Book #92: Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
June 18, 2014
I actually finished this book a few days ago, but have been putting
off writing this blog post. Why? Because quite frankly, I do not know
what to make of this book.
When I was subbing long-term at a high school last year, I had a tiny
class of AP English students. For their final book assignment, their
teacher gave me two options: this, or The Scarlet Letter. She
applauded my choice of Hawthorne, admitting that she doesn't really
like Heart of Darkness. In truth, I made my decision based on which
one I'd read; that seemed obvious. But I was intrigued by her comment;
why didn't she like this book?
Well, I can maybe see where she was coming from. But if I had the
chance to make the choice again, I'd probably go with Heart of Darkness. As far as being a "challenging" book, this one certainly is; among motivated students, it could spark some fascinating discussion. The big question that I have is, what was Conrad's message in this
book?
Okay, so the book was published over 100 years ago, at a time when
Europeans were raping Africa of its resources and brutalizing its
people. That was essentially my frame of mind as I read this book. I
actually found the narration to be very interesting; the first couple
of pages didn't pull me in, but once Marlow started his story, I was
along for the ride. Marlow is recalling a trip he'd made to the center
of Africa as a hired captain of a small delivery boat. He was employed
with some greedy-ass company; the people who worked for it were either
lazy or insane.
I could interpret Conrad's message in a few different ways. I would
guess that he felt like whitey had no place in Africa, and he
describes it as breaking down those men who went there to seek their
fortunes. Kurtz loses his mind from greed for ivory, but he's also
described as having immersed himself into the culture of the native
peoples...which, apparently, is a bad thing. Africa had brought out
the darkness of HIS heart.
That's where things get a little dicey. The native Africans are
described in not very flattering ways; the "n-word" is used often, and
a tribe of "savages" attacks Marlow's river boat at one point. The
cannibals who work for Marlow aren't treated much better in the
narrative; the best that can be said about them is that they didn't
eat the white men on the boat, even as they were starving. I did
appreciate the descriptions here, of the white men putting their own
greedy interests above the basic needs of these other men. That's
where I connected most with the book, and felt it to be most true.
I recently made a flippant comment in a conversation that "Africa is
scary." It sounded stupid and racist, and I should have explained that
it is what has been DONE to Africa that makes it such a scary place.
Apartheid, AIDS, diamond mining, political turmoil...all that shit
stems back to Europeans infecting the mother continent. In truth, I
have a respect for Africa, and for people who go there to try to HELP
people, those who are lacking in natural resources or the means to
produce them. I have a respect for African people (in general; Africa
is a huge, various continent), and for the fact that their cultures
are so very different from my own.
Conrad, in this book, is making some of those connections, but overall
he doesn't seem to have moved past the idea that "Africa is scary." Is
this book racist? Totally. I think it presents an interesting
HISTORICAL perspective on Africa and Western society's influence on
it, but it definitely needs to be viewed through a modern lens.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Book #91: Damned
Book #91: Damned by Chuck Palahniuk
June 11, 2014
At long last, it is the eve of the last day of school. I'll officially be on summer vacation in two days, though I will still be focused on my comps and finishing up my master's degree, but I'll have that done by the end of the month. Then I can really enjoy my summer, for the first time in a while.
Palahniuk is one great author for summer reading, if you like what I would call his "light-hearted darkness." He makes light of disgusting aspects of reality, like racism and hypocrisy and pedophilia, and the thirteen-year-old narrator is so flip. Some might find it offensive, but Palahniuk just does what many other great writers have done, and holds a magnifying glass up to the worst parts of our society, of ourselves.
I'm making the book sound so profound, but it's really not. It's a fun read. Maddy Spencer is thirteen and is dead, and sent to Hell. The Hell in this book is absurd; nasty candy litters the ground, and good candy is currency. The landscape is composed of the nastiest things produced by the human body: oceans of sperm, rivers of bile, deserts of dandruff, swamps of aborted babies (it's specifically called the swamp of Partial-Birth Abortions)...and cockroaches are everywhere. Now, Maddy had been the daughter of a film producer and an actress, overweight and subjected to her parents' charitable publicity stunts and Hollywood lifestyle. She's chubby, insecure, precocious, and eager to please. She first believes that she died of a marijuana overdose, but since that obviously can't be true, the truth is eventually revealed.
Maddy thrives in Hell. She makes friends with other young souls, and they form a sort of self-described "undead Breakfast Club," with her as the Ally Sheedy character, of course. Her friends help her navigate her way through hell, and she actually comes to like it there. In her job as a telemarketer (in Palahniuk's hell, it's either that or Internet porn for making an income of candy), she encourages dying people over the phone to go to Hell, and when they arrive, they gravitate to her. Maddy, once a sharp-witted but shy girl, becomes a leader of her own Hellish army. With the encouragement of punk Archer, she beats up various historical villains, like Hitler and Vlad the impaler. She's now a bad ass; being dead and in Hell gave her the confidence to shape her own destiny.
Briefly on how she died: Maddy had an adopted brother named Goran. In fact she had a lot of adopted siblings, all trotted out in front of the media before being sent to a nice boarding school. Goran was the newest, not yet cast off, but he's too surly and "ungrateful" to please Maddy's parents. Maddy is in love with him. I had a feeling that Goran killed Maddy, but that turns out to be something of a "comedy of errors" (though it's not really a comedy because a kid dies). Actually, they both do; Goran gets shanked in juvie and joins Maddy in Hell, and they reconcile. That is twisted and sweet, just right for this book.
Each chapter begins with Maddy addressing Satan, in a twist on Judy Blume. Maddy comes face to face with Satan near the end of the book, before she and her friends go to haunt earth for Halloween. She becomes determined to destroy him, and is convinced that he is intimidated by her. She goes to earth and she and Archer visit his and his sister's gravesite. She then goes and fucks with three girls at her old school, who are somewhat responsible for her death themselves. The book ends with her preparing to return to Hell and take on Satan once and for all.
This book is the first of a trilogy; the second volume, Doomed, was published last year. I definitely plan to continue reading about the adventures of Maddy Spencer's soul. I enjoy Palahniuk's fucked up world (and underworld). Look, our world is just as messed up for real, but rather than hide from it, his books help me laugh about it. Better to laugh than cry, I always say.
June 11, 2014
At long last, it is the eve of the last day of school. I'll officially be on summer vacation in two days, though I will still be focused on my comps and finishing up my master's degree, but I'll have that done by the end of the month. Then I can really enjoy my summer, for the first time in a while.
Palahniuk is one great author for summer reading, if you like what I would call his "light-hearted darkness." He makes light of disgusting aspects of reality, like racism and hypocrisy and pedophilia, and the thirteen-year-old narrator is so flip. Some might find it offensive, but Palahniuk just does what many other great writers have done, and holds a magnifying glass up to the worst parts of our society, of ourselves.
I'm making the book sound so profound, but it's really not. It's a fun read. Maddy Spencer is thirteen and is dead, and sent to Hell. The Hell in this book is absurd; nasty candy litters the ground, and good candy is currency. The landscape is composed of the nastiest things produced by the human body: oceans of sperm, rivers of bile, deserts of dandruff, swamps of aborted babies (it's specifically called the swamp of Partial-Birth Abortions)...and cockroaches are everywhere. Now, Maddy had been the daughter of a film producer and an actress, overweight and subjected to her parents' charitable publicity stunts and Hollywood lifestyle. She's chubby, insecure, precocious, and eager to please. She first believes that she died of a marijuana overdose, but since that obviously can't be true, the truth is eventually revealed.
Maddy thrives in Hell. She makes friends with other young souls, and they form a sort of self-described "undead Breakfast Club," with her as the Ally Sheedy character, of course. Her friends help her navigate her way through hell, and she actually comes to like it there. In her job as a telemarketer (in Palahniuk's hell, it's either that or Internet porn for making an income of candy), she encourages dying people over the phone to go to Hell, and when they arrive, they gravitate to her. Maddy, once a sharp-witted but shy girl, becomes a leader of her own Hellish army. With the encouragement of punk Archer, she beats up various historical villains, like Hitler and Vlad the impaler. She's now a bad ass; being dead and in Hell gave her the confidence to shape her own destiny.
Briefly on how she died: Maddy had an adopted brother named Goran. In fact she had a lot of adopted siblings, all trotted out in front of the media before being sent to a nice boarding school. Goran was the newest, not yet cast off, but he's too surly and "ungrateful" to please Maddy's parents. Maddy is in love with him. I had a feeling that Goran killed Maddy, but that turns out to be something of a "comedy of errors" (though it's not really a comedy because a kid dies). Actually, they both do; Goran gets shanked in juvie and joins Maddy in Hell, and they reconcile. That is twisted and sweet, just right for this book.
Each chapter begins with Maddy addressing Satan, in a twist on Judy Blume. Maddy comes face to face with Satan near the end of the book, before she and her friends go to haunt earth for Halloween. She becomes determined to destroy him, and is convinced that he is intimidated by her. She goes to earth and she and Archer visit his and his sister's gravesite. She then goes and fucks with three girls at her old school, who are somewhat responsible for her death themselves. The book ends with her preparing to return to Hell and take on Satan once and for all.
This book is the first of a trilogy; the second volume, Doomed, was published last year. I definitely plan to continue reading about the adventures of Maddy Spencer's soul. I enjoy Palahniuk's fucked up world (and underworld). Look, our world is just as messed up for real, but rather than hide from it, his books help me laugh about it. Better to laugh than cry, I always say.
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Book #90: 1984
Book #90: 1984 by George Orwell
June 7, 2014
This book is one that many claim started the dystopian genre, one that I gravitate to, so reading this book was inevitable. Having recently taught my history class about World War II and totalitarianism (a word they found difficult to pronounce) helped to put this book (published in 1949) into context. Orwell imagines a world where totalitarianism, in the guise or under the name of communism, has taken over completely. The English-speaking world and South America make up Oceania, where Big Brother is the symbolic head of the superstate, which is constantly at war with either Eurasia (the rest of Europe and Russia) or Eastasia. Because of being constantly at war, common stuff is hard to come by. Everything pretty much sucks, and yet it is claimed that the Party (the English Socialist party, or Ingsoc) has improved life for the citizens of Oceania. Citizens (especially Party members) are constantly monitored by the government through the telescreens that are everywhere, to the point where every action or expression or word is scrutinized. And because of this, there's nothing that anybody can do about it.
The motives and methods of the Party seem a bit dated to me. The closest I can think would be the government of North Korea, where people live in constant fear, where their lives are strictly controlled, and where they are expected to worship their leader as a god, in place of religion. For most of the population, life is barren, they are overworked and undereducated and worse. But here's the difference. Kim Jong-Un is an actual person, and like his psychotic father, he enjoys the luxury and privilege that comes with his power. He lives it up as his people slave and starve; he does what he can to keep hold of his power in order to enjoy it. As far as I could tell, nobody was enjoying power in Orwell's imagined world. The system itself had all the power, that's the scary but ultimately strange thing. I mean, I could follow the philosophy of Ingsoc well enough as it was laid out, and I could understand how someone born into such a system would buy into it, but surely so many people around Winston's age or older would have the same kind of recollections and doubts, in spite of the efforts of the Ministry of Truth or the purges of human life.
The tone of the "Appendix" seems to suggest that the system does break down at some point. It does not explain how, but I think that human desire would ultimately overpower the mind-fuck tricks that the Party played with its members. Nowadays, it's not political ideologies going awry that we have to fear, but those same desires. The deadly ones, of course, especially greed. Today, a piece of dystopian literature would ring true if it were corporations, not governments, that ran things. The 'pure power' that Orwell describes does not exist. Everybody likes perks.
I did not like the characters in this book. Winston was kind of meh, but I guess that's what his world molded him into. I hated him when he swiftly agreed to do anything to have done tiny part in taking down the Party, including killing or maiming children. I felt bad for him later, especially when he was threatened with having his face eaten off by rats, but I didn't respect him. And everyone he trusted betrayed him; he had a feeling that he was doomed and he was right.
Julia was interesting at first. I could forgive the stupidity and disinterest she often displayed when Winston made important discoveries about the nature of the Party, but one scene killed her for me. She talks about defying the Party by wearing a dress and heels and makeup for Winston, rather than the Party regulation overalls. Essentially she's a vehicle for sexism and antifeminism; in rebelling, she's actually conforming to what (in the "real" world) is the standard for women. So, no real rebellion for women, then. I'll try to bear in mind that this book was published in the forties...
Overall I'd say this was an interesting book, even if the ideas inspiring it are mostly politically antiquated. However, the ideas of the public being lied to, watched, and subject to propaganda are very real, even in the "land of the free." Again, though, it's all driven by greed and money...there's certainly nothing pure about it.
June 7, 2014
This book is one that many claim started the dystopian genre, one that I gravitate to, so reading this book was inevitable. Having recently taught my history class about World War II and totalitarianism (a word they found difficult to pronounce) helped to put this book (published in 1949) into context. Orwell imagines a world where totalitarianism, in the guise or under the name of communism, has taken over completely. The English-speaking world and South America make up Oceania, where Big Brother is the symbolic head of the superstate, which is constantly at war with either Eurasia (the rest of Europe and Russia) or Eastasia. Because of being constantly at war, common stuff is hard to come by. Everything pretty much sucks, and yet it is claimed that the Party (the English Socialist party, or Ingsoc) has improved life for the citizens of Oceania. Citizens (especially Party members) are constantly monitored by the government through the telescreens that are everywhere, to the point where every action or expression or word is scrutinized. And because of this, there's nothing that anybody can do about it.
The motives and methods of the Party seem a bit dated to me. The closest I can think would be the government of North Korea, where people live in constant fear, where their lives are strictly controlled, and where they are expected to worship their leader as a god, in place of religion. For most of the population, life is barren, they are overworked and undereducated and worse. But here's the difference. Kim Jong-Un is an actual person, and like his psychotic father, he enjoys the luxury and privilege that comes with his power. He lives it up as his people slave and starve; he does what he can to keep hold of his power in order to enjoy it. As far as I could tell, nobody was enjoying power in Orwell's imagined world. The system itself had all the power, that's the scary but ultimately strange thing. I mean, I could follow the philosophy of Ingsoc well enough as it was laid out, and I could understand how someone born into such a system would buy into it, but surely so many people around Winston's age or older would have the same kind of recollections and doubts, in spite of the efforts of the Ministry of Truth or the purges of human life.
The tone of the "Appendix" seems to suggest that the system does break down at some point. It does not explain how, but I think that human desire would ultimately overpower the mind-fuck tricks that the Party played with its members. Nowadays, it's not political ideologies going awry that we have to fear, but those same desires. The deadly ones, of course, especially greed. Today, a piece of dystopian literature would ring true if it were corporations, not governments, that ran things. The 'pure power' that Orwell describes does not exist. Everybody likes perks.
I did not like the characters in this book. Winston was kind of meh, but I guess that's what his world molded him into. I hated him when he swiftly agreed to do anything to have done tiny part in taking down the Party, including killing or maiming children. I felt bad for him later, especially when he was threatened with having his face eaten off by rats, but I didn't respect him. And everyone he trusted betrayed him; he had a feeling that he was doomed and he was right.
Julia was interesting at first. I could forgive the stupidity and disinterest she often displayed when Winston made important discoveries about the nature of the Party, but one scene killed her for me. She talks about defying the Party by wearing a dress and heels and makeup for Winston, rather than the Party regulation overalls. Essentially she's a vehicle for sexism and antifeminism; in rebelling, she's actually conforming to what (in the "real" world) is the standard for women. So, no real rebellion for women, then. I'll try to bear in mind that this book was published in the forties...
Overall I'd say this was an interesting book, even if the ideas inspiring it are mostly politically antiquated. However, the ideas of the public being lied to, watched, and subject to propaganda are very real, even in the "land of the free." Again, though, it's all driven by greed and money...there's certainly nothing pure about it.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Book #89: The Twelve Tribes of Hattie
Book #89: The Twelve Tribes of Hattie by Ayana Mathis
June 1, 2014
This book is an example of how a random library pick can sometimes go right. This book mainly stood out to me on the shelves because there were multiple copies. I grappled over the "Oprah's Book Club 2.0" sticker. Some people poke fun at her book club choices, but I think she's got a taste for literature. When she skews more towards the inspirational, Mitch Albom-esque works, I steer clear. But Oprah often picks books that are real and dark and show the gritty side of American life, and of course many works that show a black perspective. This book is definitely the latter, the story of one big family struggling to make lives for themselves.
Hattie has a dark past. She comes from Georgia, where she was well-educated and her father was successful. But he was murdered by white competitors, and Hattie, her sisters, and their mother, like so many others at the time, fled north to seek a life free of discrimination and hardship. Well, Hattie immediately saw the difference in the way black people were treated on the streets of Philadelphia than in the streets if Atlanta, but she certainly did not leave hardship behind her. She began dating August, a caring but irresponsible young man, and got pregnant and married at 17.
The book is told from various perspectives. Each chapter is named for one or two of Hattie's children (except the last, Sala, who is her granddaughter). They show pieces of the lives of the Shepard family, and of the children as individuals. From the stories, I cannot tell the exact order of Hattie's children, but I have a pretty good guess. The stories are all in chronological order, but the children's ages vary in their individual stories. Here's a brief summary of what I know of each kid's life:
-Philadelphia and Jubilee: Hattie's first children; twins, a boy and a girl. They died in infancy; Hattie was too young and poor and scared to save them. Their deaths traumatized her, and made her fierce in the fight to keep the others alive...so much so that she forgot to show them kindness.
-Floyd: Oldest after the twins, I think. He is a trumpet player. He travels around and has many sexual encounters with women and men, though he realizes that he is gay. It being the 1940s, there's probably not much of a chance that he could live out his fantasy of having a steady male companion. He continues to live at home, when he's not traveling, for some years into his adulthood.
-Cassie: Next oldest, I think. She was grooming for Prom when Six was scalded. She suffers from schizophrenia in her adulthood; her story describes the voices she hears. Her parents have her committed.
-Bell: A pretty girl. She finds out about her mother's affair with Lawrence a year before Hattie takes Ruthie and briefly runs off with him. She later has an affair with Lawrence, to spite her cold mother. When Hattie finds out, they don't talk for years. Bell sleeps around, gets TB, and nearly lets herself die alone. It's her mother who saves her.
-Six: Six was burned by scalding water when he was a child. He became a soltitary, weak, angry boy. He takes his anger out on a weaker boy, Avery, beating him nearly to death when he'd been insulted. This results in Six accompanying the reverend on a southern baptist revival tour. Six is not a believer but he has a gift for preaching. He pursues this as a career, using his "healing powers" to take advantage of women.
-Alice: Closest to Billups, the only witness to his sexual abuse by a man who tutored them as children. This seems to have scarred her worse than Billy himself; she is married to a rich man, insecure in her position, and obsessed with keeping her brother dependent on her.
-Billups: AKA Billy. He wants to put the past behind him and stand alone as a man.
-Ruthie: Lawrence's child. Hattie went back to August when she realized that Lawrence, a gambler, was wven more unreliable than her husband.
-Franklin: I think Franklin is slightly younger than Ruthie...I was not clear on this. He once received a sound thrashing from Hattie for leaving the bathroom window open, letting in ran and warping the floor. He grew up to be a gambler himself...perhaps he is Lawrence's child as well. His wife Sissy left him because if this, and his drinking. His time in Vietnam only helped him to continue his drinking habit. He has a daughter named Lucille.
-Ella: The arrival of Ella forced Hattie to apply for welfare. Her wealthy and childless sister (her situation reminds me of Alice, though Alice's childlessness is a choice) adopts Ella and takes her to Georgia.
-Sala: Cassie's daughter who is angry and confused about her mother's mental illness and absence. Hattie attempts to give her the affection that she couldn't give her nine sieving children.
Hattie always struggles to do her best, and she has everything against her. This story could have been just as good if it were written in a more "conventional" style, but I think the pieces that each story gives tells the story of this family's struggles well enough. Oprah may be full of shit a lot of the time, but she knew what she was doing when she endorsed this book. I concur.
June 1, 2014
This book is an example of how a random library pick can sometimes go right. This book mainly stood out to me on the shelves because there were multiple copies. I grappled over the "Oprah's Book Club 2.0" sticker. Some people poke fun at her book club choices, but I think she's got a taste for literature. When she skews more towards the inspirational, Mitch Albom-esque works, I steer clear. But Oprah often picks books that are real and dark and show the gritty side of American life, and of course many works that show a black perspective. This book is definitely the latter, the story of one big family struggling to make lives for themselves.
Hattie has a dark past. She comes from Georgia, where she was well-educated and her father was successful. But he was murdered by white competitors, and Hattie, her sisters, and their mother, like so many others at the time, fled north to seek a life free of discrimination and hardship. Well, Hattie immediately saw the difference in the way black people were treated on the streets of Philadelphia than in the streets if Atlanta, but she certainly did not leave hardship behind her. She began dating August, a caring but irresponsible young man, and got pregnant and married at 17.
The book is told from various perspectives. Each chapter is named for one or two of Hattie's children (except the last, Sala, who is her granddaughter). They show pieces of the lives of the Shepard family, and of the children as individuals. From the stories, I cannot tell the exact order of Hattie's children, but I have a pretty good guess. The stories are all in chronological order, but the children's ages vary in their individual stories. Here's a brief summary of what I know of each kid's life:
-Philadelphia and Jubilee: Hattie's first children; twins, a boy and a girl. They died in infancy; Hattie was too young and poor and scared to save them. Their deaths traumatized her, and made her fierce in the fight to keep the others alive...so much so that she forgot to show them kindness.
-Floyd: Oldest after the twins, I think. He is a trumpet player. He travels around and has many sexual encounters with women and men, though he realizes that he is gay. It being the 1940s, there's probably not much of a chance that he could live out his fantasy of having a steady male companion. He continues to live at home, when he's not traveling, for some years into his adulthood.
-Cassie: Next oldest, I think. She was grooming for Prom when Six was scalded. She suffers from schizophrenia in her adulthood; her story describes the voices she hears. Her parents have her committed.
-Bell: A pretty girl. She finds out about her mother's affair with Lawrence a year before Hattie takes Ruthie and briefly runs off with him. She later has an affair with Lawrence, to spite her cold mother. When Hattie finds out, they don't talk for years. Bell sleeps around, gets TB, and nearly lets herself die alone. It's her mother who saves her.
-Six: Six was burned by scalding water when he was a child. He became a soltitary, weak, angry boy. He takes his anger out on a weaker boy, Avery, beating him nearly to death when he'd been insulted. This results in Six accompanying the reverend on a southern baptist revival tour. Six is not a believer but he has a gift for preaching. He pursues this as a career, using his "healing powers" to take advantage of women.
-Alice: Closest to Billups, the only witness to his sexual abuse by a man who tutored them as children. This seems to have scarred her worse than Billy himself; she is married to a rich man, insecure in her position, and obsessed with keeping her brother dependent on her.
-Billups: AKA Billy. He wants to put the past behind him and stand alone as a man.
-Ruthie: Lawrence's child. Hattie went back to August when she realized that Lawrence, a gambler, was wven more unreliable than her husband.
-Franklin: I think Franklin is slightly younger than Ruthie...I was not clear on this. He once received a sound thrashing from Hattie for leaving the bathroom window open, letting in ran and warping the floor. He grew up to be a gambler himself...perhaps he is Lawrence's child as well. His wife Sissy left him because if this, and his drinking. His time in Vietnam only helped him to continue his drinking habit. He has a daughter named Lucille.
-Ella: The arrival of Ella forced Hattie to apply for welfare. Her wealthy and childless sister (her situation reminds me of Alice, though Alice's childlessness is a choice) adopts Ella and takes her to Georgia.
-Sala: Cassie's daughter who is angry and confused about her mother's mental illness and absence. Hattie attempts to give her the affection that she couldn't give her nine sieving children.
Hattie always struggles to do her best, and she has everything against her. This story could have been just as good if it were written in a more "conventional" style, but I think the pieces that each story gives tells the story of this family's struggles well enough. Oprah may be full of shit a lot of the time, but she knew what she was doing when she endorsed this book. I concur.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Book #88: The Crimes of Charlotte Brontë
Book #88: The Crimes of Charlotte Brontë by James Tully
May 28, 2014
This book was a disappointment for me. I did what I said I wouldn't do again: went to the library without a plan. But the premise of this book seemed interesting. See, unlike the Brontë fans who have expressed their hatred of this book, I'm not offended by the idea of Charlotte Brontë poisoning her own sister, or any if the other sinister crimes discussed in the book (like Branwell fucking a young boy...I was shocked that both narrators seemed to pity him even after this part of the story)...no, I was more disappointed at the writing style. I don't get it: is Tully trying to convince us that he's presenting facts, or is it just a story? Either way, he went about it all wrong.
If it's supposed to be true, why the fictional narratives? Martha Brown was indeed the Sexton's daughter, and did work and live at the Parsonage as a servant to the Brontë family. She also went to stay with Arthur Nicholls and his wife in Ireland, so it's not a stretch to think that the two were secretly lovers. But this whole "deposition" that she wrote (her half of the narrative) is fictional. So there wasn't a notebook written by Anne Brontë, either...the strongest points in the story are false, and frankly the author doesn't weave the fiction very well with the fact.
The other half of the narrative are the commentaries of Charles Coutts, a lawyer who finds Brown's deposition in his grandfather's old office or something. He's 100% fiction...why? He's essentially just sharing the author's own commentary. For a man who describes himself as never having had any interest in the Brontës (is it realistic that an educated person in the UK would never have read Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights?), he sure delves right in, apparently consumed by this mystery. Weird.
So, if the book is supposed to be sharing the author's true, fact-based theories on the Brontës, why would it be written as a novel. And if the speculations are purely fiction (as I suspect), why did this novel have to be so boring? For being about murder and passion and jealousy, it sure was a snooze. Coutts reiterates much of what Brown describes, making the story drag. I could have appreciated the speculations if the story had been well-written. Keep Martha's perspective, keep her as Nicholls's lover and enabler, but get rid of Coutts, get rid of the deposition, and SHOW us the damn story. The baffling style that it's written in did not pull me into the story, but rather invited my skepticism. It just needed to be an entertaining story, and it really wasn't.
One idea that nagged at me was the frequently expressed idea that the Brontës's deaths were suspicious at all. They were a sickly sort, and this was the mid 1800's in rural England. People died all the time of weird shit...and the idea that Emily Brontë was pregnant when she died, and Charlotte wasn't, is a strange claim because somebody would have noticed this, even if the doctors of Haworth were (conveniently for the author) idiots...this only according to the fictional narratives, of course. Suffice it to say, I was not impressed with this book. Again, I'm no Brontë fanatic. I liked Wuthering Heights, and I read Charlotte Brontë's most famous work several years ago, but that's all. No, I found the book boring, and I rolled my eyes many times as I read it.
May 28, 2014
This book was a disappointment for me. I did what I said I wouldn't do again: went to the library without a plan. But the premise of this book seemed interesting. See, unlike the Brontë fans who have expressed their hatred of this book, I'm not offended by the idea of Charlotte Brontë poisoning her own sister, or any if the other sinister crimes discussed in the book (like Branwell fucking a young boy...I was shocked that both narrators seemed to pity him even after this part of the story)...no, I was more disappointed at the writing style. I don't get it: is Tully trying to convince us that he's presenting facts, or is it just a story? Either way, he went about it all wrong.
If it's supposed to be true, why the fictional narratives? Martha Brown was indeed the Sexton's daughter, and did work and live at the Parsonage as a servant to the Brontë family. She also went to stay with Arthur Nicholls and his wife in Ireland, so it's not a stretch to think that the two were secretly lovers. But this whole "deposition" that she wrote (her half of the narrative) is fictional. So there wasn't a notebook written by Anne Brontë, either...the strongest points in the story are false, and frankly the author doesn't weave the fiction very well with the fact.
The other half of the narrative are the commentaries of Charles Coutts, a lawyer who finds Brown's deposition in his grandfather's old office or something. He's 100% fiction...why? He's essentially just sharing the author's own commentary. For a man who describes himself as never having had any interest in the Brontës (is it realistic that an educated person in the UK would never have read Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights?), he sure delves right in, apparently consumed by this mystery. Weird.
So, if the book is supposed to be sharing the author's true, fact-based theories on the Brontës, why would it be written as a novel. And if the speculations are purely fiction (as I suspect), why did this novel have to be so boring? For being about murder and passion and jealousy, it sure was a snooze. Coutts reiterates much of what Brown describes, making the story drag. I could have appreciated the speculations if the story had been well-written. Keep Martha's perspective, keep her as Nicholls's lover and enabler, but get rid of Coutts, get rid of the deposition, and SHOW us the damn story. The baffling style that it's written in did not pull me into the story, but rather invited my skepticism. It just needed to be an entertaining story, and it really wasn't.
One idea that nagged at me was the frequently expressed idea that the Brontës's deaths were suspicious at all. They were a sickly sort, and this was the mid 1800's in rural England. People died all the time of weird shit...and the idea that Emily Brontë was pregnant when she died, and Charlotte wasn't, is a strange claim because somebody would have noticed this, even if the doctors of Haworth were (conveniently for the author) idiots...this only according to the fictional narratives, of course. Suffice it to say, I was not impressed with this book. Again, I'm no Brontë fanatic. I liked Wuthering Heights, and I read Charlotte Brontë's most famous work several years ago, but that's all. No, I found the book boring, and I rolled my eyes many times as I read it.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Book #87: Sense and Sensibility
Book #87: Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
May 11, 2014
This was Austen's first published novel, and I must say, my favorite of the four I've read. It seemed to be even more satirical than any of the others; every character, except perhaps the protagonist Elinor, is more or less ridiculous. At times, I wondered how Elinor, a sensible young woman in most ways, could go on living without tearing her hair out. She was usually able to be so calm in the face of her brother's incessant greed, Mrs. Jennings' loud-mouthed cluelessness, and several "gentlemen" who were all full of shit. Not knowing much about Jane Austen's personal life (maybe I should read a biography, or at least watch that Anne Hathaway movie), I imagine that Elinor is more or less herself in fictional form. Elinor isn't perfect, but she's the only character in the novel who consistently exemplifies the virtues that Austen values, like being discreet and strong in your emotions, being careful in social situations, and being rational (most of the time). In fact, I'd say she's the only Austen protagonist who does this. Elizabeth Bennett, beloved by so many, is awkward and outspoken in social situations; Anne Elliot was too easily influenced by others; and Emma Woodhouse could be a younger version of Mrs. Jennings, a character who is a source of amusement (and annoyance for the Dashwood sisters). However, Mrs. Jennings isn't all bad; she and her daughter Mrs. Palmer seemed to be pleasant people, though Elinor and Marianne judged them as being too forcibly merry, and too gossipy. In any case, the entertaining characters, and the fact that all too often Elinor is the reasonable party in just about any situation, is what made this book so enjoyable for me.
I wasn't so much drawn into the events driving the plot, though I was interested in the outcome for the Dashwoods. Here again, Austen revolves the story around romances and misunderstandings, hurt feelings, engagements made or sort of made or not really made, and broken, and all kinds of emotional entanglements becoming untangled by the end, resulting in marriage for the two Dashwood sisters. I wasn't drawn into any of the romances. I knew Willoughby was going to be a dick from the start; like other bad guys in other Austen novels, he was too fun and too well liked by the characters at the start to not be bad news. He was attracted to Marianne, Elinor's emotional sister. She was the type to read poetry and play music, and when things publicly went wrong between her and Willoughby, she delved into her pain, almost with a relish, it would seem. Elinor, in contrast, had also been disappointed in love. Her haughty sister-in-law's brother, Edward, had had a "thing" with her before she and her widowed mother and sisters moved to Devonshire, to live on the Barton estate of her mother's cousin, the sociable Sir John and his wife Lady Middleton, who was only interested in keeping up a good public appearance and in spoiling her children.
What I loved most about this novel were the scenes making fun of the doting of these pampered brats. Austen was probably expressing an annoyance with times that she'd found herself with other women, all of whom were cooing over some snot-nosed brat, and she wasn't at all interested. Both Elinor and Marianne could care less about other people's children, though tactless Marianne was the more refreshingly open about it. It's so funny how things haven't changed in 200 years. Opportunities for women have expanded far and beyond anything that women in Austen's time could have ever dreamed of, and yet the talk at any party between women wouldn't be any different today. Yawn.
Anyway, Elinor finds out that Edward is attached to a detestable young woman named Lucy Steele. It's revealed by the end of the book that sheltered Edward had basically become engaged to Lucy because he didn't know any other women, which I guess makes sense. What isn't accounted for is his behavior in London toward either of the women. He was a pussy, at first, when it came to standing up to his mother. It's funny how the young women were at the mercy of men to marry them, but the men in turn were at the mercy of their wealthy, widowed, overbearing mothers. I suppose that there are men today who would have to answer to their mothers, and so creep around for that same reason. But I felt like Elinor forgave Edward too easily. Also, though Marianne's marriage to Colonel Brandon (a character who was seen too little of in the book) was hinted at from the beginning, it was too quickly tied together in the end. It was kind of like, well, he's a nice guy, and he conveniently lives right near my married sister, so what the hell? What the hell, indeed.
I think that Sense and Sensibility is every bit as good as Austen's best-known work, Pride and Prejudice, but it lacks the strength of a good romance. Colonel Brandon was like a softer, cuddlier Mr. Darcy, and who has time for that? I felt like there was something to John Dashwood's idea of Elinor marrying Colonel Brandon; that's definitely how it should have worked out, even if Mr. Dashwood's reasons for it were all to do with Colonel Brandon's fortune. The characters were happy in the end, I guess; even the most detestable of them did not suffer terrible fates, which I guess is disgustingly realistic, since I wanted Lucy Steele and Willoughby to both suffer worse than they did. In the end, I felt that Elinor was too forgiving of everybody but herself. But she got her man, and in Austen's time, that was the ultimate happy ending. Whatever.
May 11, 2014
This was Austen's first published novel, and I must say, my favorite of the four I've read. It seemed to be even more satirical than any of the others; every character, except perhaps the protagonist Elinor, is more or less ridiculous. At times, I wondered how Elinor, a sensible young woman in most ways, could go on living without tearing her hair out. She was usually able to be so calm in the face of her brother's incessant greed, Mrs. Jennings' loud-mouthed cluelessness, and several "gentlemen" who were all full of shit. Not knowing much about Jane Austen's personal life (maybe I should read a biography, or at least watch that Anne Hathaway movie), I imagine that Elinor is more or less herself in fictional form. Elinor isn't perfect, but she's the only character in the novel who consistently exemplifies the virtues that Austen values, like being discreet and strong in your emotions, being careful in social situations, and being rational (most of the time). In fact, I'd say she's the only Austen protagonist who does this. Elizabeth Bennett, beloved by so many, is awkward and outspoken in social situations; Anne Elliot was too easily influenced by others; and Emma Woodhouse could be a younger version of Mrs. Jennings, a character who is a source of amusement (and annoyance for the Dashwood sisters). However, Mrs. Jennings isn't all bad; she and her daughter Mrs. Palmer seemed to be pleasant people, though Elinor and Marianne judged them as being too forcibly merry, and too gossipy. In any case, the entertaining characters, and the fact that all too often Elinor is the reasonable party in just about any situation, is what made this book so enjoyable for me.
I wasn't so much drawn into the events driving the plot, though I was interested in the outcome for the Dashwoods. Here again, Austen revolves the story around romances and misunderstandings, hurt feelings, engagements made or sort of made or not really made, and broken, and all kinds of emotional entanglements becoming untangled by the end, resulting in marriage for the two Dashwood sisters. I wasn't drawn into any of the romances. I knew Willoughby was going to be a dick from the start; like other bad guys in other Austen novels, he was too fun and too well liked by the characters at the start to not be bad news. He was attracted to Marianne, Elinor's emotional sister. She was the type to read poetry and play music, and when things publicly went wrong between her and Willoughby, she delved into her pain, almost with a relish, it would seem. Elinor, in contrast, had also been disappointed in love. Her haughty sister-in-law's brother, Edward, had had a "thing" with her before she and her widowed mother and sisters moved to Devonshire, to live on the Barton estate of her mother's cousin, the sociable Sir John and his wife Lady Middleton, who was only interested in keeping up a good public appearance and in spoiling her children.
What I loved most about this novel were the scenes making fun of the doting of these pampered brats. Austen was probably expressing an annoyance with times that she'd found herself with other women, all of whom were cooing over some snot-nosed brat, and she wasn't at all interested. Both Elinor and Marianne could care less about other people's children, though tactless Marianne was the more refreshingly open about it. It's so funny how things haven't changed in 200 years. Opportunities for women have expanded far and beyond anything that women in Austen's time could have ever dreamed of, and yet the talk at any party between women wouldn't be any different today. Yawn.
Anyway, Elinor finds out that Edward is attached to a detestable young woman named Lucy Steele. It's revealed by the end of the book that sheltered Edward had basically become engaged to Lucy because he didn't know any other women, which I guess makes sense. What isn't accounted for is his behavior in London toward either of the women. He was a pussy, at first, when it came to standing up to his mother. It's funny how the young women were at the mercy of men to marry them, but the men in turn were at the mercy of their wealthy, widowed, overbearing mothers. I suppose that there are men today who would have to answer to their mothers, and so creep around for that same reason. But I felt like Elinor forgave Edward too easily. Also, though Marianne's marriage to Colonel Brandon (a character who was seen too little of in the book) was hinted at from the beginning, it was too quickly tied together in the end. It was kind of like, well, he's a nice guy, and he conveniently lives right near my married sister, so what the hell? What the hell, indeed.
I think that Sense and Sensibility is every bit as good as Austen's best-known work, Pride and Prejudice, but it lacks the strength of a good romance. Colonel Brandon was like a softer, cuddlier Mr. Darcy, and who has time for that? I felt like there was something to John Dashwood's idea of Elinor marrying Colonel Brandon; that's definitely how it should have worked out, even if Mr. Dashwood's reasons for it were all to do with Colonel Brandon's fortune. The characters were happy in the end, I guess; even the most detestable of them did not suffer terrible fates, which I guess is disgustingly realistic, since I wanted Lucy Steele and Willoughby to both suffer worse than they did. In the end, I felt that Elinor was too forgiving of everybody but herself. But she got her man, and in Austen's time, that was the ultimate happy ending. Whatever.
Friday, May 2, 2014
Book #86: The Night Circus
Book #86: The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern
May 2, 2014
It's been a rough week for me. On the work front, things were just plain crazy there. I'm very glad it's Friday night, and I have the weekend ahead of me to mellow out. But I also have my graduate coursework to attend to, the bulk of that being my comps. But in two months, I'll be done with grad school. It's all good; even though it was a rough week, it's nothing I can't handle. I just haven't had much time to read.
The Night Circus was charming, but I'm bothered by some things. The biggest issue, I guess, is that the nature of Celia and Marco's challenge (the fact that one of them had to die in order for it to end) was supposed to be some huge secret through much of the book, but it was actually kind of predictable. I think Morgenstern should have put all the cards on the table from the start. I think having it be out in the open would have balanced out the tension in this book. It was both dark and whimsical, but not really in a way that worked for me.
I didn't feel much connection with the main characters. Though this book is nearly 400 pages on the Kindle edition that I read, it jumped around in perspective so much that I hardly connected with anyone, except maybe the Murray twins and Bailey, the outsider who ultimately saves the circus. Maybe the book would have worked better if Morgenstern had gone in completely the opposite direction, and had told it from the perspective of the seer twins, Poppet and Widget. They could have pieced together the truth behind the workings of the circus, while taking the reader through all of the fabulous tents.
In spite of what I believe to be the faults of the story, the circus at the heart of it is fun to imagine. I love the brief second-person sections, and I imagined myself as a rêveur dressed in black with a red scarf. Had the book consisted only of descriptions of the circus, with Bailey's story included with some details tweaked, it would have been a perfect, delightful read.
May 2, 2014
It's been a rough week for me. On the work front, things were just plain crazy there. I'm very glad it's Friday night, and I have the weekend ahead of me to mellow out. But I also have my graduate coursework to attend to, the bulk of that being my comps. But in two months, I'll be done with grad school. It's all good; even though it was a rough week, it's nothing I can't handle. I just haven't had much time to read.
The Night Circus was charming, but I'm bothered by some things. The biggest issue, I guess, is that the nature of Celia and Marco's challenge (the fact that one of them had to die in order for it to end) was supposed to be some huge secret through much of the book, but it was actually kind of predictable. I think Morgenstern should have put all the cards on the table from the start. I think having it be out in the open would have balanced out the tension in this book. It was both dark and whimsical, but not really in a way that worked for me.
I didn't feel much connection with the main characters. Though this book is nearly 400 pages on the Kindle edition that I read, it jumped around in perspective so much that I hardly connected with anyone, except maybe the Murray twins and Bailey, the outsider who ultimately saves the circus. Maybe the book would have worked better if Morgenstern had gone in completely the opposite direction, and had told it from the perspective of the seer twins, Poppet and Widget. They could have pieced together the truth behind the workings of the circus, while taking the reader through all of the fabulous tents.
In spite of what I believe to be the faults of the story, the circus at the heart of it is fun to imagine. I love the brief second-person sections, and I imagined myself as a rêveur dressed in black with a red scarf. Had the book consisted only of descriptions of the circus, with Bailey's story included with some details tweaked, it would have been a perfect, delightful read.
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