jazz because as I researched the Harlem Renaissance in December, I discovered that Toni Morrison had written this novel. Since I loved Beloved, which captured the 1860s-1880s era in African-American life, I decided to see how she examined the 1920s African-American. I’m very glad I read it, and I did enjoy reading it. The themes didn’t feel as universal as those in Beloved, though, so while I really should reread Jazz to full comprehend Morrison’s purpose in writing it, more likely I will be rereading Beloved again instead.

What novels have you read with unknown and possibly unreliable narrators?

Do you listen to jazz music?

[Because this book is out of my normal reading]

Read the Nobels

• Beloved by Toni Morrison
• My Introduction to the Harlem Renaissance
• The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson
• Reading Journal (30 December): Happy New Year (Briefly)
• The Book That Changed My Life, edited by Roxanne J. Coady and Joy Johannesson + Giveaway
• Reading Journal (20 January): Distracted
• Carmen by Prosper Merimee
• Reading Journal (6 January): Starting Off the New Year
• Christmas Countdown: Music Collections I Love
• The Magic Flute by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Emanuel Schikaneder

As with the other two Edith Wharton stories I’ve read (The Age of Innocence and The House of Mirth), The Touchstone deals with an individual’s challenge in turn-of-the-century New York City. As in The House of Mirth, this novella focuses on the need for money in order to live the comfortable life one is accustomed to. As in The Age of Innocence, Wharton follows a young man’s inner thoughts as he tries to make big decisions.

From the beginning of the novella, a person’s inner conflicts are the center of the action. Glennard longs to marry his beloved Alexa, but he is so poor as to be unable to support the two of them in a comfortable country home, as they both expect to have. While pondering his need for money, he comes across a note in the newspaper. Famous English novelist Margaret Aubyn has died: publishers are interested in learning of her life in America and would pay good money for any letters or information about her. Glennard had had a relationship with her (in fact, Margaret Aubyn loved him), and he possesses hundreds of such letters from her (letters she’d begged him to destroy). Since he did not love her, though, the letters mean nothing to him, except a past life that he’d rather forget.

Herein is the crux of the plot: does one reveal a somewhat embarrassing part of one’s past in order to get money? Does one disobey the wishes of a dead friend? How does one hide the past while still using it to help oneself in the present?

I won’t tell you what happened, but as with The Age of Innocence, I found myself frustrated with Glennard’s selfishness and deceit, both with Alexa and with himself. The taunts of the past never go away if one refuses to examine them honestly.

The story was short – novella length – and that was its biggest weakness. When I read it, I thought the issues were interesting and memorable, but even in two weeks, the story, the characters, and the lovely settings I enjoyed so much have faded into obscurity. In the end, I don’t think The Touchstone was a particularly memorable novella, but it was entertaining and intriguing to read, and I’m glad I did so.

Here’s a question for you: Suppose an acquaintance of yours, someone who you don’t care about very much, gave you something like letters or diaries and told you to destroy them when they died. Subsequently, this acquaintance became famous and the items now were worth a lot of money. Would you sell them or destroy them as they’d requested?

It seems to me that in this era of celebrity, people don’t hesitate to make money on relationships like this. Maybe we should return to respecting the dead a little bit more and let go of “celebrity” status.

• The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton
• Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
• The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
• Bookworms Carnival: Relationships
• Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
• Carmen by Prosper Merimee
• Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne
• Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
• Herland by Charlotte Perkins Gilman + Giveaway (Used Book)
• Jane Austen: A Biography by Carol Shields, a Quote Book, and a History of England

What surprised me was that all of those beautiful country scenes I remembered from the book happened in the first 80 pages! After that, Jim Burden moves to town. I remembered the details as I reread it, and it was kind of a fun experience to reread it for the first time and gain an open mind as my memory of events unfolded just before they would happen.

My Antonia captures a man’s memories of an immigrant girl, Antonia, who moved to Nebraska at the same time he did. Jim Burden and Antonia grew up near each other in the fields. Jim moves to town (Black Hawk), and she eventually follows to be household help for near neighbors. While his life follows different paths than hers, he remembers her and looks her up when he returns to Black Hawk.

My general memories were still correct. Antonia was a girl with positive spunk, even when things got really hard. She had some bad luck, where people took advantage of her. I loved her power to overcome.  Jim Burden didn’t always live next to her, but it was also a touching record of how one person influences our memories: Antonia made an impact on his life, even after all those years.

That is why I love this book. Some people can’t get through it: they find the writing dull and the characters and subtle story uninteresting. But I love the way that Jim’s memories of Antonia have stayed with him. I like to think that I’ve impacted lives for the better, much as Antonia impacted Jim’s life.

Did you enjoy My Antonia?

• Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather
• Beloved by Toni Morrison
• Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell
• A Stop in South Africa (Two Novels by Alan Paton) + Giveaway
• To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
• Four Christmas Novellas by Charles Dickens
• Jazz by Toni Morrison
• The Help by Kathryn Stockett
• Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
• Anthem by Ayn Rand + A Giveaway

While I can say in retrospect that I enjoyed reading Mary Barton, I really struggled for the first 200 pages. I could not connect to the characters, nor did I find anything in the plot engaging. At about page 200, things start to happen and I didn’t need to force myself to read for the last 300 pages, as I had for the beginning portion.

Mary Barton was Elizabeth Gaskell’s first novel, and I wonder if the developmental flaws are sincere, rather than the frustrations just being my problem. I felt the characters were described very beautifully, but from a distance: that made it hard to engage myself in their lives. Besides that, Gaskell literally took 200 pages to set the stage for the main plot of the novel. The way things were resolved in the last 300 pages was rather unrealistic, but satisfactory to me all the same.

I read somewhere that Gaksell’s husband encouraged her to write this as a part of the grieving process after the death of one of her sons. This book is full of grief. Most of it is lower-class grief, in which we see the dire circumstances of those living at the poverty level. There is some upper-class grief from the mill owner, but it did not seem sincere to me. I wonder if Gaskell was not as familiar with those people or if she just did not take enough time to introduce those characters properly.

The mill worker versus mill owner conflict seems to be a theme in Gaskell novels, as North and South (which I read a few weeks ago) also examined the plight of the mill workers and the conflict that arise from Unions. However, I personally preferred the complexities that were examined in North and South. While Mary Barton did have some lovely writing and interesting characters, I found the focus of North and South to be much more satisfying overall. The relationships developed in a more realistic way, and we had sufficient time to get to know the characters as the action unfolded. To me, Mary Barton seemed like a first attempt.

I read Mary Barton as part of the Elizabeth Gaskell Classics Circuit. Two other bloggers read Mary Barton for the Circuit as well: Becky’s Book Reviews and Kay’s Bookshelf.

Have the first books by your favorite authors ever disappointed you?

• Victorian Second Helpings (The Moonstone by Collins and North and South by Gaskell)
• Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell
• Introducing: My Victorian Summer
• Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers
• Reading Journal (21 Oct): Victorian Second Helpings + Giveaway of an Abandoned Book
• Reading Journal (4 Nov): Reading Progress and Library Loot
• Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
• The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
• A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith
• November in Review + Reading Journal (2 Dec)

Medea

Part of what I loved was the character of Medea. She was a wronged woman, but ultimately a strong one. Medea had left her home to come to a foreign land, and now she was being cast aside.  Her husband Jason had not only cheated on her but had cast her away and married another, younger woman.

Medea’s reaction to the situation and her subsequent actions are extreme. Like Lady Macbeth, she casts aside her instincts of kindness and, particularly, her motherly love. She murders her own children. But unlike when I read about Lady Macbeth, I felt Medea was in the right. She is acting out of revenge, while Lady Macbeth had acted out of selfish desire for power. I was cheering for Medea as I read her story.

It was gruesome, and I don’t want to suggest that every wronged woman should go and kill her children or husband in order to give revenge. In fact, I would suggest that revenge is not the best solution to problems in the modern world! That said, the concept of a strong woman standing up for herself really made me happy, and since this was a Greek play, the gruesome aspects of the revenge made it seem appropriately Greek.

As for the underlying Greek-ish-ness of this play, I should say first and foremost that I am not very familiar with Greek literature. I have not read very much. But this play seemed different in that I was not constantly made aware of the presence of the gods as I was with Homer and with the other Euripides play I read last year. The last lines of the play (sung by the Chorus) are especially interesting:

Zeus in Olympus is the overseer
Of many doings. Many things the gods
Achieve beyond our judgment. What we thought
Is not confirmed and what we thought not god
Contrives. And so it happens in this story.

I don’t really understand it. When I went back and read the two-page introduction to my volume, I read the translator’s comments on the role of gods in the story and I still didn’t understand much of it. But one line does stand out:

The play creates a world in which there is no relation whatsoever between the powers that rule the universal and the fundamental laws of human morality. (page 641)

My lack of noticing the gods, then, ultimately makes sense to me. Euripides showed how the gods and man really are separate. That subject made it feel more modern than ancient Greek.

I also want to add that while Medea is a play, I had no trouble following the story and action as I read it. It would be interesting to see it performed, of course, but reading it still conveys the force of character: the characters are strong enough to exist through their words.

I finished reading Medea a few weeks ago, and I feel that I’ve forgotten many of the other impressions I had at that time. I should write my reviews shortly after finishing a work!!

Because I love the concept of a strong woman standing up for herself, I’m counting this play as one of the selections for the Women Unbound Challenge. I also read this play for the Really Old Classics Challenge.

Have you read other Greek plays you can suggest?

How soon after finishing reading do you write your reviews? If you wait to write your review, how do you remember what you wanted to talk about?

• Hippolytus by Euripides
• Macbeth by William Shakespeare
• The Iliad by Homer: The Story
• King Lear by William Shakespeare
• The Odyssey by Homer: The Story
• The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
• Really Old Classics Mini-Challenge Round-Up
• The Iliad by Homer, trans. Robert Fagles: Love and Hate But Mostly Love
• The Magic Flute by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Emanuel Schikaneder
• Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

Because Merimee’s novella seemed short and superficial, I can’t say it was a wonderful read. That said, I could recall the music as I read and imagine Carmen dancing to it, so I did enjoy reading the story in the end.

I didn’t enjoy Bizet’s opera as much as I enjoyed Mozart. It was not as smooth, and I found it harder to relax into. I don’t know how to explain it: it felt like an opera as I was listening, while listening to The Magic Flute was more like listening to beautiful music. Carmen the opera was pretty shocking when it first came out, considering the main character is a prostitute and there is a murder by the end. Bizet died a few months over its opening, thinking at his death that it was a failure. Of course, it took a little while, but now it’s recognized as pretty cutting-edge (in terms of music and plot development) for its day. Isn’t it interesting how the cutting-edge artists are always misunderstood at first?

At any rate, I was glad to read the original novella. It surprised me, however, to find that the main narrator is a Frenchman travelling through Spain (Merimee himself), and not anyone close to Carmen. This traveler meets the infamous Don Jose and the seductive gypsy, Carmen, through his travels. A few years later, he discovers that Don Jose is jail for murder, and he goes to hear his story. Chapter III (of IV), then, is the full story of Carmen and Don Jose’s relationship.

After this fabulous story, Chapter IV then digresses to the narrator’s studies of the gypsies, and I didn’t get it. I think the author’s intent is to show that people have no choice but to turn to crime. Don Jose’s last comment had been this, referring to Carmen:

“Poor child! It’s the calle who are to blame for having brought her up as they did.”

So maybe the narrator’s comments in the last section supported that idea. To me, it fell a little flat as a novella.

Then again, maybe Merimee really intended just to tell the story of a seductive and sexy woman. In the end, I didn’t find it to be superior writing or incredibly engaging, but it certainly was fun. Considering it was a rather short story (about 60 pages in Word, 12-point font), I am satisfied I read it. (I read it via Project Gutenberg.)

Have you read Carmen or seen the opera?

Do you think there is a “point” to it?

• The Magic Flute by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Emanuel Schikaneder
• Jazz by Toni Morrison
• Christmas Countdown: Music Collections I Love
• December in Review
• Reading Journal (25 November): Unplugged Edition
• Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
• The Odyssey by Homer: The Story
• Reading Journal (18 Nov): Planning for a Quiet December
• Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) by Jerome K. Jerome (narrated by Martin Jarvis)
• What is Reading? and Audiobook Review of The Book Thief

Although I am glad I had a second experience with Paton’s South Africa, I still much preferred the first novel. I’d be happy to send you my lightly used copy of Too Late the Phalarope. See below for giveaway information.

Cry, the Beloved Country

When I read Cry, the Beloved Country as a teenager, it was on my mother’s suggestion. She loved the message of hope it portrays, and thought it would be one I’d enjoy. I recall that I did enjoy it, and while I remembered the basic plot and themes, I didn’t remember the details.

When I returned to it this year, I was a bit taken aback at first because the language is so difficult: it is in a Biblical style (I can’t think of a better way to describe it) and that adds a layer of complexity to the story. Dialogue is offset with only a dash at the beginning of the paragraph, so I was often confused where the dialogue ends and thoughts begin. This adds a surprisingly realistic feel to the man’s daily experiences in an overwhelming city.

To be honest, I didn’t like the writing style at first. As I mentioned, I did like the novel as a teenager, but this time, it really threw me off. I couldn’t read over breakfast or lunch or as my son played: I needed strict concentration – just me and the book – in order for the events and language to sink in. As I focused on the book, though, it gave back to me.

Cry, the Beloved Country is about two fathers, one white and one black. Stephen Kumalo is the Reverend of the very poor native community in the valley of Ndotsheni, and James Jarvis is the white farmer on the High Place above the valley. When Kumalo travels to Johannesburg in search of his son Absalom, the lives of the two men are inevitably brought together.

That sounds vague, as I don’t want to “spoil” the book. In some ways, Cry, the Beloved Country is about the dichotomy between being black in South Africa and being white. It is about rural life versus city life. It is about hatred versus forgiveness. As the black man and the white man come to know each other, they learn what it means to live and serve each other. They aren’t so different after all.

Alan Paton wrote Cry, the Beloved Country in 1947, and it was published in 1948, the year apartheid, the legal separation based on race, was made law in South Africa. It therefore portrays the country before whites were given legal permission to discriminate against the blacks. And yet, the traditional separation in the culture is obvious and heart-breaking. I believe that Paton’s purpose in writing the book is to illustrate how similar the two men (white and black) really are. Both are fathers, struggling to have a life full of purpose.  Ultimately, Cry is about the hope for the future if only the other people in the country could have the same realization of equality among the human race.

I reread Cry, the Beloved Country specifically for my book club and we had a great discussion about the themes in the book. Most enjoyed the book, although two people disliked it and found it depressing.  I personally wasn’t really crying throughout the book, but my throat kept getting all tight. It was painful to read. But I think it was necessary for me, because it helped me see the hope that comes from loving one another in our communities, even a community that is so full of inequality. It was a hopeful book to me.

One further note: I read most of a book of commentary and criticism (edited by Harold Bloom). While much of the criticism focused on the religious aspects and the symbolism, I found that many of the arguments felt like a stretch to me. Yes, this book is obviously intended to be a religious allegory: the writing style and the names, for example, hearken to Biblical elements. But for me, reading this book was about the hope I got from the character’s interactions, not about the symbolism.

Too Late the Phalarope

Alan Paton’s second novel, Too Late the Phalarope, has a different feel. It, too, has a Biblical tone to it and the dialogue is confused with thoughts. But I did not like the narrator, the spinster aunt Sophie, and writing style seemed affected and a little tedious. I’m not sure why the writing affected me in this novel, as it seems similar to the other. But the subject matter wasn’t as appealing to me either: it was not about hope.

Pieter is not just an Afrikaner lieutenant in the South African police corps, he’s also a star rugby player, husband and father, and once a star student. His father is pleased with his well-rounded son, but he has a little bit of reserve, since his son is too tender: he loves too much. Pieter, too, wishes that he, like the others around him, shrank away from black people and saw them as less than he is. But he cannot. Pieter loves people, regardless of race.

Ultimately, Too Late the Phalarope is about love. Pieter’s thoughts on love are complicated by his relationship with his wife, who is cold and distant to him. He loves her, and yet there is something missing between them. And Pieter’s deepest secret is that he is attracted to a black woman, which may be a capital offence in 1950s South Africa.

Too Late the Phalarope is not a happy book. Since Paton wrote it after apartheid had been made law, it seems he himself realized the backwards direction that the country was going: no longer is there the hope for a better future that he wrote about in his pre-apartheid book.

That’s not to say that a sad book isn’t good. It was good: it brought a painful issue to the forefront of political consciousness then, and there is relevance today as one looks at the issues of love it addresses. It just wasn’t my favorite book, and I don’t intend to reread it.

Would you like my lightly read copy of Too Late the Phalarope? Let me know in the comments.

I received this paperback used from a giveaway at Maw Books Blog more than a year ago, but it is in very good shape, with just slightly bent cover corners. This giveaway is open until Saturday morning, 4 December 2009. It’s open to anyone around the globe. If you are a regular reader (i.e., you have left a comment on Rebecca Reads before today), you get an extra entry in this giveaway.

A note on the title: A phalarope is a rare South African bird. I was very curious myself.

Have you read Alan Paton? Did you enjoy the writing style?

What books have you read with difficult or different writing styles? Did the writing style change your enjoyment of the book?

• A Meme, A Farewell, and A Giveaway Winner
• The Help by Kathryn Stockett
• The Book That Changed My Life, edited by Roxanne J. Coady and Joy Johannesson + Giveaway
• November in Review + Reading Journal (2 Dec)
• Victorian Second Helpings (The Moonstone by Collins and North and South by Gaskell)
• Beloved by Toni Morrison
• God’s Bits of Wood by Sembene Ousmane
• Reading Journal (4 Nov): Reading Progress and Library Loot
• My Antonia by Willa Cather
• Anthem by Ayn Rand + A Giveaway

I’ve wanted to revisit the opera since then. I can’t exactly go to the opera these days (that’s what a baby and buying a house has done to my entertainment budget!) but I have had a wonderful time in the past few weeks visiting the opera in a number of forms.

The Magic Flute has a fun story, but when I try to write it out it sounds lengthy and/or rather complicated. It’s not. Wikipedia has a great extended summary and analysis, as well as a few sample arias (including my favorites!).

A (Pathetic) Summary

Although I know this summary sounds wrong and possibly uninteresting, here is an attempt.

The Magic Flute is a fairy tale story of a man (Tamino) sent on a quest by a sinister queen (the Queen of the Night) to rescue the Queen’s daughter (Pamina), who conveniently is the woman of Tamino’s dreams. The extremely amusing bird-catcher (Papageno) accompanies him. The queen gives Tamino a magic flute and Papageno magic bells to help them on their journey. As they rescue Pamina, a mysterious priest (Sarastro) gives the two of them (and later Pamina as well) various tests to show their worthiness for marriage. All ends happily ever after (except, maybe for Pamina’s mother, the Queen of the Night, who turns out to be rather insane).

There is so much more in this opera, and I don’t know how it sounds trying to summarize it like that. The story can be approached on the surface, or one can look at all sorts of symbolism. This time around, I preferred to enjoy the superficial aspects of the story and the music. I let myself get swept up in Mozart’s melodies: they just fit and the more I knew about the story, the more I enjoyed the music.

Although the story is also fun, I mostly enjoy The Magic Flute for its music.

The Picture Book

When I first started blogging, I found a review of a children’s book about the opera. (I cannot find who it was! If it was you, tell me and I’ll link to it.). It’s taken me this long to find the book and read it. And I love it! The Magic Flute, adapted and illustrated by Kyra Teis, has gorgeous paintings and tells the story well. It’s just perfect for a child in introducing a fun and magical story.

For a number of reasons, various plot elements (side stories) are omitted from the picture book. The racism, the wicked Monostatos’s temptations (he almost rapes Pamina), and the ritualistic moments are omitted from the story, so the entire story becomes much simpler. I think it helped me to read this before I went back to approach the opera.

Obviously, reading an opera in a picture book eliminates something important: the music. I love the music, so reading the book is not the same. That said, at the end of the picture book is a page of tips from the illustrator for how to approach the actual opera, and what to look for. I appreciated the reminder that the story is just a small part of this experience, and I think reading the story of an opera is a great way to get children interested in the form. I only wish I owned this book so I could read it more often!

The Commentary

After I’d read through the picture book, I stumbled upon the Chicago Lyric Opera’s commentary CDs (While I can’t find the past seasons for sale anywhere online, the 2009-10 season will be streaming free of charge on the Lyric Opera website throughout the season!). The commentary for The Magic Flute was wonderful! The person commenting on the play was sarcastic and fun as he went through both the plot and the significant musical elements one should note throughout to the opera.

The commenter was funny. He had no qualms mocking Tamino for his weakness (since he faints a few times in the beginning) and his stoic not-very-fun approach to the challenges (Tamino is very obedient to everything he is told). In fact, at one point, the narrator mentions that Tamino would not be any fun at a party he’s so boring. The narrator also humorously diagnoses Pamina’s mother, The Queen of the Night, as psychotic. (You can tell when you listen to her extreme singing that she’s a bit unstable.)

Beyond the amusing look at an amusing opera, he also explains the significance of the melodies, some facts about Mozart’s inspiration, and so forth. For example, it interesting to me that although the opera seems to discriminate against woman (after all, the message seems to be “this woman is your reward”) Mozart has included things that seem to be progressive: Pamina joins Tamino for the final tests and occasionally there are some references to not just “man and wife” but also “wife and man,” which puts the two on “equal footing.” No, it’s not exactly liberation by today’s standards, but it was interesting to learn the 1790’s perspective.

I also learned that because there is spoken dialog as well as singing, The Magic Flute is not technically an opera but a singspiel. (I still am referring to it as an opera.)

In between the commentary are excerpts from the songs so we can get a feel for the opera. I look forward to visiting other operas in such a manner! It was wonderful.

A Movie

I watched the movie of the opera as well, but it was a disappointing amateur production. I can’t say that watching bad acting and listening to poor renditions of the songs helped me, but I suppose seeing it acted out and reading the entire libretto in the subtitles helped me get a better feel for the opera. It is so funny!

At one point shortly after I was married, I recall my husband mentioned that my very inexpensive recording of a classical artist was poorly done.

“Oh, come on. There’s no difference! The artists just play the notes!” I replied.

Um, I was wrong. After listening to a few different recordings of the Queen of the Night’s solos, for example, I can promise you: an amateur recording is simply bad. A professional recording is incredible. To realize that I can hear a difference is incredibly exciting: my ear is being trained!

I had, of course, seen the play in Chicago with my husband-to-be a few years ago, as I mentioned, but it had been a long time. I appreciated seeing it again – even if it was amateur.

The Music

After watching the movie, I listened to the opera music on CD as I drove to my mother’s house. The drive takes about an hour each way, so the round trip got me through the entire opera. It was beautiful to just be wrapped up in the music. I love it! The version I listened to was beautiful.

Queen of the Night's set for 1815 production, via Wikipedia

My favorite songs are those of the Queen of the Night, but Papageno’s songs also top my list. The Queen of the Night has a particularly high and delightfully tension-filled song when she’s commanding her daughter to kill Sarastro. I think it is simply beautiful, especially when considered in context.

I also particularly love the duet when Papageno first meets Pamina. After he tells Pamina that Tamino loves her and is coming to rescue her, the two sing about how delightful it must be to fall in love and be married: “Man and Wife! Wife and Man!” They sing such a beautiful melody. It’s simply a gorgeous song.

And then there is Papageno’s song with his true love match, Papagena. This is just plain fun: they stutter over each other’s names and then sing about the children they will have together: a boy named Papageno, a girl named Papagena, and then another Papageno, etc. (The commenter I mentioned above says, “It sounds like they are going to populate the earth with their children!”)

I had intended to read the libretto too, but I think I’m Magic Flute-d out for now. Maybe next year or the next I’ll revisit it again. Or at least listen to the music again: it is so beautiful! While the story is entertaining and deep, it’s the music I truly love.

Which opera(s) do you love? I’m particularly interested in an opera with great music and an interesting story, but I may be interested in any of your favorites if it has either the great music or the great story. (Currently in my car: Carmen by Georges Bizet.)

Funny story: When I told my co-workers that my boyfriend was taking me to opera, I was giddy. But one co-worker said, “I’d rather go to a monster truck rally.” I thought that was funny because our preferences were obviously rather different. I have no desire to EVER go to a monster truck rally, but I sure would love the opera every now and then!

Which would you rather attend: an opera or a monster truck rally?

• Carmen by Prosper Merimee
• Two Neuroscience Books (Proust was a Neuroscientist by Lehrer and Sacks’ Musicophilia)
• Jazz by Toni Morrison
• Lullabies
• The Planets by Dava Sobel + A Giveaway
• Children’s Christmas: Picture Books of the Season
• Christmas Countdown: Music Collections I Love
• Beauty and the Beast + The Complete Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault
• Caldecott Corner: The House in the Night by Beth Krommes, 2009 Award Winner
• Reading Journal (18 Nov): Planning for a Quiet December

I wasn’t sure I liked Elizabeth’s Gaskell’s Cranford for most of my reading, and to be honest, the snippets of life in the town of Cranford irritated me at first. But in the end, it all comes full circle for me and I almost want to reread the portions that irritated me in the beginning. Some day, I think I’ll revisit this book. I definitely want to read more of Gaskell’s writing.

I think what I disliked most about Cranford-the-town was the superficiality of all the people. It is a town of predominately middle-aged, middle-class women, most of whom are spinsters or widows. From the beginning, though, we learn that there are certain social manners that are “required” to be followed. People with the wrong manners or even the wrong name are shunned. Middle-class people who admit to being “poor” or “unable to afford” something are social piranhas.

I have never been one to succeed in understanding popular fashions and unspoken social codes, and so such a city would seriously be hell on earth for me. I personally try hard not to care what other people think. Subsequently, I disliked most of the women for much of the book because they were so concerned about pleasing each other, and especially with pleasing the widowed Mrs Jamieson.  Even Miss Matty and the narrator were guilty of such pandering to convention and it was rather disgusting to me.

Certainly, that is part of the point of Gaskell’s novel. The narrator herself often expresses frustration at the ridiculous traditions, and her comments shed light on the humor of the situations, because they certainly were humorous. When “sensational” gossip revolves around how long someone stayed to visit (i.e., longer than 15 minutes), you know some priorities are out of order. My copy had occasional endnotes that explained some of the jokes that only those familiar with the Victorian period would have picked up on. For me, most of the book was a rather roll-my-eyes funny because I just really disliked the entire framework. It felt high school-ish and depressing: 50-year-old women were still playing the “popularity” and “gossip” game with their life.

Despite my dislike of the “game” they were playing, I still loved some of the characters. Miss Matty particularly stood out to me, and as she wept in her loneliness, I found myself weeping (I cry when I read books all the time). (Highlight for spoiler) When her friends came to her aid, I wept again. (end spoiler) And I loved Lady Glenmire. I say she was the only true Amazon woman in this novel, for she truly didn’t care what anyone else thought.

The narrator has an interesting presence in the book. For much of the novel, she is nameless, and yet she is obviously present at the various social functions. Only toward the end does her roll and presence become important, and while it was a little jarring to see her as a significant character in the novel (I liked it when she was in the background), it was refreshing to see her sincere friendship to Miss Matty.

Suffice it to say, though, that despite my frustration with the city of Cranford, I felt Cranford was well resolved. (Highlight for spoilers) I loved how Peter helped return the city to order, helping the women, particularly the ridiculous Mrs Jamieson, see that Lady Glenmire could still be a friend, even when her name was Mrs Hoggins. I thought that was a reminder that while it may be fun to sit around gossiping with other women, sometimes we need a reminder to have common sense. I subconsciously wish that it was Mary Smith, our narrator, who was able to knock some sense in to them. Yet, having a man come to the village seemed to indicate that, while a city of Amazons may be a nice idea, men help keep balance and rather make life pleasant. It’s easy to get wrapped up in gossip. (end spoiler)

I finished Cranford about an hour ago, and I rarely write reviews so soon after finishing a book. But Heather’s read-along was what motivated me to read this book in the first place, and so this end-of-the-month deadline has encouraged me to finish it and post about it tonight. I’m glad for that motivation because it is kind of refreshing to write my thoughts when they are still so fresh in my mind. I should do this more often.

(P.S. I just put the Masterpiece DVD on hold at my library too! I’m looking forward to watching it.)

• Victorian Second Helpings (The Moonstone by Collins and North and South by Gaskell)
• The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Arnim
• Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell
• The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
• Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson
• The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton
• Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog) by Jerome K. Jerome (narrated by Martin Jarvis)
• Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
• The Makioka Sisters by Junichiro Tanizaki
• Baking Cakes in Kigali by Gaile Parkin

I think there’s something about reading historical fiction that occurs in nineteenth century China that is always painful for me. I dislike the way women and girls are discounted, I don’t understand the traditions (seriously, crippling girls’ feet makes them more attractive?!), and I am often frustrated by my ignorance of place, food, status, and culture. That last point is the main reason I feel I should continue to read about Chinese history: there is so much I do not know.

Although I enjoyed learning about the culture and traditions, the novel did very little for me emotionally. I disliked Lily from her childhood, and I found few other characters to draw me in to the novel. There was one character I found complicated and interesting (Snow Flower) and by the end, although I felt frustrated with the story and with Lily, I felt there were pertinent issues relating to friendship and trust to consider and ponder.

Yet, I unfortunately found the writing stilted and boring, although many people have praised it as beautiful. Maybe that boredom came from the fact that I read the incredible Beloved by Toni Morrison immediately before this novel? I suspect I would have abandoned this novel from boredom if not for my in real life book club, which was meeting at my house.

Nevertheless, despite my lukewarm reaction to Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, I am glad that I read it. Viewing a fictionalized snapshot of nineteenth century China made me incredibly grateful for living where I do now. There are good issues raised about friendship and trust; betrayal; and, ultimately, a woman’s relationship to her husband, friends, and children. I’m sure many people will (and do) enjoy this book more than I did, so please don’t take my word for it.

Because I was hosting the book club in my home, I decided to find something edible from the book to feed to my guests, so I read the book looking for food. That made reading the book fun, too, and it saved me from utter boredom. I ended up making congee and deep-fried sugared taro root.

During a deadly typhoid epidemic, Lily feed her children only congee, a rice pudding. While those who ate the diseased animals died, Lily’s family survived. The congee I made had vegetables and chicken stock and it was quite good. I suspect Lily’s would have been a bit more boring, to say the least. Probably just rice and water. Boiled. For a long time.

Every summer when Lily and Snow Flower met in the village, they ate a special deep-fried sugared taro root desert. I’d never eaten taro root before, but it’s a potato-like tuber. I sliced the taro like thick French fries, fried them in oil, and then coated them in sugar. It was surprisingly tasty! Find links to the recipes on Rebecca’s Cooking Journal.

I guess that goes to show that for me, this “in real life” book club makes a book much more fun than just reading it myself, and not just because we had a fun discussion!

Since I didn’t love this book (note that I didn’t hate it either, it just didn’t do much for me), I found as many other reviews as I could find so you can get a second opinion. If I missed your review, let me know.

Other reviews: 1 more chapter; A Novel Menagerie; A Striped Armchair; American Bibliophile; Bending Bookshelf; Bloody Hell, It’s a Book Barrage!; Book Club Girl; Book Nut; Bookin’ It; Books for Breakfast; Books Lists Life; Dear Author; Devourer of Books ; Dolce Bellezza; Fyrefly Books’ Blog; Literate Housewife; Lotus Reads; Reading Adventure; Reading Matters; Sassymonkey Reads; Small World Reads; So Many Books, So Little Time;  Some Reads; Stone Soup; The Bookworm – Naida; tiny reading room; Tif Talks Books

• The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton
• Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
• To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf
• The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa
• The Enchanted April by Elizabeth Von Arnim
• The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters
• The Makioka Sisters by Junichiro Tanizaki
• The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
• Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
• The Help by Kathryn Stockett