Steven03tx's 2013 Reading Log - Vol. I

On my Reading Shelf
Books I'm either reading at the moment or plan to start within the next thirty days.

       

Index to My 2013 Reading
(Book titles are touchstones that link to the work page. The date read is a link to my Club Read post.)

anonymous - Njál's Saga - February 10

Ackroyd, Peter - Hawksmoor - February 26
Balzac, Honoré de - Eugénie Grandet - March 9
  - The Girl with the Golden Eyes - March 11
  - A Harlot High and Low - February 21
Csáth, Géza - Opium and Other Stories - January 3
Dabija, Nicolae - Mierla Domesticita: Blackbird Once Wild, Now Tame - January 4
Davies, Norman - The Isles: A History - February 23
Diderot, Denis - The Nun - March 24
Gaskell, Elizabeth - Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life - March 13
Hernández, José - The Gaucho Martín Fierro - January 21
Hugo, Victor - The Toilers of the Sea - January 29
Jerome, Jerome K. - Three Men in a Boat - February 8
Leppin, Paul - The Road to Darkness - February 4
Ondaatje, Michael - The English Patient - January 7
Pályi, András - Out of Oneself - January 9
Sarduy, Severo - Firefly - January 13
Tolstaya, Tatyana - The Slynx - January 21
Wang Anyi - The Song of Everlasting Sorrow - January 9
Zola, Émile - The Kill - March 5


("Still Life - French Novels" by Vincent van Gogh, 1888)

2013 Statistics

Summary of Books Read
23 - books read
16 - novels
4 - short story collections
1 - poetry collections
1 - epic verse
1 - history

Authors
21 - different authors
12 - authors new to me
18 - books by male authors
4 - books by female authors
1 - books by anonymous or unknown authors

Books Read by Author's Nationality
6 - French
5 - English
2 - Hungarian
2 - American
1 - Moldovan
1 - Canadian
1 - Chinese
1 - Cuban
1 - Russian
1 - Argentine
1 - Czech
1 - Icelandic

Books Read by Original Language
8 - English
6 - French
2 - Hungarian
2 - Spanish
1 - Romanian
1 - Chinese
1 - Russian
1 - German
1 - Icelandic

Books Read by Decade of First Publication
1 - 13th century
1 - 1790s
2 - 1830s
2 - 1840s
1 - 1860s
2 - 1870s
1 - 1880s
2 - 1910s
1 - 1980s
8 - 1990s
2 - 2000s


("The Librarian" by Giuseppe Arcimboldo)

Welcome to my 2013 reading log.

My reading in 2013 will be driven largely by group reading themes and projects. These include:

Reading Globally, in which we will be reading works from eastern and central Europe (Jan.-Mar.), works from southeast Asia (Apr.-June), works by Francophone writers outside France (July-Sept.), and works from South America (Oct.-Dec.).

Author Theme Reads, where 2013 will be a year of French authors featuring Émile Zola, Honoré de Balzac, Victor Hugo, Guy de Maupassant, Marguerite Duras, and Simone de Beauvoir.

Literary Centennials, which will celebrate the anniversaries of Albert Camus, Robertson Davies, Denis Diderot, and others.

And Read Mo Yan, which will focus on the works of the 2012 Nobel laureate in literature.

Early in the year I will also be trying to read up on the history of England, Scotland and Wales in preparation for a vacation in June.

There will also be the usual blend of classics and contemporary fiction chosen by my non-LT reading group. This year our calendar ranges widely from Norse sagas to Jonathan Franzen.

Taking all the above into account I worked up a draft reading calendar for 2013. It came to an impossible 20 books per month--twice my normal reading rate. So I may not be able to squeeze in too many of the offbeat works for which I've become somewhat notorious around here, but I'll do my best.


("Farmer Sitting at the Fireside and Reading" by Vincent van Gogh, 1881)

Is this your own art?

#5 - No, I have no such talent. I'll add the title and artist to each so there is no mistake. And all the art work I use is from sites in the public domain such as Wikipedia, Wikipaintings, and the Web Gallery of Art.

Opium and Other Stories by Géza Csáth
Stories written in Hungarian 1908 to 1912
English translation by Jascha Kessler and Charlotte Rogers 1980

 

Géza Csáth, born 1887, was an upper middle class Hungarian who showed considerable talent as an artist, writer, musician and composer before deciding of his own volition to enter medical school. He devoted his early career to researching the origins of mental disorders, a fascination which carries over to the short stories he was writing at the time. At the same time, however, Csáth became addicted to opium. During the First World War he began his own descent into insanity. In 1919 he killed his wife, was institutionalized, escaped, and then killed himself.

Csáth's short stories are a mixture of the tragic, the absurd, the macabre and the fantastic. The author's mother died when he was a young child, leading evidently to a sense of betrayal that caused him to depict mothers as uncaring. Children are often the principal subjects of his stories, and they are typically angry and sadistic, wreaking violence and death on their pets, their siblings, and especially their mothers. In other stories young men are tantalized with the prospect of sexual pleasures, only to be thwarted by indifferent females, by their own inhibitions, or by waking at the wrong moment to find it was all a dream.

Csáth is not entirely misogynistic, however. In "Festal Slaughter" he presents a remarkably sensitive portrait of a servant girl who must rise in the freezing dawn to prepare for the slaughter of a sow by a visiting butcher. Along with her employer's family she works to exhaustion that day processing the carcass, making sausages, etc., only to be casually raped by the butcher before he leaves. She is just as much a piece of meat to her culture as the sow.

In the title story, "Opium," Csáth praises his favorite drug. Sure it shortens your life, he argues, but it slows time and extends the pleasures of each day. You may live, at most, for ten years, but in those ten years you will experience twenty million years of bliss before letting "your head fall on the icy pillow of eternal annihilation." Other stories present perhaps a more cautionary picture of addiction, such as one in which the narrator is plagued by dreams of a giant, fearsome toad in his kitchen.

There is a bit of black comedy in the collection as well, such as in the story "Father, Son" where a young man returns to Hungary from America to retrieve his father's skeleton from a medical college where it has just been put on display in a classroom. There is social satire too, such as the story "Musicians" wherein the players in a civic orchestra discover that it their politics, not their performance, that will win them new instruments.

I would characterize Géza Csáth as "Poe + Freud," as his macabre, drug-fueled visions are informed by a professional's knowledge and clinical experience with mental illness. His writings also reflect the final convulsions of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a dream world of sorts itself. These are not great stories, but many are quite good and would appeal to anyone with an interest in the literature of the period or of drug addiction.


("The Opium Smoker's Dream" by Lajos Gulácsy, 1918)

Great review of Opium and Other Stories, Steven. It sounds like, though you didn't love the stories, you still got a lot out of the collection.

By the way, have you read any Thomas De Quincey? I did a book report as an undergraduate on his Opium-Eater, which really opened my eyes to opium addiction. That, and was very well-written.

Your reading projects for 2013 appear to give you a lot of opportunity to read some top top writers Steven. You must be looking forward with some excitement.

For another take on the UK you could read some of the books written by H V Morton. He wrote travelogues of his journeys between the world wars. Not really that long ago, but they now seem like evocations of a different age.

Having said that, they are of their period, very English in outlook, a little twee. They do have a nice sense of humour and seem to capture a certain time and place very well.

I like dipping I to them from time to time.

Your current/upcoming reading choices are certainly impressive, Steven. I'm looking forward to another year of your wonderful reviews.

>1 StevenTX: – I hope you enjoy The English Patient, one of Ondaatje's stronger novels, in my opinion.

Good start to another interesting reading year, steven. Have you read The Diary of Géza Csáth? I just acquired a copy and was planning to read it for the Reading Globally theme. Arthur Phillips, in the book's introduction says he prefers Csáth's diaries to his stories as there Csáth allows more layers and contradictions to appear, and the character of Gézaz Csáth has a fullness and a contradictory depth not achieved in the fiction, creating a figure more ghastly, profound and haunting than the grotesque types who appear in his stories of rape, murder, and animal torture. I don't know though how much I can take of his misogyny and misanthropy, but I'm sufficiently intrigued.

There's also Opium and the People: Opiate Use in Nineteenth Century England by Virginia Berridge for more of a social history look.

#8 - De Quincey is already on my target list for this year (along with at least twice as many books as I will have time for).

#9 - I'll keep Morton in mind for the future, but I already have more than I can read on the subject between now and June.

#10 - Thanks, Linda.

#11 - It looks like The English Patient will be the next book I'll finish. I'm enjoying it.

#12 - I wasn't aware that Csáth's diary was available, but I just saw that it's only $4.99 for the Kindle. If there's time to squeeze it in this quarter, I'll go for it.

#13 - Thanks for the recommendation. I'll keep an eye out for it. The history of the use of such drugs when they were largely unregulated is something that has an obvious bearing on the question of legalizing or decriminalizing drugs today.

ETA: I should also have mentioned that the volume is illustrated with engravings by Csáth's friend Attila Sassy. One is shown on the cover. Here is another example:

It's amazing how many books you can read at one time.

Your first read Opium and Other Stories was about to leap onto my wish list, when I saw your statement that Csath's diary was available on Kindle for only $4.99. I think I'll read that first. I can see now that my resolve to buy fewer books this year will be tested, as it was last year, by how diabolically easy Amazon makes it to purchase books on Kindle.

It's amazing how many books you can read at one time.

If you're referring to my "reading shelf" in message #1, please note that this includes books I plan to start later in the month. I'm not reading all of them at the same time. I usually only have 4 or 5 in progress at any point.

Yes, Kindle books are seductively easy to purchase, but then they don't take up any room on the shelf, so that lessens the guilt from buying them (at least in my case).

Another great review of "an offbeat work" steven and there is a statue of this guy somewhere?

Yes, it's in his home town of Subotica, Serbia, a city on the border with Hungary. It is also the birthplace of the Serbian writer Danilo Kis.

The town where I live has only one statue, and it's of Mark Twain. He was never here, as far as I know, but it's an appropriate way to dignify the entrance to a library.

Just found your thread and happy to have done so! I'm looking forward to another year here and am excited to see what you end up reading out of all the challenges. Toilers of the Sea will be next for me but I still have about 400 pages left in Musashi which still leaves me with 8 hours of reading time (which can equal 3 weeks for me as I read not every day).

I'm glad you were able to find something that fit with the structured reading but was also an offbeat Steven specialty (I'm sure Rick Perry would be happy to burn that book). I don't think I caught that he was from the same town as Danilo Kis - interesting.

Mierla Domesticita: Blackbird Once Wild, Now Tame by Nicolae Dabija
Poems first published in Romanian 1992
English translation by John Michael Flynn 2012

 

Prior to its independence in 1991, Moldova was one of the constituent republics of the USSR. Though it's people traditionally spoke a dialect of Romanian, Russian was the official language in Soviet Moldova, and many people grew up speaking only Russian. Nicolae Dabija, as a politician, newspaper editor and poet, was one of the Moldovan's working to preserve the native language and culture. Barely a year after Moldova's independence, he published this collection of poems in Romanian.

But rather than celebrating his country's new identity and the restoration of its traditional language and alphabet, Dabija's poetry is an accusing cry of despair at how easily the people succumbed to foreign influence:

"I hear how in this world walk
Peoples without a language their gods tossed into a cart.

"Peoples who have no country.
What are they looking for? What do they want?...

"And if only to awaken after a time, dumb
and to learn the barbarian conquerors have finally left."

In the title poem of the collection, "Blackbird once wild, now tame," Dabija compares his people to a bird that voluntarily gives up its freedom:

"See this bird, once wild, now raised on grain
long ago it forgot how to fly.
See how the humble wind startles
her greasy, lethargic wings.
And in her eyes how the sky perishes....

"this voiceless aviator
who renounced a boundless horizon
for a feeder full of grain."

The first half of the collection consists of political poems such as these, some featuring scenes from folk life, others using mythological allegories.

The second half of the collection is mostly poems dedicated to a lost or recalcitrant lover. I found these to be substantially inferior to the political works, and almost painfully sophomoric at times. In one poem the writer declares that a millennium from now he will be nothing but a handful of clay that "shudders when touched by the clay you've become." And the shortest poem in the collection says only:

"I miss you
the way a wall misses a window."

However, one must give the author the benefit of the doubt and assume that much of the beauty of language was lost in translation. The translator states, in fact, that he had to forego all rhyming in order to preserve the literal meaning. The text is bilingual, and you can see that every poem rhymes in the original Romanian, while none of them does in English translation.

There are several really good poems in this short collection. (My favorite is one titled "The Cat.") But it will be read chiefly because it is one of the few specimens of Moldovan literature available in English translation.


("All Lanes of Lilac Evening" by Max Ernst, 1975)

#21 Another great find steven, but surely you did not come across this in your local bookstore. Strangely enough you are the only member of Librarything to have a copy, but I suppose this is not a first for you.

Like the Maz Ernst.

There is a statue in my town too apart from the war memorial. It is of Wynton Marsalis.

#19 - I wish I could read 50 pages an hour! I probably read 20 on average. I get about 8 hours of reading time per day, though.

#20 - Yes, I'm always trying to kill two birds with one stone. (even blackbirds)

#22 - surely you did not come across this in your local bookstore

Hardly. The Reading Globally group is doing "Eastern and Central Europe" this quarter, which includes Poland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Slovenia, Romania, Ukraine, and Moldova. I want to read something from each country (Hungary was first with the Csáth collection), but I had nothing for Moldova. So I looked up Moldovan literature on Wikipedia and started checking Amazon to see what they had in translation. It turned out the only thing they had at a reasonable price by any of the Moldovan authors listed was the poetry collection by Dabija. But it was VERY reasonable: only 99 cents for the Kindle version. It was only recently published, so that accounts for my having the only copy.

Regarding the paintings: I've been cross-posting my reviews to the 2013 Challenge Group for the last couple of months, and, in place of the pictures of books and authors, I've been selecting a painting or other public domain illustration that I though was fitting. I decided to start posting the paintings to Club Read 2013 as well. It's just a fun way of exploring art along with literature.

Really? With all you read I would have thought that were a speed reader. Does that mean I'm a speed reader? Now I'm not sure. I only know my speed with Musashi since I've set up a stopwatch on my ipod to time how much I'm reading in one sitting. With Musashi's big hardback cover, glossy pages and thin lines it's taking about 1.5 minutes to read a page, I've discovered. These past two nights I was able to read 100 pages and then 70 pages respectively in about 2 hours. Wow, if only I read like this every day; imagine how much I would get read!

#23 I get about 8 hours of reading time per day, though.

Pea green with envy!

>25 rebeccanyc: Me too!

I enjoyed your review of Dabija's collection, Steven. Your mention of the translation issues resonated with the remarks of several poetry translators that I heard speak this year. The first thing I usually do when I read an enticing book review is to go over to Amazon and see if it is available for Kindle at a reduced price. There will shortly be two copies of this one in the LT world.

The English Patient by Michael Ondaatje
First published 1992

 

At the end of World War II, four people come together at a partially destroyed villa near Florence. There is Hana, the Canadian nurse. After her father's recent death, she has detached herself from all humanity except for the patient she is treating. Her patient, a man burned beyond recognition and claiming to have forgotten even his own name and nationality, is known only as the "English patient." He is too weak to be moved, Hana claims, so she and he have been left behind when the rest of the field hospital moved on.

But soon Hana is joined by an old friend of her father's, David Caravaggio, a thief turned spy until he was captured by the Germans and mutilated. Now he clings to Hana for companionship and for the morphine he steals from her supplies. Finally there is Kirpal Singh, "Kip," a young Indian Sikh in the British army. Kip is a sapper, highly trained in bomb disposal, and he is billeted alone at the villa to clear the area of unexploded bombs, mines and booby traps.

Much of the novel consists in non-sequential flashbacks telling the past of each of the characters, but especially of the English patient. Though he won't reveal his identity, he tantalizes Hana and her companions with tales of his life as an explorer and archaeologist in the Sahara and of his tragic love affair with his friend's wife, Katherine.

The English Patient is a beautifully told story of four complex characters. It is rich both in humanity and historical insight, as it portrays a time when the future was a bleak unknown for those who had been maimed, physically or emotionally, and cast adrift by war.


("Destroyed House in Kehl" by Arnold Böcklin, 1870)

Other works I have read by Michael Ondaatje:
The Collected Works of Billy the Kid
Coming Through Slaughter

Excellent review of The English Patient, Steven. I'm not sure why, but I didn't enjoy it as much as many people did.

Great review, Steven. I've only read The Cat's Table, Ondaatje's latest, but I really enjoyed it, and I have a film tie-in version of The English Patient knocking around somewhere... I'll get to it sooner or later.

Oh good, I'm glad you enjoyed The English Patient! I think it might be time for a reread... If you want to read more Ondaatje, I highly recommend In the Skin of a Lion, which is about Hana's father, Patrick. It also features Caravaggio, one of my favourite characters. The Cat's Table was also excellent, and so was Anil's Ghost.

Your picture beautifully captures the mood of the villa, if a villa can have a mood, even though it comes from a different country. It's time I reread this. Also seconding cait on Anil's Ghost.

The Song of Everlasting Sorrow by Wang Anyi
First published in Chinese 1995
English translation by Michael Berry and Susan Chan Egan 2008

 

The Song of Everlasting Sorrow is a novel equally about a woman and a city. The city is Shanghai, and the story opens in its last days of decadent opulence in the 1940s. The woman is Wang Qiyao, as a teenager a striking young beauty who has been raised on Hollywood movies and a mix of Chinese and Western fashions. Her life is that of a typical Shanghai girl until, with the help of a friend, Wang Qiyao gets a glimpse at the world of her dreams backstage at a Shanghai film studio. This leads to her being noticed by an amateur photographer who makes her his lifetime obsession. His photos of Wang Qiyao catapult her to local fame and a place in the 1946 "Miss Shanghai" beauty pageant.

Wang Qiyao's feminine world is echoed in the author's descriptions of Shanghai itself:

"Shanghai's splendor is actually a kind of feminine grace; the scent carried by the wind is a woman's perfume.... The shadows of the French parasol trees seem to carry a womanly aura, as do the oleanders and the lilacs in the courtyard--the most feminine of flowers. The humid breeze during the rainy season is a woman's little temper tantrum, the murmuring sound of Shanghainese is custom-made for women's most intimate gossip. The city is like one big goddess, wearing clothes plumed with rainbows, scattering silver and gold across the sky."

Wang Qiyao lives in a "longtang," the traditional Shanghai residential block consisting of a group of connected houses fronting a single narrow alley. There are detailed descriptions of the longtang and changes that both it and Wang Qiyao undergo over time as history sweeps across Shanghai.

But the tumultuous events of Chinese history from the 1940s to the 1980s are seen only indirectly. The name of Mao Zedong is never mentioned, nor that of any other public figure. Instead what we see through Wang's eyes are the changes in fashions, in music, and in the menus of restaurants. We see the city slowly darken and decay, then burst back into life again in 1976, but only in a cheap imitation of its former glory. Observing the sudden explosion of gaudy but poorly made and ill-fitting clothes, Wang Qiyao observes that "nothing could escape the prevailing crudeness and mediocrity in the general rush to produce instant results."

Wang herself has friendships with a number of women and affairs with several men, but never commits herself emotionally. Always seeking to recapture the glory of her youth when all of Shanghai was her admirer, she keeps others at arm's length. She is a creature of a Shanghai of the past, but when that Shanghai finally tries to recreate itself, Wang Qiyao discovers that "her world had returned, but she was now only an observer."

The characters in most of the Chinese fiction I have read are notably plain-spoken, thick skinned, and wear their emotions for all to see. The Song of Everlasting Sorrow is quite different. The language is lyrical, poetic, and at times almost magical. The characters are complex and subtle, reluctant to show their true feelings or to take action. Emotions are suggested by a single tear or a sharp turn of the head. In the same way, sweeping historical and social changes are only hinted at by the accumulation of dust on a window sill or the gradual fading of a treasured but never worn silk dress.

This is a beautifully written and intimate novel with subtle patterns and ironies. It offers a unique urban and domestic perspective on modern China that both contrasts and complements the more masculine perspective of most Chinese novelists.


(The entrance to a typical Shanghai longtang.)

Sounds great!

I share your enthusiasm for The English Patient steven, however I really enjoyed your fabulous review of The Song of Everlasting Sorrow. I would be interested to read a novel that focuses on another side of China especially one that is as well written as you claim this one is. I just might take a diversion from my own reading list to take in this one.

Wonderful review. Shanghai "before" has always intrigued me and this sounds like a beautiful portrayal. Have you read any Eileen Chang?

Very nice review of The Song of Everlasting Sorrow. I read two novellas, Lapse of Time and Baotown many, many years ago. I am now postponing further reading of Wang Anyi (王安忆), till I can read it well in Chinese.

Great reviews. You really got my attention there, though, with The Song of Everlasting Sorrow. It sounds like a beautiful book.

Out of Oneself by András Pályi
Two novellas published in Hungarian in 1996 and 2001
English translation by Imre Goldstein 2005

 

Out of Oneself is a collection that consists of a pair of novellas that explore erotic desire as a force that is both redemptive and destructive.

"Beyond," the first piece, begins with a priest describing his own funeral. He has killed himself but is being given a church funeral because the provost (his uncle) managed to have him declared insane. Now he is a specter not only looking back on the events that led to his demise, but in some strange way reliving them, even making different choices, but seeing them lead over and over to the same end.

His story begins in 1936 when he has just celebrated his first mass and was approached by a beautiful young actress. In private the woman tells him about being troubled by memories of her childhood, but it is obvious that she is strongly attracted to him. He can't deny that the attraction is mutual, and before long they are having an affair. The priest can't find it in himself to believe that their love is wrong, yet each time he relives it, the end is the same. In his mind this endless destruction and resurrection takes on religious symbolism.

The second story, titled "At the End of the World," is set in Budapest in the 1980s. The principal female character is, again, an actress. On the set of a movie she finds herself attracted to the screenwriter. They are both still in their teens, and they have both left the homes of their foster or step-parents feeling as though they were cast out alone and in the rain. The girl has further anxieties from having been sexually molested by her stepfather since she was a small child.

Their attraction for each other is immediately and intensely physical. "Love is like God, we create it and believe in it. The pure moment is something else. Screaming, fear, pleasure, abandon." But the passion which redeems them from their sense of abandonment turns quickly into something they cannot control. "They had gone from slavery to freedom and then back to slavery. How could that have happened?"

The two stories both explore sexual psychology, but with their repetitive cycles of passion and despair they may also be historical allegories as well. The first instance depicting fascism with its antisemitism, the second communism with its class conflict. The male protagonist in each novella has his own prejudices to blame, in part, for his fate.

Earlier authors such as Georges Bataille have explored the linkage between eroticism, death and religion. These novellas are much in the same vein, and Out of Oneself will appeal to anyone who has enjoyed Bataille's work.


("Death and the Maiden" by Egon Schiele, 1915)

#36 - No, I haven't read anything by Eileen Chang but there was a brief mention of her in The Song of Everlasting Sorrow. I had her on my wishlist for a while but got fully stocked with Chinese fiction before I ran across anything of hers.

I should also mention that The Song of Everlasting Sorrow has what may be the most beautiful book cover in my collection.

Interesting to see the picture by Egon Schiele; it reminded me that the teenage protagonist in Mario Vargas Llosa's The Notebooks of Don Rigoberto is obsessed with Schiele.

#41 - The site where I normally find public domain art images was down last night, so I had to think of an artist by name whose work fit the tone of the book, and Schiele came to mind thanks to my having read Vargas Llosa's book.

That reminds me must get to Georges Bataille soon

Steven, The Song of Everlasting Sorrow sounds wonderful and I appreciated your observations on the differing sensibilities of male and female Chinese novelists.

About time I caught up here. Good luck on your quest to read a zillion books this year. I'm in a bit of awe of those 8 hours a day of reading. My dreams have only managed to come up how nice 2 hours a day would be (which is far more than I get). Anyway, I'm on board now, enjoyed all your reviews, even of strange poet Nicolae Dabija who I'm certainly not going to search out. Happy reading.

Dan, if you are reading two hours a day, then it is apparently a very productive two hours.

Robert

I don't keep track of time, but last year I logged my reading pages every day, averaged about 48 pages a day. (I wanted 50) I'm not keeping track this year.

I should have said I had as much as 8 hours a day available for reading. There are times, like now, when I have plenty of time to sit down with a book, but I just can't seem to focus, so I look for something else to do. I've been in a reading slump for the last three days, averaging perhaps 10 pages per day instead of the 100 I usually aim for.

Firefly by Severo Sarduy
First published in Spanish 1990
English translation by Mark Fried 2013
An Early Reviewer book

 

Firefly is a fanciful and bitter composite portrait of Havana, past and present, as seen through the eyes and dreams of a mentally deficient youth named "Firefly," who is described as "melon-headed" and "Chinese-eyed" and begins the story sitting on a chamber pot.

Firefly's adventures are a series of encounters, embarrassments, revelations and escapes, many of them so surreal that Firefly convinces himself they are dreams or hallucinations. But the same bizarre and sordid characters keep turning up, leading him to conclude that he is surrounded by a diabolical conspiracy that is turning the city into a cesspit of vice.

Sarduy's language is ornate, colorful, and often playfully contradictory. A woman's shoes "looked like a frightened lizard had wrapped itself around her feet." Fresh air reeks, and a surface glimmers with the sheen of tarnished metal. The novel is also alarmingly adrift in time: People ride in carriages and use chamber pots, but they also listen to the radio and use hair spray. Later a sailing ship arrives in Havana and unloads a cargo of African slaves, but as the slaves were being auctioned on the dock, in the background "a pulley gave way and a big-screen television shattered against a mast."

Firefly himself muses on the relationship between literature and reality:

"'What they call writing,' he said to himself, 'must be just that: to be able to make some order out of things and their reflections.... If I could write,' he continued, 'I could make things appear and disappear as they really are instead of the jumbled way they look in the window, all mixed up with their reflections."

So Sarduy's purpose in giving us this anachronistic, paranoid and hallucinatory vision of his native city is to "make things appear and disappear as they really are." Firefly is a wild ride through the places and times of Havana--from boarding school to bordello, from gardens to slums, and from monastery to slave market. It is irreverent, raunchy and darkly comic and entertains though it doesn't always make sense. It is recommended for those who enjoy magical realism and experimental fiction.


("Self Portrait" by Rufino Tamayo)

Enjoyed your review of Firefly, Severo Sarduy I like the idea of a sort of jumbled reality

50> Ditto! A winner of an Early Reviewer book.

...fanciful and bitter,...ornate, colorful, and often playfully contradictory,...anachronistic, paranoid and hallucinatory...irreverent, raunchy and darkly comic...., you say? I'm off to look for it!!!

congrats

I have that through my Archipelago subscription, and now I'm looking forward to reading it!

Agreeing completely with deebee.

I requested this booktoo, but wasn't as lucky.

Nice review, Steven! You were lucky to receive Firefly as an ER book, as Archipelago has not been reliable in fulfilling these commitments in recent months. I am now owed three, going back to July.

#56 - Yes, I won another Archipelago book in October, The Bottom of the Jar, but still haven't received it. So I was astonished to see Firefly show up in my mailbox only a few days after the December batch closed.

Sarduy seems like a very spontaneous writer. His style as you describe it reminds me Cesar Aira.

I thought I was an isolated case on Archipelago not delivering.

Wow; as usual, your reviews are superb, Steven! I had mentioned Firefly on my thread yesterday as an Archipelago forthcoming book that I was interested in, so I was especially glad to read your enticing review of it. The Song of Everlasting Sorrow and Out of Oneself have also been added to my ever growing wish list.

Have you or anyone else read Love in a Fallen City by Eileen Chang? I have the NYRB edition of it, but I haven't read it yet.

#59 Thanks, Darryl. No, I haven't read anything by Eileen Chang. SassyLassy mentioned her earlier, so I already have Love in a Fallen City on the wishlist.

I've had Love in a Fallen City on the TBR for years!

I have read it! It's good, but my, it's bleak.

Oh, intrigued by Firefly. Great review. Do you know, did Severo Sarduy live mainly in Cuba during his post-Castro life? I'm wondering whether the the portrait of Havana is based on an old distant memory.

Sorry to just be dropping in now, although you've been starred since the beginning of the year, and I have been reading and starring your reviews as they appear on the hot reviewers list.

I Love the artwork you've been including in your posts, and I appreciate your efforts to use public domain images.

As intrigued as I am by another Writers from the Other Europe book, I'm not sure the content of Opium and Other Stories would set well with me. Perhaps if I get the set completed someday.

Anil's Ghost struck a chord with me (I loved it), whereas I found The English Patient so-so. Perhaps I was turned off by the cover, as I have the movie tie-in edition.

Still waiting for my ER copy of Mama Leone. Now I'm beginning to worry it will never come. Rats.

Adding The Song of Everlasting Sorrow to the list. I'm really loving the accompanying pictures to your thoughtful reviews.

I've read Love in a Fallen City also and it is definitely depressing. A lot of the endings to the stories were like a kick in the stomach. But they were very good - I also read Lust, Caution and want to get more by her. Have seen several of her novels but the editions are pretty expensive.

The book reviews have dried up? Hope you are well steven

Thanks Dan, Lisa and DieF!

I'm fine, Barry, but my mother has been seriously ill and in the hospital for the last two weeks. At age 87 her chances for recovery are not very good. I've been too tired and distracted to get much reading done or take part in discussions. Thanks for being concerned.

Sorry to hear about your mother, Steven.

A difficult time for you steven and I can only offer best wishes.

So sorry to hear about your mother, steven.

My thoughts are with you and your mother, Steven.

Take care, Steven, I'll be thinking of you.

Thank you all for your comments and your concern. It really means a lot. My mother passed away at 4:00 AM today. She died peacefully and painlessly. I hope to be catching up on reviews and such in a few days (after I catch up on sleep).

I'm very sorry for your loss Steven.

I'm sorry. Take care of yourself and we'll all be here whenever you return.

What a gentle passing. I hope that gives you some peace.

I'm so sorry to hear about your loss, steven.

Hope your holding up, Steven. Don't worry about the reviews - as Alison says, we'll be waiting for you.

Very sorry for your loss, Steven.

Just to add my voice - sorry for your loss.

Sorry for your loss steven

So sorry hear about this, steven.

I've never posted on your thread before but I'm very sorry for your loss too.

What I came to say was how much I enjoyed your review of The Song of Everlasting Sorrow, which is going straight on my wishlist. For the second time today on a thread, Sassy has got in first with what I wanted to say - your comments made me think of Eileen Chang too. I'm just about to start the last short novella in Love in a Fallen City, which is bleak, as others have said, and some of the endings do indeed deliver a kick to the stomach, and Chang takes a fairly tough view of human behaviour - but it's also beautiful and quite haunting.

I so sorry to hear about your loss Steven.

My condolences, Steven. Give yourself some time. We will be here when you're ready.

I'm very sorry to hear about your mother's passing, Steven. My thoughts and prayers are with you, and we all look forward to your return here soon.

Sorry to hear about your mother. Big virtual hugs from this way.

Once again, thank you all. It would have delighted my mother to see these messages from all over the globe.

Okay, back to books....

The Slynx by Tatyana Tolstaya
First published in Russian 2000
English translation by Jamey Gambrell 2003

 

Two hundred years after "The Blast" life goes on in a nameless Russian community. Benedikt is a typical Golubchik, a free member of the working class. By day he works copying the works of his great leader, Fyodor Kuzmich, on sheets of bark. After work he catches a few mice for his supper (mice being almost the only creatures left that are safe to eat), and by night he occasionally has nightmares about the Slynx, the deadly and invisible monster that lives in the woods.

Though Benedikt isn't a member of the privileged Murza class, at least he seems to be free of the Consequences (mutations) that have deformed many of his fellow Golubchiks. And he is certainly better off than the Serfs who wait on the Murzas or the sub-human Degenerators who go about on all fours and pull the Murza's sleds.

The first half of The Slynx is a detailed picture of Benedikt's life, his community, and its social structure. There isn't much in the way of plot; instead it is an obvious satire of Russian culture, both before and after the collapse of the USSR. One might call it a post-apocalyptic Animal Farm.

In the second half of the novel, Benedikt marries into the Murza class. He becomes a Saniturion, an agent whose job it is to seize pre-Blast books that the Golubchiks are hoarding. The purpose is not to destroy the books, but to preserve them. The ignorant Golubchiks, after all, are likely to use them just to light fires or wipe their bums. But are the Murzas any less ignorant? Does it do any good to respect our cultural heritage if we refuse to learn from it?

In the end The Slynx becomes a sort of reverse Fahrenheit 451, painting an even gloomier portrait of a species doomed to repeat endlessly the mistakes of its past, just as post-Communist Russia is reinventing many of the evils of the USSR. As a reading experience, The Slynx is rather uneven. Parts of it are hilarious, and parts are prophetic, but the first half of the novel often seems to be going nowhere. It requires a little patience to get to the midpoint, at which point the plot and themes finally begin to emerge.


("Invention of the Monsters" by Salvador Dali, 1937)

The funniest part of The Slynx is when Benedikt arranges his library. Here he is reading titles and authors off the shelf. (This is just a sample.)

...The Red and the Black, Baa Baa Black Sheep, The Blue and the Green, The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle, The Woman in White,...

...Appleton, Bacon, Belcher, Blinman, Cooke, Culpepper, Honeyman, Hungerford, Liverich,...

...Baldwin, Beardsley, Hatcliff, Morehead, Skinner, Topsfield, Whitehead,...

...Bathhurst, Beerbohm, Beveridge, Brine, Dampier-Whetham, de La Fontaine, Dewey, Drinkwater, Dryden, Lapping,...

...Addicock, Cockburn, Crapsey, Dickens, Dickinson, Fullalove, Gotobed, Hooker, Longfellow, Lovelace,...

...Anaïs Nin, Nina Sadur, Nineveh: An Archeological Collection, Ninja in a Bloody Coat, Mutant Ninja Turtles Return,...

The Gaucho Martín Fierro by José Hernández
First published in Spanish 1872
English translation by Frank G. Carrino, Alberto J. Carlos, and Norman Mangouni 1974

 

Considered Argentina's national epic, The Gaucho Martín Fierro is not a story of historic events, heroic deeds, or noble sacrifice. Instead it is the tale of a typical gaucho who struggles to maintain his traditional lifestyle in the face of tyranny and corruption.

The gauchos were the South American equivalent of the North American cowboys: independent, unlettered, hard drinking, often nomadic, and frequently violent. Martín Fierro is one such gaucho, but he lives under a government which disapproves of his freedom. Martín is pressed into military service, ostensibly to defend against bands of raiding natives. But instead he is put to work doing backbreaking labor for his commander and local landowners. He is fed poorly, and the promised pay never seems to arrive. Finally Martín deserts and becomes an outlaw, living by his wits and his prowess with a knife.

The poem is told in simple, homespun language appropriate to its subject. The translators did not attempt to preserve the meter or the rhyme from the original Spanish. Instead, they produced a line-by-line literal translation in free verse. The result is a poem that is extremely easy to read and that can be consumed in a single sitting. But whatever beauty there may have been in the original Spanish verse has been lost.


("Posta de San Luis" by Juan León Pallière, 1858)

>89 StevenTX:, 90 Sounds like an interesting book, Steven, and glad to see you back with us. Does "The Blast" relate to the events at Tunguska in any way?

The list of authors looks hilarious.

#92 - No, one of the details I didn't bring up is that there are Oldeners who were alive before The Blast and somehow gained immortality. (At least they stopped aging; they can still be killed.) Their memories date from late-Soviet times. They mention the dangers of radiation, so The Blast was obviously a nuclear event, but whether it was a war or a massive Chernobyl-like accident is never revealed. There is virtually no contact with the outside--only raids by Chechens from the south--so as far as we know the entire world has been blasted back to the Stone Age.

The Toilers of the Sea by Victor Hugo
First published in French 1866.
English translation by James Hogarth 2002

 

The Toilers of the Sea is part travelogue, part love story, and part crime thriller. But above all it is an exciting and inspiring story of a man's lonely and desperate struggle for survival and success against the implacable forces of nature.

The principal setting is the island of Guernsey, one of the Channel Isles off the French coast but belonging to England. Victor Hugo spent fifteen years in exile there, and wrote his novel while living on Guernsey. The first part of the novel is a detailed description of the islands with their unique history, culture, customs and myths.

Most Guernseymen make their living from the sea, and the characters in the novel are no exception. Gilliatt is a man of many trades and talents, but principally a fisherman. He is a loner, not welcomed eagerly into Guernsey society not only because of his uncertain background, but also because he lives in a house believed to be haunted. Mess Lethierry, on the other hand, is a prosperous and respected merchant. The "Mess" is a local honorific denoting his high place in society. His livelihood comes from his ship, the Durande, the first--and still the only--steam-powered vessel based in the Channel Islands. Lastly there is Mess Lethierry's niece Déruchette who lives with him as his daughter. Beautiful and capricious, Déruchette is many a young man's object of adoration, but none more so than Gilliatt.

From the introduction of the setting and the characters we move to a tale of intrigue surrounding a large sum of money once stolen from Mess Lethierry. A chain of events involving smugglers, murder, and betrayal leads to the climactic episode: a solitary man's protracted battle against the sea and its denizens.

Victor Hugo writes with loving attention to every detail so that each scene comes alive. His prose is vibrant and passionate; the pages of background information he gives us are always fascinating and never boring. His most thrilling descriptions are of the sea itself, which becomes a metaphor for man's fate--neither good nor evil, but implacable, unpredictable, and inscrutable. This is a great novel that any fan of 19th century literature should enjoy.


("Octopus" by Victor Hugo)

Other works I have read by Victor Hugo:
Les Misérables

The Slynx interesting and unusual. I might give it a try and some point, keeping in mind your advice to plug through the first half before making up my mind. Another push to move Toilers of the Sea off the shelf and onto my read-sooner pile.

Excellent review of Toilers of the Sea

Those author names and titles from the Slynx are funny.

Toilers of the Sea sounds excellent, thanks, in part, to your excellent review. Thanks for the recommendation from a fan of 19th-century literature.

Oh, and nice Hugo picture, too.

ETA: The Gaucho Martín Fierro also sounds interesting, though it's a pity the translation isn't more poetical. It reminds me of Joseph Conrad's Nostromo to a degree.

A little late but I'd also like to express my condolences, Steven. Best wishes to your family.

Great reviews as usual - The Toilers of the Sea might have to go on the wishlist.

Fabulous review of The Toilers of the Sea, Steven!

I'm enjoying your thoughtful reviews. Even for books I suspect I will never read.

Enjoyed your reviews, a somewhat unusual three books to juxtapose...well for most people.

baswood recently posted a list from Abe Books of "50 Essential Science Fiction Books." I've been a collector of such lists for a number of years, and I was wondering which works of science fiction and fantasy have appeared most frequently. So I did a composite of 16 lists, each of them compiled by critics or other specialists. Here are the works appearing on 5 or more of the 16 lists. (I used various awards and non-science fiction lists as tie-breakers to get a complete ranking.)

On 12 lists:

1. The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. LeGuin
2. A Canticle for Leibowitz - Walter M. Miller, Jr.

On 11 lists:

3. Dune - Frank Herbert

On 10 lists:

4. Neuromancer - William Gibson
5. The Foundation Trilogy - Isaac Asimov
6. Ringworld - Larry Niven

On 9 lists:

7. Nineteen Eighty-Four - George Orwell
8. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
9. Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury
10. The Book of the New Sun - Gene Wolfe
11. The Forever War - Joe Haldeman
12. Ender's Game - Orson Scot Card
13. Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke

On 8 lists:

14. A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess
15. The Man in the High Castle - Philip K. Dick
16. Stranger in a Strange Land - Robert A. Heinlein
17. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? - Philip K. Dick
18. The Martian Chronicles - Ray Bradbury
19. More than Human - Theodore Sturgeon
20. The Demolished Man - Alfred Bester

On 7 lists:

21. Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
22. Solaris - Stanislaw Lem
23. The War of the Worlds - H. G. Wells
24. A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
25. The Drowned World - J. G. Ballard
26. Red Mars - Kim Stanley Robinson
27. Flowers for Algernon - Daniel Keyes
28. The Stars My Destination - Alfred Bester
29. Hothouse (aka The Long Afternoon of Earth) - Brian Aldiss

On 6 lists:

30. Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
31. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
32. The Dispossessed - Ursula K. Le Guin
33. The Moon is a Harsh Mistress - Robert A. Heinlein
34. Snow Crash - Neal Stephenson
35. Rendezvous with Rama - Arthur C. Clarke
36. The Midwich Cuckoos - John Wyndham
37. Doomsday Book - Connie Willis
38. Timescape - Gregory Benford
39. I Am Legend - Richard Matheson
40. Starship Troopers - Robert A. Heinlein
41. A Fire Upon the Deep- Vernor Vinge
42. Mission of Gravity - Hal Clement
43. The Female Man - Joanna Russ

On 5 lists:

44. The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkein
45. The Time Machine - H. G. Wells
46. Riddley Walker - Russell Hoban
47. The Road - Cormac McCarthy
48. Journey to the Centre of the Earth - Jules Verne
49. Day of the Triffids - John Wyndham
50. I, Robot - Isaac Asimov
51. Gateway - Frederik Pohl
52. Hyperion - Dan Simmons
53. The Sirens of Titan - Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
54. Stand on Zanzibar - John Brunner
55. Ubik - Philip K. Dick
56. A Wizard of Earthsea - Ursula K. Le Guin
57. Man Plus - Frederik Pohl
58. The Anubis Gates - Tim Powers
59. Rogue Moon - Algys Budrys
60. Earth Abides - George R. Stewart

What a brilliant compilation of lists steven. There are some there that don't make the abe list and so I will have to pick up on them.

So The left hand of Darkness the greatest ever science fiction novel? Nice to see The War of the Worlds coming in at a respectable 23. I shall have to start my own ranking list, but first I need to set some criteria - that will keep me occupied for a bit.

I've read The Left Hand of Darkness twice, and it's certainly good. The greatest ever science fiction novel? Dunno.

Most of the lists I used are in chronological or alphabetical order, but a few are ranked. None of them puts The Left Hand of Darkness in the #1 spot. It is simply the most frequently listed, not necessarily the highest regarded. One reason for this is that some lists (such as the Abe Books list) have a limit of one book per author. Robert A. Heinlein, Arthur C. Clarke and Ray Bradbury are on almost every list, but not for the same book. But Le Guin (as well as #2 Walter M. Miller and #3 Frank Herbert) don't have this vote-splitting problem as they have one clear best book. Ursula K. Le Guin is also the most prominent female author of science fiction, and no list-maker wants to be guilty of overlooking her.

Your list of lists was great. Thanks for pulling that together. I read quite a few of them, and need to read more and re-read a few as well.

>102 StevenTX: I've read four on that list. *pats self on back for not being totally illiterate in reference to sci fi lit*
Your review of The Toiler of the Sea is fantastic. Is The Toiler of the Sea another door-stopper of a book like Les Miserables?

#107 - I hadn't counted how many I'd read until now, but it's 45 out of the 60--almost all of them more than 30 years ago when I was a big SF fan.

My copy of Toilers of the Sea was an ebook without page numbers, but I think it would come to around 400 pages in print--smallish as 19th century novels go and less than half the length of Les Misérables.

Thanks for answering my question, steven. A more normal size book means that maybe I'll be able to get around to it in the near future. I just started Team of Rivals, which comes in at around 800 pages (excluding footnotes and such) and my son checked out Les Miserables for me at his college library today. That one comes in at close to 1500 pages. The thought of another humongous book gives me the shivers!

Sci fi has never been "my thing." My mother was a science fiction fanatic, though, and I grew up with bookshelves filled with nothing but sci fi books (she had quite a collection of Isaac Asimov books). So, of course, I had to rebel and go off and find other things to read.

Wow 45 out of 60 that is impressive.

The Road to Darkness by Paul Leppin
A collection of two short novels and a story, published in German 1905, 1914 and 1915
English translation by Mike Mitchell 1997

 

Paul Leppin was a German-speaking postal clerk from Prague. His writings were heavily influenced by those of Gustav Meyrink, an older writer associated with Prague, and they show a strong similarity with those of Joris-Karl Huysmans, the most famous novelist of the Decadent movement.

The Road to Darkness is a collection containing three works: Daniel Jesus, a novella first published in 1905, Severin's Road to Darkness, a short novel first published 1914, and "The Ghost of the Jewish Ghetto," a story first published 1914 or 1915. Each of these works is set in Prague and provides a sumptuously detailed look at the city during the waning hours of the Austro-Hungarian monarchy.

In Daniel Jesus the title character is a wealthy, embittered hunchback who delights in corrupting people with his money and his strange seductive power. He breaks up relationships, destroys marriages, and shatters people's religious faith. Those who don't succumb to him are driven to suicide. The climactic scene is a masked ball (masks being the only thing worn) where it becomes obvious that Daniel Jesus is none other than Satan himself.

Severin's Road to Darkness is probably autobiographical to some extent. Severin is a young clerk who finds his thoughts driven--for reasons he can never understand--in an ever darker direction towards despair, murder and suicide. This despite the fact that he is so attractive that he can have almost any woman he wants. He dumps each girlfriend in succession for one more exotic and dangerous than the last, only to become sated, bored, and depressed. Severin haunts the smoke-filled Bohemian cafés where others live a dissolute and purposeless nocturnal existence. When he finally encounters a woman who doesn't bore him, he finds himself treated by her as he has treated others.

"The Ghost of the Jewish Ghetto" is a brief depiction of the government's destruction of Prague's Jewish ghetto around 1900 as seen through the despairing eyes of a syphilitic prostitute. (Leppin himself would die of syphilis in 1945.)

Daniel Jesus has the most entertaining plot of the three pieces, but all three of these works are most notable for their depiction of a unique place and time.


("Danse Macabre" by Frantisek Kupka, 1896)

Great review of The Road to Darkness.

Agree with Lisa, that's a great review, Steven. Always interesting to think that the postal clerk sorting your mail could be a writer with the strangest thoughts.

And I agree with Lisa and Dewald. Great review, Steven!

Ditto from me; great review of The Road to Darkness, Steven!

Not surprising that you are the only person to review The Road to darkness Did you see the cover before you bought the book?

Catching up, and of course first I want to say how sorry I am about your mother. No matter how expected, or how long a life someone has led, a parent's death is still a sad and difficult experience.

Interesting review of The Slynx, a book that has never called to me despite my interest in Russian literature and my affection for NYRB editions. I also enjoyed your review of The Toilers of the Sea, a book I also recently read and loved. And I'm intrigued (but probably not enough to read it) by your review of The Road to Darkness, but I think reading J-K Huysman's The Damned probably supplied enough decadence for me for a while.

How did you stumble across Leppin? Enjoyed your review. All three works sound fascinating.

Very nice review of The Toilers of the Sea which I hope to read next month.

How did you stumble across Leppin?

I can't say for sure, Dan, since I've owned the book for several years. I think I just came across it in a bookstore one day while looking for something else. I had developed an interest (again I can't say when or how) in the literary movements of the late 19th/early 20th centuries: Decadence, Symbolism, Expressionism, Surrealism. So anything published by Dedalus in their series on Decadence is an automatic buy for me. And (I might as well mention before Barry does), how can one pass up a cover like that? But it had to have been the title that caught my eye in the first place, since I hadn't heard of the author at the time and the publisher's logo on the spine is too small to make out. Since then, I've purchased another book by Leppin: Blaugast: A Novel of Decline, any my mouse keeps hovering over the "Buy" button for his short story collection Others' Paradise.

Paul Leppin was an ethnic German from a Christian family, but, unlike most Aryans in Prague, he maintained close literary and personal relations with both Czech and Jewish writers. His writings reflect this, bringing the three cultures together. (In his novel, Severin's three mistresses are, in succession, Czech, Jewish, and Aryan.) I've read nothing to indicate that he knew Kafka, but they must have moved in the same circles. In 1939 he was arrested by the Gestapo because of his sympathies for the Jews and out of suspicion that he secretly was Jewish himself. He delighted in shocking the bourgeois, and many would find Daniel Jesus shocking even today.

Thanks Steven. I'm now adding this book to my wishlist.

You know you aren't fully adjusted to modern technology when you open your Kindle's cover and discover that you placed a paper bookmark there the last time you put it down.

: ) Did it help?

>122 StevenTX: LOL!

I love it.

>122 StevenTX: Hahaha!
Now, then, did you find your place? ;)

Three Men in a Boat (to say nothing of the dog) by Jerome K. Jerome
First published 1889

 

Three Men in a Boat is the funniest book I have read in years. It is also a pleasant look at 19th century recreation and a travelogue of the sites between London and Oxford and their histories.

Three young men, all loungers and hypochondriacs, resolve to take a boat trip up the Thames for the sake of their health. From their preparations to the journey's end, it is one zany episode after another. Much of the humor is slapstick: erecting a tent, running aground, and coping with the elements. Other episodes are parodies of human nature: fishermen's tall tales, girls towing a boat, and the "etiquette" of the river.

On the somewhat more serious side, we do learn a lot about what young men (and women) in the 1880s did for recreation. It was a time when fresh water boating had ceased to become a means of transportation (thanks to the railroad) and was becoming, as it is today, a major leisure industry.

Jerome also gives us some mini-lectures on the history of the towns and villages through which the trio pass. He provides a vivid, and devoutly serious, description of what it must have looked like the day the Magna Carta was signed at Runnymede. He is less serious when he describes an artifact at a riverside church:

'There is an iron “scold’s bridle” in Walton Church. They used these things in ancient days for curbing women’s tongues. They have given up the attempt now. I suppose iron was getting scarce, and nothing else would be strong enough.'

Jerome's mock-serious tone of self-parody closely resembles that of Mark Twain. Three Men in a Boat is simply great fun. But this is a book to avoid reading in churches, libraries, funeral parlors, or any other place where silence and solemnity must be maintained. You are liable to injure yourself in the attempt.

Nice review of Three Men in a Boat, Steven. I've finally downloaded the free e-book onto my Kindle, and I'll probably read it soon.

That's a very good review of Three Men in a Boat, Steven. I've always heard good things about ole Klapka (no wonder he only uses the initial!) and I've got this on the TBR list already.

I suppose I will give Three men in a boat a try some time. I read Three men on the bummel which I did not like at all.

Three Men in a Boat, the film http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0049847/reviews?ref_=tt_urv
This was one of the first films I saw at the cinema: released in 1956 it brings back fond memories as I loved it then. I have seen it since on TV and wondered why I used to find it so funny.

Three Men In a Boat by Jerome K Jerome seems to have stood the test of time much better and like Darryl I have downloaded this to my kindle and am looking forward to many LOLs next week Nice review steven.

One of my first holidays away from my parents was in a boat on the Thames covering the same stretch of river as in the book. However three teenagers in the 1960's had a rather different holiday to Three Men in a Boat.

I am definitely looking forward to reading this book!

#128, 129, 131 - I read the free Kindle version as well. Unfortunately it does not include the illustrations from the original (such as the sample above), but it does have the picture captions. Often these captions are simply run together with the text without punctuation or spacing, which can be disconcerting until you realize what's going on.

#130 - I've seen reviews here that say the same thing about Three Men on the Bummel -- that it's a major disappointment. I have no immediate plans for reading it.

What led me to read Three Men in a Boat was reading Doomsday Book by Connie Willis. I wanted to read her next time-travel book, To Say Nothing of the Dog, but saw that it was either based upon or inspired by Three Men in a Boat, so I decided I should read that first.

#133 That's one of the reasons I want to read Three Men in a Boat (Chris/cabegley advised me to read it before reading To Say Nothing of the Dog), but I got it last year after reading about it in Ngugi's memoir, In the House of the Interpreter.

>133 StevenTX: The free version of Three Men in a Boat on Google Play is a scanned copy of an 1889 J.W. Arrowsmith edition of the book from the University of Michigan Libraries, which contains a dozen or more black & white illustrations. I didn't see the illustration you posted in your review, though. Here's the link to the e-book:

Three Men in a Boat

ETA: Google Play also includes an option to download the PDF file of this copy of Three Men in a Boat, which displays the book as it actually appeared and includes many more B&W illustrations, although I still don't see the one that you posted. I've downloaded it to my computer, and I'll transfer it to my Kindle now.

Three Men in a Boat (PDF file)

Njál's Saga
Anonymous 13th century Icelander
English translation by Carl F. Bayerschmidt and Lee M. Hollander



Njál's Saga, also known as the Saga of Burnt Njál, describes events in Iceland and elsewhere around the year 1000. The saga is basically the story of a feud and the two generations of men and women who take part in it. It is unknown how much, if any, of the saga is based on real events.

Medieval Iceland had no king. It was governed instead by a very strict and elaborate set of laws enforced by chieftains who acted as judges. All matters of law were decided by civil suit at the annual Assembly. If you killed a man, you owed his family a sum in compensation known as "weregeld." It didn't matter whether you ambushed him and murdered him in cold blood or you killed him in self-defense: you still owed compensation. Unless, of course, his family or friends killed someone in return. Then you were even. This notion of human life as a commodity of exchange, with minimal consideration for motive or morality, is so totally alien to our modern way of thinking that it takes some time to adjust to it.

The story begins with a young woman named Hallgerd. When her uncle meets Hallgerd as a young girl, he says "Beautiful this maiden certainly is, and many are likely to suffer for it." This turns out to be a dramatic understatement, for Hallgerd's beauty is the death of three husbands and dozens more besides. Even after her death, men will be dying from the feud she will soon begin.

Njál, the central character, is, ironically, one of the few men in the saga who never lifts a sword in combat. He is a prosperous farmer, knowledgeable in the law, and blessed with a second sight that lets him see the future. Njál advises his friend and neighbor, Gunnar, when Gunnar marries Hallgerd and is drawn into a series of conflicts by her. Unlike Njál, Gunnar is a mighty warrior, and his prowess in battle is almost superhuman.

Gunnar is also the first of several major characters who will journey away from Iceland back to the ancestral homelands in Norway. There will also be visits by Gunnar and others to Sweden, the Baltic shores, and the British Isles. Late in the story two adversaries actually make pilgrimages to Rome, but these journeys, unfortunately, are not described in any detail. They do this because, around 1000, Iceland converts to Christianity. This is described in the saga, although the Christianization of its inhabitants has remarkably little impact on Iceland's legal system and its custom of prolonged blood feuds.

The saga is lively enough to read, notwithstanding the long legal battles over compensation for the slain. Some of the scenes of battles and sea voyages are quite stirring, but the chief attraction of Njál's Saga has to be its depiction of a unique society and its valiant, but brutal, code of conduct.


("Lava Gorge at Thingvellir, Autumn" by Asgrimur Jonsson, 1947)

Lovely review of Njál's Saga, Steven. The code of conduct certainly does sound alien to modern sensibilities.

Enjoyed your review of Njal's Saga. A one off read no doubt or are you thinking of delving more deeply in Icelandic or Nordic sagas.

Compensation for deaths/murders and the family feuds resulting from them has been prevalent in other societies. The feuds on the Mani peninsula (Greece) as late as the 19th century are a good example, However these resulted from families taking the law into their own hands rather than the prescribed laws of the society in which they lived.

#138 - This was the February selection for my non-LT reading group. We're all over the map this year. Last month we read Doomsday Book and The Slynx. Next month it's Mary Barton and Under Western Eyes. (The second February selection was The Bone People, which I read several years ago and opted not to re-read because I didn't care for it.) I'd love to read more of the Norse sagas, but I don't have room in my reading plans this year.

The system of blood feuds in rural Albania described in Ismail Kadare's novels has much in common with that of Iceland, but I don't recall that payment of cash in lieu of blood was an option.

What surprised me most about the Icelandic system is the absence of elements of honor and fair play you usually associate with feuds and duels. There was no shame in attacking your enemy at odds of 10 to 1. And if in defending himself he killed three of your men before he died, then his family owed your family for the net loss of two. The judges could waive or increase the weregeld if there were extenuating circumstances, but you had to file a suit and prove your case for that to happen.

Yes, Albanians too have the concept of blood money. And forgiveness, I may add. It's only when one vows revenge--plights one's honour--that a vendetta ensues.

Not sure I'll get to this one, but it sounds fascinating.

What Lisa said (#141)!

Great review of Njál's Saga, Steven; I'm with Lisa and Rebecca, though.

I'm sorry to hear that you didn't like The Bone People. It seems to engender very positive or very negative opinions. I plan to read it later this year.

I'm not sure what your experience was, Steven, but I thought The Bone People very interesting until I got to the end. I don't want to spoil the book for Darryl, so I'll just say that I had a very hard time with the acceptance at the end.

Wonderful picture. I would not have guessed Iceland, as the few books I have read from there make me think in terms of greys and North Atlantic blues and greens. I'm working my way up to reading the second book in the Halldor Laxness trilogy, but I can't decide if I should read it when things are really bleak so that I can get completely absorbed in it, or wait for a time when things are more upbeat and risk missing some of it.

I do like the sagas and was surprised to learn from them of the trips to Rome. Do you suppose they were tempted to just stay there?

Nice review with the explanation of governance.

Oh, oh. I know Halldor Laxness, but what is the trilogy?

Robert

Hello Robert

Very embarrassed here but glad you asked. For some reason I was convinced that the two Laxness books on my TBR pile were continuations of Independent People. I had bought them just after I finished that book, fearing I would never see a Laxness book again. Your post sent me off to look at them and I discovered that they appear to be unrelated, so no worries. One of them (Iceland's Bell) even looks less than utterly bleak, so I am tempted to pick it up sooner than otherwise.

Thanks for getting me to check... I stand corrected!

#144 - Yes, it was for me partly the acceptance of what went on before, but chiefly the way the nature of the novel changed at the end in a deus ex machina fashion. On top of all that, the principal character constantly reminded me of a co-worker I didn't like.

#145 - Ironically, you wouldn't know from the saga itself that there was ever any ice in Iceland. There's no travelling in the winter, but that's the only clue to the harshness of the climate. Of course the saga was meant for the ears of those who already knew what it was like and didn't need to be reminded. I was glad that I had previously read Laxness's Independent People and knew something of what life was like.

>144 labfs39: Thanks for the heads up about The Bone People, Lisa.

>147 SassyLassy:, 148 How did you like Independent People? I bought it several years ago, but I haven't read it yet.

>149 kidzdoc: Weather and ice certainly make an appearance in Independent People. It is a book that made a very deep impression, but since it was so bleak and unrelenting, "like" might be the wrong word. However, it was certainly in the top rank of books I've read and I definitely recommend it. Just as a side note, it also requires a strong stomach unless you're inured to diseases of sheep.

Was a week behind...great stuff on Njal's saga and Three men in a boat.

A Harlot High and Low by Honoré de Balzac
Originally published in four volumes, 1838 to 1847,
as Splendeurs et misères des courtisanes
English translation by Rayner Heppenstall 1970

 

Splendeurs et misères des courtisanes, a title rendered somewhat crudely in this English edition as A Harlot High and Low, is one of the last completed novels in Balzac's monumental cycle La Comédie humaine. Several of its characters make appearances in earlier novels, but it may most handily be considered a sequel of Lost Illusions. Together the two large novels chronicle the career of the ambitious and amorous young poet, Lucien Chardon de Rubempré.

Lucien is the novel's central character, but he disappears from its pages for long stretches. The dominant personality is that of Father Carlos Herrera, the Spanish priest who rescues Lucien from financial and moral destitution. Who is this mysterious cleric, and why does he rescue a complete stranger from the brink of suicide and set him up as one of Paris's most prominent young men of fashion? Herrera, as Lucien's sponsor and mentor, tries to maneuver the poet into a profitable marriage, but he cannot prevent the lad from falling in love with Esther Gobseck, a ravishing young prostitute. But Herrera works to turn this to his advantage, controlling not only Lucien but Esther as puppets on a string with the aid of his two extraordinary henchwomen, nicknamed "Europe" and "Asia."

The novel takes place almost entirely in Paris from 1824 to 1830, a period that coincides with the reign of Charles X, France's last Bourbon king. Balzac depicts a society dominated by a corrupt and dissolute aristocracy. The titled and the rich marry for power and position, then openly take mistresses and lovers, often with their spouse's active assistance. Lucien, with a cynicism typical of the time, is courting the hand of a duke's daughter while publicly being the lover of a married countess and secretly living with a prostitute.

Balzac's novels focus on different aspects of French life and culture. In this case he documents the workings of the police and courts system. We see that there were two rival police agencies, the Judicial Police and the Political Police, rarely cooperating and often working at cross purposes. Some agents had managed to maintain their power base and network of spies through several successive regimes, and were as capable of working against the law as on its behalf. The prison and courts system are also described in some detail, and it is no surprise to learn that justice is dispensed as often on the basis of political influence as on guilt or innocence.

A Harlot High and Low is a remarkable novel for several reasons, one of which is the absence of a dominant or sympathetic character. (Esther, the "Harlot," is the novel's most likable character, but she exits the story about midway through the novel.) Also notable is Balzac's frankness in depicting such things as prostitution, promiscuity, corruption and homosexuality. The Penguin edition is nicely translated and introduced by Rayner Heppenstall (though I would have chosen a more elegant title), but surprisingly has no footnotes or endnotes to explain the occasional now-obscure reference to contemporary culture.

I would recommend that you read at least Lost Illusions first. If you enjoy it, and you want to see what becomes of Lucien and learn what the mysterious Spanish priest is up to, then you will find A Harlot High and Low quite rewarding.


("The Grande Odalisque" by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres, 1814. This is the original of which a detail appears on the cover of the Penguin edition of the novel.)

Other novels I have read by Honoré de Balzac:
Pere Goriot
Lost Illusions

I'm late catching up, Steven, but wanted to say how much I enjoyed your review of Njal's Saga. Reading Kristin Lavransdatter last year whetted my appetite for more Nordic literature. I also have three Laxness waiting, which I am very much looking forward to.

Excellent review also of A Harlot High and Low.

Excellent review of A Harlot High and Low and such an elegant study by Ingres.

Terrific reviews as always Steven.

I'm interested in Leppin so was glad to read your informative review. Daniel Jesus sounds good in a weird way plus the title is amusing.

Njal's Saga certainly was interesting in its depiction of a very different culture. I thought the part about the two women and the back-and-forth deaths was especially striking - a very apt illustration of eye for an eye justice. It did go on a bit though - I'm more used to modern literature so I preferred modern books that had clearly been influenced by the epics - Laxness and Undset, especially her Gunnar's Daughter. Iceland's Bell is on the pile, that one sounded like it was also epic-inspired.

Great review of A Harlot High and Low. What would you have chosen for a better title?

What would you have chosen for a better title?

The literal translation of Balzac's title would simply be "Splendors and Miseries of Courtesans." Other publishers have used that. Of course a literal translation of French to English will usually sound more elegant in the English than it was intended to be in the French simply because of the evolutionary history of our language. So there is some justification for toning down the language, but still the term "courtesan" better describes Esther than "harlot." She is a kept woman, not a streetwalker.

One curiosity is Balzac's use of the plural: "courtesans." There is a second courtesan in the book, Madame du Val Noble, but she is a very minor character. So one wonders if he used it to imply that the police, judges, and aristocrats who put money and position ahead of moral principles are also "courtesans."

The Isles: A History by Norman Davies
First published 1999

 

The Isles: A History is a history of the British Isles focusing on two key issues: first, the evolution and interrelationships of its constituent parts, England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland, and, second, the relationship between the Isles as a whole and the rest of Europe. It is a revisionist approach to the extent that Davies tries to undo the anglocentric bias of previous historians.

The author begins with a lecture on terminology. You should not say "England" when you mean "Britain," or "Great Britain" when you mean "The United Kingdom." Nor should you use labels before their time. There was no England until the Anglo-Saxons came. There was no Scotland before the Scots. He goes to the extent of inventing his own names for places rather than use a common term anachronistically. Pre-Celtic Wales, for example, is called "The Afternoon Country."

The work is divided chronologically into ten chapters. Each chapter is further subdivided into three sections. The first section sets the theme for the chapter by giving us a detailed look at some event or issue, usually from an outsider's perspective. We see, for example, events in Denmark leading up to the Norse invasions of the Isles. The middle section of each chapter is the meat of the book, discussing the history of that period in an approach that is more thematic than chronological. Each chapter then concludes with an essay on the historiography of the period, showing how interpretations of the period have evolved over time.

Davies appears to presume that the reader will have at least a basic knowledge of British history beforehand. He spends relatively little time chronicling people and events, focusing instead on institutions, ideas and attitudes. This is especially true from the Tudor period onward. He doesn't bother much with Henry VIII and his wives, but has a lot to say about the Acts of Union in 1707 which joined the Kingdom of Scotland and the Kingdom of England, forming the Kingdom of Great Britain. Similarly there is very little said about the Napoleonic Wars, but much about The Acts of Union in 1800 which created the United Kingdom.

The institutions which receive the most attention are those that have a bearing on Britons' self-image and relationships with Europe. There are, for example, extended treatments of organized athletics and the implementation of the metric system. Relatively little attention is given, by comparison, to such topics as education and health care.

Davies was writing in 1999 at a time when Britain was facing questions fundamental to its identity. Scotland had just been granted its own Parliament, and Wales its own Assembly, leading to the possible (and inevitable, according the the author) breakup of the United Kingdom into four independent nations. The UK was also torn between adopting the Euro and a tighter integration with Europe (both inevitable and desirable per Davies) on the one hand, and continuing its Atlantic partnership as the USA's sidekick on the other. Davies concludes that the United Kingdom is not a nation-state, but rather a dynastic assemblage of nations dominated by its largest member the way (in a far less gentle fashion) Russia dominated the USSR or Serbia dominated Yugoslavia.

The Isles: A History is very well written, often captivating, and full of fascinating detail and valuable insight. It is worth reading even if the author's focus on national identity and European integration isn't to your liking. His intended audience is a person who already has a basic knowledge of British history, so if the topic is entirely new to you some supplementary reading might be advisable.


("Stonehenge" by William Turner, c. 1828)

Other books I have read by Norman Davis:
Europe: A History

The Isles: A History is I believe quite a Tome. Enjoyed your review. Did Davies leave you with an overall impression of what English people are like.

The Isles totally sounds like my sort of thing. I took a uni course on the History of Britain and the prof was frustrated at finding a good text book for the course. This was published before I took the course, so there must have been something in it that turned him off (or he didn't know it, which I find improbable). Anyway, I think I read the author's Europe book, and whether I did or not, I'll look for this one too.

#158 - Yes, it was rather hefty--1050 pages of text and 1200+ pages overall.

Did Davies leave you with an overall impression of what English people are like?

They're all wonderfully nice chaps just like you, Barry! Of course we could discuss "national characteristics" at length. Speaking only of the English, I think Davies would draw a big distinction by generations. The older generations were educated to believe in the glory and benevolence of their Empire, in England's special place in history, in respect for their monarchy and institutions, and in Britain's being distinct from the rest of Europe. They are likely to feel despair over England's loss of prominence in the world, over the scandalous antics of the royals, and over the erosion of moral standards. They may be comfortable with Europeans as neighbors, but not as bedfellows.

The post-Churchill generations which, as Davies points out, are the vast majority now, have grown up in muti-ethnic and muti-racial neighborhoods. They have little respect for English history and traditions because, sadly, English education is increasingly deficient in this subject. And they have come of age in an integrated Europe, so to them France is no more foreign than Scotland or Wales.

Great review of The Isles: A History, Steven. I think Davies is probably fighting a losing battle by employing his own terminology, although I do appreciate precision, and "The Afternoon Country" has a nice ring to it. Considering that Prime Minister Cameron has all but ensured a referendum on further participation in the European Union, Davies may be wrong about the inevitability of that particular project.

Interesting comment on the post-Churchill generation. I think I would agree with Davies.

I skipped your review of A Harlot High and Low, but I'm looking forward to reading it after I finish Lost Illusions, which I"m about 2/3 through.

Hawksmoor by Peter Ackroyd
First published 1985

 

Hawksmoor is the story of two lives, eerily synchronized though they are 270 years apart. The stories are told in alternating chapters, starting with that of Nicholas Dyer, a London architect and assistant to Sir Christopher Wren in the early 18th century. His modern counterpart is Nicholas Hawksmoor, a police detective.

Nicholas Dyer is actually loosely based on a real person named Nicholas Hawksmoor who designed and built six churches in London between 1713 and 1733. The Nicholas Dyer of the novel designs the same six churches (plus one more), but his personality is pure invention. As a boy, Dyer survives the two cataclysms that wrack London in 1666: the Great Plague and the Great Fire. He owes his survival to the leader of a satanic cult, whose follower he becomes. Later it becomes his obsession to consecrate the churches he builds to Satan by entombing a murder victim beneath them. The Dyer chapters are narrated in first person using the archaic and irregular spelling and capitalization typical of the time.

Nicholas Hawksmoor, the modern detective, doesn't actually appear until midway through the book. First we are witness to a series of murders, then Hawksmoor comes on the scene to attempt to solve them. In many details his life echoes or parallels the life of Nicholas Dyer. Each has an assistant named Walter. They live in similar circumstances. They experience the same incidents on the streets of London. They hear children singing the same songs. And they visit the same locales, for the murders that Hawksmoor is trying to solve have been committed on the grounds of Dyer's churches.

Nicholas Dyer is a mystic and fatalist at the dawn of the Age of Reason and Enlightenment. When Christopher Wren proudly shows off the newest developments in science, Dyer counters with his belief that mankind is in fatal decline. "And are you acquainted with the Science of Opticks?," Wren asks. "Do I see Visions, sir?" is Dyer's disarming reply. Wren later insists, "But, Nick, our Age can at least take up the Rubbidge and lay the Foundacions: that is why we must study the principles of Nature, for they are out best Draught." But Dyer argues, "No, sir, you must study the Humours and Natures of Men: they are corrupt, and therefore your best Guides to understand Corrupcion."

This same sort of debate occurs internally as Nicholas Hawksmoor searches in vain for clues to the identity of the serial killer. His police work is meticulous and state-of-the-art. But as it avails him nothing, he starts to search for feelings and instincts. Before long his frustration and self-doubt develop into fear and wild imaginings. He goes into a physical decline and even begins to question his perception of reality: "...could it be that the world sprang up around him only as he invented it second by second and that, like a dream, it faded into the darkness from which it had come as soon as he moved forward?"

Our understanding of time and reality and the age-old conflict between the rational and the spiritual are the principal themes in this unusual and captivating novel. Hawksmoor has the attributes of both a mystery novel and historical fiction, but in the end it is neither. It is unique and highly recommended.


(Christ Church Spitalfields, Nicholas Hawskmoor, 1714-29)

Good thing that you posted your review on the book page, steven. I wouldn't pick up this book if I based my decision on what the previous reviewers thought of it. Yours is the first positive review there, and an encouragement to those who, like me, have never read Peter Ackroyd.

I've had Hawksmoor for a while and, despite some negative reviews alluded to in deebee1's comment, I've looked forward to reading it. Thanks for the review.

Great review. You have me itching to read it, despite not having enjoyed my previous encounter with Mr. Ackroyd.

Great review of Hawksmoor, Steven. Some of the earlier reviews posted are also quite positive. It was interesting to see the Wikipedia excerpt where Ackroyd himself is quoted as being quite critical of this work.

#s 165-168 - I had seen those earlier reviews before I wrote mine. It looks like some of them resulted from approaching Hawskmoor as a mystery novel. I don't read much in that genre, so I wasn't disappointed by false expectations. Instead it immediately reminded me of two other books I've read recently that feature the conflict between the rational and mystical: La Bas by Joris-Karl Huysmans and The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco.

Hooray for Norman Davies and anyone else who insists on accuracy in terminology when it comes to the isles. Too many books, both fiction and non fiction suffer from that anglocentric approach. It will be good to read a decent study of the Acts of Union. I won't say any more on that for fear of launching into a long screed. Have you read his Vanished Kingdoms? I saw that this weekend in the city, but had already filled my quota.

Hawksmoor looks interesting also. Not only do I like most of the Ackroyd I have read, I always learn something too and this one sounds like it won't disappoint.

Excellent review of The Isles: A History; I also re-read your review of Europe: A History, and feel I may want to read some of these books. Davies seems to have a balanced view of European history, a view much needed in these times of doubt about the European Union (and interesting regardless of its future).

Ackroyd is an interesting author (I see you are reading the big London biography. Ackroyd is a very productive writer. Some of his works are very good, and some are very disappointing.

I own both A Harlot High and Low and Lost Illusions, in French editions, and will follow your advice on the order of reading them.

It is hard to keep up with you. How does Mary Barton fit in with your reading?

I've never read anything by Ackroyd, but this sounds intriguing, although your comparison with La-Bas gives me pause!

Excellent review of Hawksmoor. I read it a long time ago and must have been one of those people who expected a mystery novel and remember it as being a real struggle to read and with a disappointing conclusion. I wonder if I would feel differently about it if I re-read it. I have other Ackroyd's on the shelf and so I might try one of those first.

Catching and enjoying your reviews. I have Ackroyd Albion: The Origins of the English Imagination (What would Davies say about htis title?) which I've picked up a few times and read bits, but haven't been able to read through. Sometimes I find it painfully random and unstructured, other times I find it a fascinating splatter of more and less obscure names and works. I'm guessing he might need a better, or at least clearer, structure for a novel like Hawksmoor.

#171 It is hard to keep up with you. How does Mary Barton fit in with your reading?

If you see a pattern to my reading, it's more than I can do. :-) I am already hopelessly behind in my reading goals for the year, but reading a variety of works has always been part of the plan. Actually Mary Barton and Under Western Eyes are this month's selections for my non-LT reading group (the same group that read Doomsday Book, The Slynx, and Njals Saga). In April we go modern again with Skios and The Cat's Table. The group only has three active members at the moment, but I guess I'll stick with them--especially since I'm the one who makes the reading schedule each year.

It's frustrating that I can't keep up with all the groups I belong to here, but nonetheless I do occasionally squeeze in some "personal" reading. Not all of it gets reviewed here, just works that have literary value, but it does get counted in the statistics in msg. 3 above.

The cornerstone of your local book club - good on ya

#176 - Not local, actually, just an online group that I joined years before I discovered LibraryThing. I've been trying for the last few years to get them to fold up and move over to LT, but without success so far.

But speaking of local... Ben Fountain, who just won the National Book Critic's Circle Award for his novel Billy Lynn's Long Halftime Walk actually lives in Dallas. This area has produced more than its share of famous actors, athletes and musicians, but very few writers. Terry Southern went to high school and college here--he's the only other Dallas writer who comes to mind.

ETA: Further research also shows that Anne Rice also went to high school and college nearby, but she was born in New Orleans.

I tried a couple of local book clubs, but they never really took off. My local library tried to start one too. It never got off the ground. I am so glad that my daughter (cabegley here on LT) recommended that I join Club Read. I have added quite a few books to my seemingly endless pile of TBR. Thank you for the great reviews.

#177 John Graves, who wrote Goodbye to a River, one of my favorite books, grew up outside Ft Worth.

The Kill by Émile Zola
First published 1872
English translation by Brian Nelson 2004

 

The Kill is the second novel in Émile Zola's Rougon-Macquart series, but it stands perfectly well on its own. It's French title, which doesn't translate directly into English, is La Curée, which means the portion of a hunter's kill given as a reward to his dogs. It is a novel about materialism, vanity, sensuality and unprincipled ambition--all of which were characteristics, according to Zola, of Parisian society during the Second Empire (1852-70).

Aristide Rougon comes to Paris with no particular talent but a consuming desire for easy money and penchant for scheming and risk-taking. Under the tutelage of his brother--a government minister--Rougon enters the world of land speculation, buying up properties that are in the way of the new boulevards being planned for Paris. But first his brother insists that Aristide change his surname so that the fall of one doesn't bring down the other by association. Taking a variant of his wife's name, Aristide Rougon becomes Aristide Saccard. The wife soon dies, and Saccard uses his marriageability to raise more cash. He becomes engaged, sight unseen, to a teenage girl who is "in trouble." In return for a tidy sum provided surreptitiously by the girl's aunt, Saccard agrees to take responsibility for the unborn child, which soon miscarries anyway.

Saccard's bride, Renée, becomes the central character of the novel. She has a craving for sensual experiences that matches her husband's lust for wealth. As they become wealthier, Renée becomes ever more extravagant, spending a fortune on gowns and jewelry and displaying her beautiful body more daringly on each occasion. Both husband and wife are openly promiscuous, even to the point of advising each other on their sexual affairs.

Meanwhile Saccard's son by his first wife comes into the picture. Maxime is attractive in a girlish way. He is as dissolute as Aristide, but has none of his father's drive to success. Renée, in her thirst for ever more lascivious entertainments, falls in love with her stepson. The question becomes which house of cards will come crashing down first: Aristide's shaky investments or Renée's incestuous affair.

Zola defines his approach to literature, which he called Naturalism, as a scientific approach to the study of human behavior which looks at a character's heredity and upbringing in a non-judgmental way. In this case, however, he see's Aristide, Renée and Maxime not so much as the products of their individual heritage as the instant creations of a dysfunctional society in general. "In the maddened world in which they lived, their sin had sprouted as on a dunghill oozing with strange juices; it had developed with strange refinements amid special conditions of perversion."

For all his condemnation of the trio's "sins," "crimes," and "monstrous perversions," Zola's prose itself is so erotically charged that it would be easy to accuse the author of hypocrisy. While there is nothing explicit, Zola describes Renée and everything around her with remarkable sensuality. His description of the plants in a hothouse, for example, becomes an analogue for Renée's body with its curves, textures, scents and secretions. Nor does he steer away from references to homosexuality, both male and female. There are even hints that Renée's passion for the effeminate Maxime is evidence of a repressed lesbianism.

Zola's remarkable descriptive powers are the chief attraction in The Kill. He is too savage in his condemnation of the corruption and decadence of the Second Empire to give us a balanced or especially insightful look at the psychology of his characters. Saccard's financial machinations are usually too confusing to follow, and there are long narratives of background information that could have been woven into plot and dialogue. This is not Zola's best work, but it is still well worth reading as an experience in sensory overload.


("Vanity" by Auguste Toulmouche, 1890)

Other works I have read by Émile Zola:
Thérèse Raquin
The Fortune of the Rougons
Germinal

An experience in sensory overload sounds good to me. Excellent review steven. It's interesting that you say Zola's condemnation of the corruption and decadence has prevented him from giving us an insightful view of his characters. Too much righteous indignation perhaps.

Excellent review of The Kill, Steven. Interesting note on the actual meaning of the French title.

Doing a lot of catching up on your thread...

I'm now trying to work out if organised athletics has has a bearing on my self image! It's a shame that there wasn't a focus on healthcare, I think the National Health System is essential to our sense of Britishness (based on centuries of philanthropy and those with money paying for the care of those without).

Hawksmoor sounds really interesting. I've read two of Ackroyd's non-fictions which I haven't enjoyed, I'd like to see if I fare better with his fiction.

Great review of The Kill, which I also really liked.

#183 - I'm now trying to work out if organised athletics has has a bearing on my self image!

Well, according to Davies, sport is "intimately tied up with national pride." The English (not to be confused, as always, with the Scottish, Irish, etc.) "fell from grace" in recent decades when their cricket team was knocked out of world competition by "the likes of Bangladesh, Kenya and (wait for it) Scotland." (Yes, he did say "wait for it.") It is also a national embarrassment that the country that invented football ranked no higher than 11th, that England stood lower than France in rugby, that England fared similarly in golf and tennis, and that in the last Olympics of the millennium, Britain won no gold medals.

Where British clubs have succeeded in international competition--Liverpool FC and Manchester United are two of the examples he gives--it is with teams comprised largely of foreign players and coaches. He cites this as a sign that European integration is already a fact.

It is also significant, he says, that there is no such thing as a UK national team in any major sport. He uses this to support his argument that the UK is not a nation-state like France and will eventually break apart.

Regarding metrification, his point is that the country that invented the idea of standard weights and measures eventually had to scrap its own system in favor of one invented by those nasty French--both a blow to national prestige and a sign of the times.

He also explained how the UK has retrenched somewhat and allowed the use of English measures in some cases. This was useful information to me, as I had wondered why British writers and news sources would give temperatures in Celsius and volumes in litres but still cite distances in miles.

Ah, a slight cultural misunderstanding. I understood 'athletics' as track and field rather than sport more widely. In the case of sport more widely, then yes, it is closely related to my feelings about Englishness. I actively don't support the English rugby team. It represents things I don't like -educational privilege, upper class culture, imperialistic assumptions that we should be number one because we invented the game and a lumbering physical approach that eschews more intelligent play. I support Wales instead - working class history, a lack of pretension and a freer playing style.

I think it's interesting that foreign football players in English teams are taken as a sign of European integration. I think it's a legacy of imperialism. English teams, like others in Europe, take the best talent from African countries and i think children aspire to play for a London team rather than an Accra team, for example. It suggests that success can only be achieved outside of the home country. There is of course the positive that players put money back into projects in their home countries, but still...

Sorry, sport-related rant over!

The sooner England realises it is part of Europe then the better it will be for everybody, but they might be beaten to the punch by Scotland.

Good on you char, all that you say about English rugby is so true.

sorry steven fot taking over your thread for an anit-nationalistic rant.

Please, rant away. You will find a sympathetic ear here to anything anti-nationalistic. But I know nothing about rugby except that, like cricket, I might recognize it if I saw it.

Sports aren't linked with nationalism so much here in the US because the leagues most people follow don't have international play. There is just the Olympics, where people seem to assume that if the US doesn't win every medal it's because someone cheated. I used to be a sports fan, but soured on the whole business years ago. The only sporting events I have watched in recent years are those where my grandchildren were taking part.

Fabulous review of The Kill, Steven! You, Rebecca and others may get me to read Zola after all.

Ha, ha, ha, Darryl! I do think you should start with Germinal, as I've said many times before!

Gem of a review on The Kill.

(Steve - I've been reduced to only baseball...but only because I gave up cable, yet buy mlbtv. Also baseball is a stress-reliever for me.)

Eugénie Grandet by Honoré de Balzac
First published 1833
English translation by Marion Ayton Crawford 1955

 

Avarice is the subject this early novel by Balzac. The story takes place in the town of Saumur on the Loire River and begins in 1819. We are introduced first to the house of Monsieur Grandet. Though it is in the most respectable part of town, it is drab, even shabby. No one would guess that its owner is the wealthiest man in the region. Monsieur Grandet, a former cooper turned vintner and speculator, lives here in a state of fanatical frugality with his meek and long-suffering wife, his pious and attractive 23-year-old daughter, and his secret hoard of gold. The two men who have more than an inkling of old man Grandet's true wealth are his banker and his notary. They pay particular attention to their client because each has a son of marriageable age and Grandet's unattached daughter, Eugénie, is his only heir.

Eugénie is a simple girl who has grown up in plain surroundings and in complete ignorance of her father's vast wealth. She finds nothing peculiar or shameful in her shabby dress, the meager rations her father doles out each day, or the fact that the entire household must share a single candle. She is all but oblivious to her two provincial courtiers, but is devoted to her parents and her faith. Poor Eugénie is in for a shock when her cousin Charles, a Parisian dandy, comes for a surprise visit. She has never seen anything so fine and beautiful in her life as this young man. Eugénie falls head over heels in love with Charles, setting up a clash with her miserly father that tears the family apart. Her love deepens into devotion when Charles soon learns that the reason he was sent to his uncle's was that his father was about to commit suicide.

Midway through the novel, Balzac states its theme: "Misers hold no belief in a life beyond the grave, the present is all in all to them. This thought throws a pitilessly clear light upon the irreligious times in which we life, for today more than in any previous era money is the force behind the law, politically and socially. Books and institutions, the actions of men and their doctrines, all combine to undermine the belief in a future life upon which the fabric of society has been built for eighteen hundred years."

Though Monsieur Grandet, the miser, is the villain of the story, he is so delightfully eccentric and single-minded that he is almost impossible to hate. He manages to squeeze money out of almost every situation convincing others (and perhaps himself) that he is cash poor. He gives his wife and daughter each the most meager of allowances, then takes it back by leaving them to pay for things he has purchased. Every candle and loaf of bread is accounted for, and woe unto her who wastes as much as a crumb! He won't buy what he can borrow or get one of his tenants to give to him.

Eugénie's character isn't as fully developed as that of her father. She is a young woman with only a child's experiences and a child's trusting view of the world. Even after a series of tragedies disillusions her, she is incapable of engaging fully with life. She is like one of her father's gold pieces, locked up forever and out of circulation. Regarding her impulsive devotion to her popinjay cousin, Balzac says "Quite often the things that human beings do appear literally incredible although in fact they have done them.... The very fact that her life had been so untroubled made feminine pity, that most insidious emotion, take possession of her heart more overwhelmingly."

Eugénie Grandet is a wonderful novel, both simpler and shorter than most of Balzac's works. It would be a great place to start reading this author.


("Money" by Rembrandt)

Other works I have read by Honoré de Balzac:
Pere Goriot
Lost Illusions
A Harlot High and Low

I never realised that Balzac wrote so many books, being the completest that I am, I am nervous about starting one.

Great review of Eugenie Grandet and if I do pluck up the courage to read a Balzac I will start with this one. The theme of the book reminds me of Silas Marner and I wondered if you made any connections with it.

Thanks for the review of Eugenie Grandet. When I get back to Balzac, I'm sure i'll be ready for a less complicated read!

#193 - Silas Marner was required reading in 9th grade. That was almost 50 years ago, so all I remember about it was that there was an old miser with a daughter. It's on my long list of school classics that I need to re-read someday.

I think there are also some major similarities between the second half of Eugénie Grandet and Henry James's short novel Washington Square. I haven't read the novel, but I did see a movie, "The Heiress," based on it.

#194 - Eugénie Grandet seems also to be less interconnected with Balzac's other novels. There is only a one-time reference to Charles having been "at the Nucingen's." According to the "Repertory of the Comedie Humaine" (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/17635/17635-h/17635-h.htm) Charles Grandet will reappear in The Firm of Nucingen, a novel that only a completist like bas is likely to read.

A note on translations: I had a copy of the late 19th century translation of Eugénie Grandet by Ellen Marriage which I was prepared to read. Then I ran across the 1950s translation by Marion Crawford on a clearance rack for 50 cents, so I read that instead. But comparing the two, I would say that the Marriage translation is just as acceptable. The differences seem to be just a matter of word choice. Marriage's translation is just as easy to read, if not easier. There is nothing in the book that is likely to have been found objectionable in the 1890s but not in the 1950s. Neither edition has endnotes.

Another great review on Balzac. Certainly makes me want to read Eugénie Grandet.

Steven, I'm enjoying reading your Balzac reviews and glad for your reassurance on the Ellen Marriage translation. Now I just need to decide where to start, as I bought an e-book of his complete works. Luckily, unlike Barry, I am not a completest and will have no difficulty with being selective.

Barnes & Noble tells me that their version of that e-book is 20,000 pages.

Mine is a Delphi Classics Kindle e-book, Dan. It is a very large file, containing the complete Human Comedy and quite a bit of other material. The Amazon reviews describe it as well-organized and formatted, so hopefully it will be easy to navigate.

Regarding those complete collections of the Ellen Marriage translations, I posted the following earlier this year in the Author Theme Reads Group:

Many of Balzac's works are available in English only in late-19th century translations by Ellen Marriage or James Waring as part of a (mostly) complete publisher's set of the Comédie Humaine. I was wondering if we have the same problem with bowdlerization that exists with the contemporary translations of Zola and other French novelists.

It seems that Marriage translated most of Balzac under her own name, but may have used the name James Waring for those volumes that were considered too bold to have a woman's name attached to them. And there were six volumes of the Comédie Humaine which she and her publisher declined to touch because they were too shocking. (Those six volumes are: La physiologie du mariage, Sarrasine, La fille aux yeux d'or, Une passion dans le désert, and Petites misères de la vie conjugale.)

With Google's help I found an 1898 review of Marriage's translations that says:

'In connection with the fact that the present edition intends to omit no volume of the "Comédie Humaine," and that it will not soften down, not to say Bowdlerize, the Balzac text ...'

The article goes on to say that while they aren't suitable for children, Balzac's works aren't as much in need of censorship as those of some more recent French authors.

I have a modern translation of The Girl with the Golden Eyes (La fille aux yeux d'or), but I've noticed that Amazon has a free translation by Ellen Marriage, so perhaps she translated it after publishing the collection mentioned above (or perhaps the article I was citing was simply wrong). It's a very short book, so I think I'll read it now in the modern translation, flag the spicy bits, then see how Ellen Marriage translated them. That way we'll know if her claim of "not softening down" is true. Of course it would be better to just read the original, but I'm much too old to start learning French.

193 - Being a completist, I'm scared - LOL!

From the Balzac I've read, and the Zola I've read, I can certainly see that there's more that might have been "softened" in Zola. As I understand it, at the time that he wrote a lot more was publishable in France than in England.

Steven, I went back and looked more closely at my Balzac e-book. The works you reference as Ellen Marriage having declined to translate are actually included, but mostly translated by others: Katherine Prescott Wormeley, Ernest Dowson and Clara Bell. However, Ellen Marriage is listed as the translator for Girl with the Golden Eyes. I had made the erroneous assumption that since Ellen Marriage translated the beginning Preface, she had also translated all of the works. The specific translator is listed in the preface to each work.

Thanks, Linda. I'm interested to see what you think of that "complete works" ebook. They have them for most major 19th century writers. I haven't bought any because you can usually download the individual works for free. I'm also concerned about filling up the Kindle's storage too quickly. But if they are significantly better organized than the free books, I might try one or two.

The Girl with Golden Eyes by Honoré de Balzac
A novella first published 1835 as La Fille aux yeux d'or
in a series of short works titled History of the Thirteen
English translation by Charlotte Mandel, 2007

 

Balzac begins his brutal little novel about sexual obsession and power in a rather strange fashion--with an embittered portrait of the population of Paris. "One of the most appalling spectacles that exists is undoubtedly the general appearance of the Parisian population, a people horrible to see, gaunt, sallow, weather-beaten." From there he takes us class by class, profession by profession, from the artists and aristocrats to the workmen and the prostitutes, detailing their unwholesome appearance, their flawed character, and their obsessive passions. "In Paris the Petty, the Average, and the Great all run, jump, and caper about, whipped by the pitiless goddess Need: need for money, fame, or fun."

But the Parisians excel in craftiness, dissimulation, and arrogance. We meet a young man who exemplifies these values. Henri de Marsay is the love child of an English lord and a French lady who found an aged nobleman willing to take her as his wife and Henri as his son in exchange for a sum of English gold. Henri's father, we learn, makes a regular habit of pawning off his children and mistresses this way, never giving them a second thought. Henri himself has inherited the most attractive physical characteristics of both nations. With his blue English eyes and his black French hair, he is irresistible and knows it. But finally he encounters a sight even he can't resist: the Girl with the Golden Eyes.

The mysterious tiger-eyed maiden makes only brief appearances in the garden of the Tuileries, strolling with her fiercely protective duenna. She is a dark, exotic beauty with features that suggest both the primitive savagery of the tropics and the decadence of the seraglio. The young men of fashion gather daily just in hopes of catching her eye, but she casts her golden glance at none of them... until she spots Henri. The two feel an instant passion for each other that they know is both imperative and dangerous.

It is days before Henri can penetrate the defensive wall around the Girl with the Golden Eyes enough to learn that her name is Paquita Valdés, that she is from Havana and lives in the home of a Spanish emigre. Eventually it is she, however, who arranges their secret rendezvous. Henri's indomitable ego is about to be engulfed in a fiery passion he can't understand or control. From here the story becomes ever more mysterious, dark, violent and twisted until Paquita's shocking secret is revealed.

For 1835 this is an incredibly frank and daring story of sexual obsession and the affinity between death, power and eroticism. The author's introductory material on the physiognomy and psychology of Paris and Parisians seems overdone, given the narrow focus of what follows, but this is perhaps because Balzac published his novella as part of a larger collection called The History of the Thirteen, so his portrait of Paris may have been meant to relate to other stories as well. The ensuing story of Henri and Paquita is all the more memorable because it starts out like any other 19th century love story, with little warning of what we are about to undergo.

Why would Balzac write a story like this? One hint may be in the numerous references he makes in The Girl with the Golden Eyes to popular 18th century writers and their novels, all dealing with sexual conquest: Samuel Richardson's Pamela and Clarissa, Choderlos de Laclos's Les Liasons Dangereuses, and the Gothic romances of Ann Radcliffe. Perhaps he wanted to cap them all with his short but intense novel of lust and power.

I read the 2007 English translation by Charlotte Mandel, which is highly readable but lacks any feel of the 19th century due to its very modern word choices. I compared select passages with the 100-year-old translation by Ellen Marriage, and found that the two differed only in word choice. Marriage's translation is not the least bit bowdlerized, and those who like the language to have the flavor of the period might actually prefer it over the modern translation.


("The Kiss of the Sphinx" by Franz Stuck)

Other works I have read by Honoré de Balzac:
Pere Goriot
Eugénie Grandet
Lost Illusions
A Harlot High and Low

Very interesting, and thanks for the comparison between the two translations. De Marsay appeared peripherally in A Harlot High and Low and, I think, Lost Illusions, as I'm sure you know.

ETA A check of Amazon shows some other translators as well for both The Girl with the Golden Eyes and The History of the Thirteen more generally.

The fatal combination of your review of Eugenie Grandet and the book's easy availability on the kindle have conspired against me. Excellent reviews, Steven. I'm enjoying reading them.

Sounds like a wonderful distillation of Balzac's concerns. Will keep your note about the translations in mind, preferring the language to relate to the period.

More Balzac! I'm certainly intrigued by your review of The Girl with Golden Eyes.

But the Parisians excel in craftiness, dissimulation, and arrogance. people where I live might very well say that nothing has changed.

Great review of a book where Balzac really seems to have let rip. Interesting comparison of the translations I would go for the Ellen Marriage.

Your picture goes well with your review, darkly passionate.

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life by Elizabeth Gaskell
First published 1848

 

Elizabeth Gaskell's first novel focuses on the extreme poverty of textile workers in Manchester in the 1830s and 40s and the desperation to which some of them were driven. The author follows two families, the Bartons and the Wilsons, as they descend through various stages of destitution and suffer one tragedy after another. The central character is the Bartons' daughter, Mary, who comes of age during the novel. First Mary's mother dies in childbirth, then her father, John Barton, begins a long moral and physical decline. As hard times beset the textile industry, Barton first has his work hours cut back, then loses his job altogether. Dependent on his daughter's earnings as an apprentice dressmaker, and facing starvation, he spends his few pennies on opium instead of food.

Mary, however, sees hope on the horizon because her beautiful face has caught the attention of the factory owner's privileged son, Harry Carson. Mary Barton naively dreams of a life of riches and comforts as Carson's wife and spurns the attentions of Jem Wilson who is desperately in love with her. John Barton, meanwhile, becomes involved in an organized labor movement, but his depression deepens when their complaints are ridiculed by the factory owners, young Carson among them. A strike fails to bring the owners around, and with the mills shut down the idle workers have almost nothing to feed their families. Disease and malnutrition take a heavy toll while tempers rise. But when Harry Carson is found murdered, the blame is cast on Jem Wilson, Mary's jealous lover.

Gaskell provides a moving description of urban poverty in Manchester. She shows how the poor are treated with callous indifference by their employers and government. But she clearly abhors violent emotions and actions. Instead, the downtrodden are to rely on their Christian faith. "Shall toil and famine, hopeless, still be borne?," the author asks. "No! God will yet arise and help the poor!" (It's worth noting that the poor are to turn to God, but not to the Church. There is no mention of a clergyman in the entire novel.) Gaskell has much in common with her contemporary Harriet Beecher Stowe who, in Uncle Tom's Cabin, advises American slaves to refrain from resistance and violence and, instead, pray themselves out of oppression. And Gaskell makes it clear that her only goal is ameliorate poverty, not to achieve equality or social mobility.

In the love story between the beautiful and pious Mary and the brave and noble Jem, Gaskell gives us the standard elements of 19th century romance: near-tragic misunderstandings caused by her unwillingness to express her true feelings and his jumping to the wrong conclusions. They are, of course, lovable characters, but where I think Gaskell is at her best is in showing us how their friends and relatives, loving and honorable though they may be, still have their individual moments of selfishness, jealousy, and doubt. The minor characters are deeper and more human than the two principals.

From the sappy poems used as chapter epigraphs to the author's pious sermonizing, there is much to find fault with in Mary Barton: A Manchester Tale. The novel's strength is obviously its depiction of a place and time that is not only interesting in itself but important in the evolution of the English working class and its treatment. It never hurts to remind ourselves how things were not so very long ago and why labor laws are needed. The plot, which seems to simply go from one tragedy to another in the first half of the novel, becomes considerably more interesting after the murder and even somewhat suspenseful; a bit of perseverance on the reader's part will pay off in the end. As fiction, Mary Barton doesn't stack up against the works of Austen, Eliot and Dickens, and I found Gaskell's later novel Cranford to be much better, but it's still worth a look, especially for those interested in the setting and subject matter.


("Manchester from Kersal Moore" by William Wylde, 1857)

Other works I have read by Elizabeth Gaskell:
Cranford

Gaskell suffered all her career from editors' refusal to let her speak frankly about conditions amongst the poor, and her novels tend to be unsatisfying to greater or lesser degrees because she was always forced to compromise. Case in point: she wanted this novel to focus on the labour struggle and to be called "John Barton"; she ended up having to keep the focus on the love story and to call it "Mary Barton".

The plot sounds very similar to Gaskell's North and South, which I enjoyed. I also enjoyed Cranford. Given the restrictions placed upon her, as mentioned in #212 above, I think her novels did a wonderful job of pointing out the social injustices that existed.

Mary Barton sounds well worth reading, despite your reservations. Thanks for the excellent review.

Elizabeth Gaskell is the Victorian author I hope to read this year. Thanks for the context and another beautiful landscape. I always like the train ride into Manchester from the south, where you see all the Victorian buildings. They were so hopeful back then.

Have you read George Gissing?

Interesting comments on Mary Barton. I'm trying to remember if that is the Gaskill that someone on LT described as a poor rip-off of Pride and Prejudice. (It was either that or North and South). Anyway, you've moved Mary Barton up my wishlist.

Mary Barton stays amongst the working-classes, while North And South focuses upon the antagonist relationship between "masters" and "workers". It is comparable to P&P only inasmuch as it has a hero and heroine who are also intially antagonistic and who have to work towards a better understanding of one another. Otherwise you wouldn't find two novels with less in common.

Excellent review of Mary Barton, which I have not read. It sounds top me that Gaskell improved as a writer, because her later North and South certainly stacks up against Dickens and other 19th century novelists. I probably won't bother with Mary Barton but do intend to read Cranford

Interesting that the theme of the value of prayer comes over so strongly, as I did not pick up on this in North and South quite so much.

Gaskell and her minister-husband were Unitarians so the attitide towards religion that infuses her work is often different from what you pick up from other novelists of this period

#212 & others - Thanks, lyzard, for the background information on Gaskell. I'm looking forward to reading at least North and South, and, as I said, I enjoyed Cranford very much.

#215 - No, Sassy, I haven't read anything yet by George Gissing, but I definitely intend to read his New Grub Street some day.

#216 - I wouldn't say there was much in common between Mary Barton and Pride and Prejudice either.

I'm having outpatient knee surgery tomorrow, so I'm likely to be silent for a few days simply because I won't be able to sit at the computer, and I can't type very well on a handheld device. I should still be able to follow all your reviews and discussions, though, and I hope to get a lot of reading done. The last time (this is my 7th knee operation) I discovered that the pain killers were a great help in getting through Finnegans Wake.

Good luck on your knee surgery. I know you have a reasonably sized stack of books to see you through.

#215, 220 One of the workers in my favorite bookstore recommended New Grub Street to me and it's been sitting on my TBR for six months or so. Thanks for the reminder.

Seven knee operations sounds like a lot -- hope this one's the charm! Good luck with it, and enjoy your reading.

I think New Grub Street is one of the saddest books I have ever read. Gissing was not treated well by his contemporaries.

Good chuckle over Finnegans Wake. Good luck with whatever you read this time round and enjoy the time away from the computer.

SassyLassy - you just bumped New Grub Street up my wishlist (as long as it's not too long).

It's pretty long -- that's why I haven't started it yet!

Thoroughly enjoyed your last two reviews, Steven. I see that The Girl with the Golden Eyes is part of a publisher series called The Art of the Novella. I have picked up a couple from this series and the companion Contemporary Novella series. I have found them to be books not easily found or discovered elsewhere.

Good luck with the knee Op. steven

Wishing you well in your recovery, Steven. Hope your comfortable enough to enjoy your reading. Great review of Mary Barton... very polished too.

And I'll keep the codeine - Finnegans Wake partnering in mind (or whatever painkillers you used)

and, lyzard, thanks for adding those comments. That certainly changes how to read Gaskell.

The knee surgery went smoothly, but my recovery has been slowed by some internal bleeding, and I'm still not supposed to sit up for more than a few minutes at a time, so I won't be posting any reviews for a while yet. I am getting a lot of reading done, though it's mostly lighter and shorter works. Here's what I've finished so far:

A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle (from baswood's SF list)
Under Western Eyes by Joseph Conrad (for a non-LT group)
A Day in Spring by Ciril Kosmac (for Reading Globally: Slovenia)
Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel (continuing my reading of female Mexican authors)
The Dark Domain by Stefan Grabinski (for Reading Globally: Poland)
The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley (1001 Books to Read Before You Die)
The House on the Borderland by William Hope Hodgson (1001 Books to Read Before You Die)
Monica by Saunders Lewis (1001 Books to Read Before You Die--but no touchstone)

Sorry about the delayed recovery, but impressive reading accomplishments!

Touchstone:

Monica

Robert

Hope you can get your feet back under the table soon

>229 StevenTX: Hope you get back to 100% soon. I loved Like Water for Chocolate!

Wishing you well in your recovery, steven.

Wishing you well, Steven...and really want to know your thoughts on Like Water for Chocolate.

The Nun by Denis Diderot
Written in 1760, revised later and first published posthumously in 1796
English translation by Francis Birrell 1928

 

The Nun was actually first conceived and written as a hoax played by Diderot and a friend of his upon their friend the Marquis de Croismare. The Marquis had sojourned to his estate in Normandy and, finding country life much to his liking, was reluctant to return to Paris and the company of his friends. Diderot recalled that the Marquis had once taken a strong interest in a case where a nun who had been forced by her family to enter a convent against her will had filed a lawsuit to be allowed to renounce her vows. Diderot concocted a series of letters from this nun to the Marquis recounting how, after years of oppression and temptation, she had escaped from the convent and was now in hiding in Paris imploring his aid. Diderot later reworked the letters into a novel, which was published after his death.

The nun, Susan Simonin, was one of three daughters of a middle class couple. Though she was the most attractive and talented, she was the least favored because she was actually the offspring of Mme. Simonin and an unnamed lover. To avoid an expensive dowry, her parents coerced her into entering a convent. Though she is a devout believer, modest, chaste and dutiful, Susan has no taste for conventual life. Susan's complaints and appeals make her hateful to her Superior, who sees that she is punished and ostracized. Even her friends can offer her little hope. "If you are relieved of your vows," one asks, "what will happen to you? What will you do in the world? You have good looks, intelligence, and talents. But I am told that is all useless for a woman who remains virtuous, and virtuous I know you will always be."

Sister Susan is transferred from one convent to another. In one institution a particularly noxious Superior nearly kills the girl by having her flogged, confining her in a dungeon, and feeding her only scraps of food tainted with filth. In another convent her Superior falls hopelessly in love with Susan and won't relent in her kisses and caresses. Susan remains completely innocent of sexual matters and finds the other nun's attentions only somewhat embarrassing. When the Superior has an orgasm, Susan tries to run off to summon medical aid.

Denis Diderot was an atheist, but The Nun is not anti-religious or anti-Catholic. He is attacking only the idea of monasticism. He maintains that most monks and nuns were either forced or coaxed into taking vows before they were old enough to understand what they were doing, and that the vast majority would leave their cloister if allowed. "Are convents then so necessary to the constitution of a state? Did Jesus Christ institute monks and nuns? Can the Church not possibly get on without them? What need has the Bridegroom of so many foolish virgins? Or the human race of so many victims?... Are all the regulation prayers one repeats there worth one obol given in pity to the poor? Does God, Who made man a social animal, approve of his barring himself from the world?"

As a literary work, The Nun is a bridge between the 18th century novels about female abduction by Samuel Richardson (whom Diderot highly admired) and the subsequent Gothic movement. M. G. Lewis, author of The Monk, and Charles Robert Maturin, in Melmoth the Wanderer, may have lifted scenes directly from Diderot's novel.

Other works I have read by Denis Diderot:

Jacques the Fatalist and His Master

Sounds like fun, especially in light of my enjoyment of The Monk, which also took a dim view of monasticism.

The penguin classics cover is much more attractive. The method of using letters to tell a story was very acceptable in the late 18th century Dangerous Liasons springs to mind

Glad to see you are reviewing again steven and I hope you are more comfortable now.

I will definitely get to Diderot soon

Great review of The Nun, Steven. Sounds like a fun read. I hope that your having posted a review means that you are now allowed to sit upright. Hope you are up and around and relatively free of pain soon.

Thanks, everyone. I'm still pretty limited, so it will be a long time before I catch up.

Hoping you have a speedy recovery. The Nun sounds like a fun.

The Nun: what an interesting premise of a novel based on a playful hoax. I wonder what the Marquis's reaction to the letters was.

Great review of The Nun, Steven. The story behind it is quite interesting as well.

I drafted the rest of my reviews on a laptop while I was laid up, and now that I can spend more time at the PC they're all ready to post, but first let's start a new thread...