Oddities

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It’s been a little while since I finished a book, after quite a run of reviews and whatnot, so I’m going to have to satisfy myself (and, I’m afraid, my readers) with little puzzles instead.

Here’s a tricky one. Can you get from Bertrand Russell to DH Lawrence in three steps? Fill in the gaps… and explain why. What japes.

B[ertrand Russell]
E
K
D[H Lawrence]

Oh, and all advent head over to www.dovegreyreader.typepad.com for lots and lots of book giveaways, 21 copies of The Reader in the latest draw!

Victors to their spoils

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Congratulations… Jane Eyre!
To be honest, I had a suspicion that the vote would swing that way. Jane Eyre received 23 votes, Wuthering Heights only 10, with a couple abstentions. This time my vote isn’t the deciding one, as it was to put Dickens over Hardy, but I still can’t come to a quick decision…

I suppose I should have phrased it differently. If I was asked which novel I favoured, it would be Jane Eyre. If I had to choose which novel I thought was better, it is unquestionably Wuthering Heights. In terms of writing ability, especially the way in which passion is presented, I think WH is one of the best novels I’ve ever read. But I hated it. Or, rather, I hated Heathcliff so much that I was unable to enjoy the novel – the book is filled with hatred and the powerful, passionate force it can have.

JE on the other hand… I confess I don’t know why it’s so popular. Good, yes, but… I couldn’t see anything more than good. Mr. Rochester is a man who (erm, spoiler ahead, for those who don’t know) tries to lie to marry illegally, keeps a wife imprisoned in the attic, dresses up as a gypsy to fool Jane… but at least he doesn’t go around hanging dogs. I know these novels have merits far and above their romantic aspects, but they are still renowned for those – will someone please explain to me what is remotely appealing about Heathcliff or Mr. Rochester?! Perhaps I’m destined not to understand…

I’m going to vote for secret option no.3 – Agnes Grey. If I’m forced to choose one of the other novels, I’ll pick Wuthering Heights – out of admiration rather than adoration.

Seasonal

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Here’s an odd question… is there a month or time of year in which you read more books than the rest of the year? And what reasons are there for that, if it’s true?

Looking back over the year, I’ve compiled this little league table of the number of books read per month…

17 – November
15 – July
14 – January
13 – August
13 – October
12 – March
11- April
11 – September
10 – February
10 – May
8 – June

Hmm… of course, book length comes into play – but I don’t think any month has been taken up with excessively long or excessively short books. And I have no explanation why I read twice as much in November as I did in June, so nothing interesting to add… except that May was my time of Reader’s Block, which accounts for it being near the bottom. Hmm… I’d be intrigued to hear if anyone has anything more valuable to contribute to this little question!

I’m in love.

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Yes, I’m in love. With a DVD. With, to be precise, Lost in Austen. I know, I know, I went on and on about how good this programme is back here, but that was when I’d only seen one episode… The Carbon Copy bought me the DVD for my birthday, I’ve watched it all again, and am having to be very stern with myself to restrain from watching it all over again straight away.


What’s not to love? Amanda Price, Pride and Prejudice addict, accidentally swaps places with Elizabeth Bennett. She has to try to keep the novel on course, coping with the differences caused by her presence, Lizzie’s absence, and some rather unexpected undercurrents to Jane Austen’s novel… and at the same time, of course, gets rather smitten with Mr. Darcy. It’s messing with Austen so I should hate it. But obviously I don’t. My utter delight in this TV series has dislodged prose-writing ability from my brain, and so I’ll give you some bullet points as to why Lost in Austen ought to be bought by you IMMEDIATELY. If it’s not available in the US and elsewhere, start a petition today.

It’s Jane Austen – which is an exceptionally good starting pointWith 21st Century life – so no forgetting-to-entertain-the-audience-because-we’re-fastening-our-bonnetsAnd Jemima Rooper – the lass playing Amanda Price is quite astonishingly likable, and not just because she was in the Famous FiveShe’s also a very funny actressA Real Person (just like you and me) gets to go to Longbourn. And Rosings. And Pemberley. It could happen to us…I would just say ‘Downtown’, but the clip wasn’t on the DVD, for copyright reasons… thankfully YouTube has it, so click here.There are so many treats for Austen fans. Look out for Amanda quoting Emma, and probably lots of others, and…… yes, there is *that* lake scene. The women reading will be wondering, I’m sure… and Amanda uses the word ‘postmodern’ to describe it, so you can all feel worthy and intellectual while pressing ‘rewind’ and ‘pause’ a lot.
Hugh Bonneville as Mr. Bennett. And his wonderful lines: “I must beg to be excused. Large gatherings of society make me break out in hives. As do small gatherings.”; “Mrs. Bennett and Lydia are currently in society. Society has enough to be getting on with.” And so many more.The best insult ever: “Damn you, Darcy, and damn every man who doesn’t stay up all night with a candle in his window daming you!”What happens if Mr. Bingley gets a crush on Amanda, instead of Jane? Think about it… think about it… who comes to visit and is put off marrying Jane because her mother suspects she will soon be, as it were, otherwise engaged?And wait ’til you hear Caroline Bingley’s secretThe adorable Perdita Weeks as Lydia – sister of equally adorable Honeysuckle Weeks. Yes, those are their real names.A genuinely moving romance. Should Darcy end up with Lizzie (as we’ve all been brought up to want) or new girl Amanda (whom we also now adore)? I lost sleep over this one.
The DVD has an excellent ‘Making of…’ feature, a whole hour of interesting interviews and soundbites from actors, producers, designers, cameramen, makeup artists… no writer interview, oddly… my favourite being the man painting the fence: “I don’t even know who’s in it. One of the other lads might be able to tell you that.”Oh, it’s all just delicious, silly, wonderful, delightful, intelligent fun – a hundred times better if you, like Amanda, like me, adore Jane Austen and Pride and Prejudice. So perfect I want to have it on loop for the rest of the month, pausing only to watch Pride and Prejudice itself.

Miss Buncle’s Book

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One of the books I got for my birthday was a new Persephone – Miss Buncle’s Book by D. E. Stevenson. My lovely friend Lucy, who knows more about modern fiction than anyone else I know, gave it to me – so thank you Lucy! D. E. Stevenson is one of those authors whose name has been at the back of my mind, and on my shelves, for years – but never made it to actual reading. I have two or three already, but have been on the lookout for Miss Buncle’s Book for quite a while, as it is reportedly Stevenson’s best. The folks at Persephone Books obviously agree, and have made this hard-to-find title a lot easier to find. The premise is difficult to dislike – Barbara Buncle, a quiet, amiable lady in a quiet, amiable village decides to write a novel, and features all her neighbours in it under thinly disguised names. Luckily for her all the villagers seem to have surnames which are adjectives or nouns (Bold, King, Pretty) or with obvious associations (Fortnum/Mason; Dick/Turpin) and this all adds to the fun. The village all read the novel, and are scandalised at the accurate (and thus not always flattering) depiction of themselves – and are determined to root out the identity of ‘John Smith’, the alias Miss Buncle chose for herself.

A rather wonderful idea for a novel, which somehow doesn’t get too complicated, Miss Buncle’s Book would have been even better in the hands of Angela Thirkell, and a literary classic if E. M. Delafield had penned it. As it is, D. E. Stevenson’s writing isn’t quite as good as her ideas – a lot of cliches and unoriginal turns of phrase which prevent the novel from being in a higher league. Don’t misunderstand me, this is better than a lot of writing out there, but Persephone so often publish those whose writing is exceptional (perhaps my recent immersing in Katherine Mansfield has spoilt me for lesser writers, which is most of ’em) that I didn’t expect to have to be on cliche-watch.

Having said all that, Miss Buncle’s Book is still a delight. The characters are fun and the situation very amusing. She handles it all with liveliness and a healthy dollop of whimsy, and I would certainly recommend the novel wholeheartedly – it just doesn’t quite become the classic it could have been.

Putting bread and butter on the table

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You know that, even when you have hundreds of unread books, not a lot of spare cash, and no spare reading time – sometimes, even with these limitations, a book will make you buy it? Impossible-to-resist, head-straight-to-Amazon-to-buy sort of book? Well, my e-friend Lyn (from dovegreybooks Yahoo group, a source of many such books) mentioned one the other day, and, mere days later, it is in front of me.

It’s The Bread and Butter Stories by Mary Norton. For those who recognise the name but can’t think where, it’s probably because she is the author of The Borrowers, a back I’m shamefully never read, but indeed to do so soon. We grew up loving the TV series. I’ll tell you what Lyn wrote about it, not sure where it’s quoted from, perhaps the Virago website…

Reminiscent of Elizabeth von Arnim and Elizabeth Taylor, these 15 recently discovered short stories by the author of The Borrowers are wonderful period pieces about being an upper-middle class woman in the 1940s and early 50s. Many are reminiscent of Brief Encounter with their longings for adventure or romance to break the stifling constraints on their lives. Here are respectable conventional women settled into dull marriages finding themselves entertaining the notion of an affair while on holiday; a dowdy woman who suddenly decides to have her face done and take the £1.00 post-office savings and blow it on a fine hat. Then there are funny, satirical pieces: useful knowledge like how to cure cold feet at bedtime, a sideways look at acting for a television drama and a very entertaining and fascinating piece on writing for children which includes dialogue with an editor who wants short words and happy stories. Written with a wry and gentle humour, the collection makes for fascinating reading.

Doesn’t it sound wonderful? I’ve yet to read them, but it will only be a matter of time… Lyn did only mention the book four days ago, after all. I have read the Introduction by Mary Norton’s daughter – apparently Mary Norton called these stories ‘bread and butter stories’ because they put bread and butter on the table – written for magazines, but not published together until the 1990s when found in the attic… I’ll report back when I’m done, but I’m willing to bet at least one person will already be scrambling to Amazon or abebooks to get their hands on a copy!

Friend or…

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Wow! Unanimous for ‘music’ – I thought the results would be a little more even… and, in fact, I’m going to put in the lone vote for ‘art’. I counted doing-it-myself, and pictures on the covers of books, etc. etc. – I couldn’t cope without it, whereas music has always been an enjoyable peripheral to my life. But I feel a little culturally out of my depth now that I know what aficiandoes you all are! Art 1: Music 20.

Without any attempt at a link here, I’m going to mention a book I read the other day for my course – Foe by J. M. Coetzee. I’d always avoided him, mostly because I got him mixed up with another author, whose name I can’t now remember… somehow these prejudices stick, even when they are proved irrational, and I’d never picked up one of his books. After Foe, I think I might change my mind.

Foe is a novel related to Robinson Crusoe – which I haven’t read, so I daresay I missed hundreds of nuances, but I know *enough* not to miss them all – not really a retelling or a new perspective, but an exercise in the idea of storytelling, narration, truth… The lead character is Susan Barton, washed up on Crusoe’s island after having been victim to a ship’s mutiny. The Cruso (note the missing ‘e’) and Friday she encounters are subtly different to Defoe’s, and sometimes not so subtly different (Friday’s race is changed; Cruso seems to have no real knowledge of his background and continually gives different versions of it). But the most interesting part comes when Susan is back in England, meeting the author Foe – or (De)Foe if you will – who is turning her story into a novel. But here the tussle for control over the narrative begins – and becomes increasingly complex as Susan’s long-lost daughter arrives, though Susan is adamant that she is not her daughter – has Foe invented her? What power does he have over their lives?

As a venture into the stormy waters of postmodernism, this is happily an utterly accessible and enjoyable novel (the overlap of experimentation and readability is sometimes narrow in this field, isn’t it?) – Foe raises all sorts of fascinating questions, but also lets you nod at these with interest and still read a rather good novel. Oh, and it’s short – always a tick in the ‘pro’ column for me!

With the Woolfs

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Glad you all took a trip down memory lane with me – I’m sorely tempted to buy the DVD of The Herbs… but probably shouldn’t.

That book I was going to talk about… A Boy at the Hogarth Press by Richard Kennedy, which my friend Barbara gave to me, and which (I hear) is being republished by Slightly Foxed. I’ve had my eye on this for a while, but somehow hadn’t got around to buying it when Barbara sent me a copy, and so I was rather delighted. The list of Woolf-related books I’ve read isn’t small, and it is growing – I like to dip back into Bloomsbury waters every now and then, especially the books which are first-hand, but from the peripherals. The most recent addition to 50 Books You Must Read But May Not Have Heard About was one of these – and while Kennedy’s isn’t *as* good, it’s still rather wonderful.

Richard Kennedy was just what the title suggests – a boy at the Hogarth Press, the small publishing venture started by Leonard and Virginia Woolf. Kennedy did the day-to-day tasks, but was also occasionally asked his opinion about the books people sent in – winning something of a victory when he (with the help of his uncle) called Ivy Compton-Burnett a genius, while Leonard Woolf dismissed her as being unable to write. His book was written about forty years after his time there, but is still in the form of a diary, which leads to a rather odd mix of naivety and disingenuosness – but an uncomplicated eye amongst the complicated which is difficult to resist. All new angles of Virginia are welcome to me, but perhaps especially one who wasn’t all that afraid of her, and judged her by such standards as it being ‘bad form to laugh at your employees’. Love Virginia Woolf though I do, sometimes contemporary accounts of her can be a little nauseating. How much more precise is: ‘I think she is rather cruel in spite of the kind, rather dreamy way she looks at you.’

Richard Kennedy would never rival his employers in terms of writing – the boyish charm is needed to carry a patchwork of recollections, tied together by similarly boyish sketches – but A Boy at the Hogarth Press is a refreshing and amusing addition to the canon of Bloomsbury onlookers.