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.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
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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