Sense and Cinematography


I saw The Jane Austen Book Club at the cinema tonight, and thought I’d use its various links to literature to excuse a rather more pop-cultural reference than usual… I read Karen Joy Fowler’s novel, from which the film was adapted, over the summer – must confess, not very impressed. Lots of unnecessary sex and not enough literary comment. My preference probably puts me in the minority, but with ‘Jane Austen’ in the title, I hope I’m not alone… Anyway, it was fun to read the novel and spot comparisons and parallels with JA’s oeuvre, but that was about where the enjoyment ended, give or take a few quite emotional scenes. Essentially six people meet up to discuss the six JA novels, one chosen by each of them, and the resultant book group is a backdrop for their relationship goings-on – divorcee, lesbian, teacher-with-crush-on-student, woman with Wife of Bath tendencies, dog-loving singleton and convenient token male. With SciFi obsession, like all guys, obviously.

The film hadn’t removed any of these elements, but I am more forgiving of modern films than I am modern novels – largely, I imagine, because I’ve seen hardly any older films. Somehow what seemed rather fatuous and saccharine in prose became sweet and passingly profound on the silver screen. It was refreshing that they anticipated their viewers had read at least some Jane Austen – reminds me of a different experience sitting in the cinema while watching the 2005 Pride and Prejudice; the number of people who laughed uproariously at certain bits suggested they hadn’t encountered them in prose beforehand. Literary snobbishness over… for a moment or two, anyway. Where was I? Oh yes – the film laboured the parallels between novels and book group members even more than the novel did, but that was quite entertaining. What really made the film work was the cast – especially the brilliant Emily Blunt as Prudie, the teacher-with-a-crush. Her marriage was falling apart; she joined a book group to avoid thinking about her thoughtless husband, and cannot countenance other members being trivial or unacademic. Oh, and she speaks in French quite a bit – despite having a potentially irritating character, Blunt makes Prudie loveable and endearing. I didn’t know the rest of the cast before (except Lynn Redgrave, who makes a fleeting and funny appearance as Prudie’s hippy mother) but they are a great ensemble.

Worth a watch, if only because IMDB imaginatively lists the Plot Keywords as ‘Book Club / German Shepherd’…

Big Read


Does anyone remember the BBC’s Big Read? It was in 2003, and is sadly also the last bookish programme they’ve shown on terrestrial, so far as I’m aware. I’ve just about got used to the fact that popular television will be far, far removed from literary matters – mostly being devoted to reality shows or cheap drama or sport. I like the odd bits of the first two of these, but the humdrum of terrestrial television became unfathomably lightened up by The Big Read. A lot of people have scoffed at it, or thought the Beeb were dumbing down in their presentation of great literature – nothing is more likely, but it is so rare for books to make primetime that I took everything else as a bonus. For people who missed it, or live in a country which doesn’t show BBC, I’ll give you an intro. Incidentally, though, the US channel which has the word ‘BBC’ in it – BBC UK or something, maybe? – is so much better than our version! You get the classic sitcoms and so forth that they haven’t shown here for decades, or are used when snooker matches don’t last as long as anticipated. Tshaw. Grumble over. The Big Read asked people across the country to nominate their favourite fictional book ever (favourite, mind, rather than the one they believed to be the best – a huge difference. My family are my favourite people, but I am not so blind as to suggest they are the best people. Sorry folks!) A list of 100 was compiled, and revealed, with the top 21 given only in alphabetical order. The ensuing seven weeks saw programmes devoted to three of these books at a time, and an eventual final, which saw Lord of the Rings being voted the best book ever. Ahem. Well, if the word ‘convention’ is not congruous with a book, then the fans are likely to be the type to ‘phone in… ooo, catty! I loved the programme from beginning to end, even when Pride and Prejudice was advertised as being “all about sex!” – all? Really? – and got my first taste of literary e-conversation in the Big Read Forum. The eventual list was a pleasing combination of classics and potential discoveries, and not overrun with modern things which would be forgotten by 2004, thank goodness. The whole list can be found here, but I’m going to offer a rather more subjective view… of the top 100, here are the ones I’ve read, in the order that I like them. Like, not evaluate, you understand. Though the same one comes bottom on both, believe me. A lot of nostalgia on this list… You can thus work out which ones I’ve not read, and gasp at the order in which I put them…
-Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
-Emma (Jane Austen)
-Winnie the Pooh (AA Milne)
-Rebecca (Daphne du Maurier)
-I Capture the Castle (Dodie Smith)
-The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (CS Lewis)
-Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll)
-Cold Comfort Farm (Stella Gibbons)
-1984 (George Orwell)
-Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
-Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
-The Wind in the Willows (Kenneth Grahame)
-The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (JK Rowling)
-Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (JK Rowling)
-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (JK Rowling)
-Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (JK Rowling)
-Little Women (Louisa M. Alcott)
-David Copperfield (Charles Dickens)
-Persuasion (Jane Austen)
-Tess of the D’Urbervilles (Thomas Hardy)
-Animal Farm (George Orwell)
-Goodnight Mister Tom (Michelle Magorian)
-The Magic Faraway Tree (Enid Blyton)
-Double Act (Jacqueline Wilson)
-The Great Gatsby (F Scott Fitzgerald)
-The Story of Tracy Beaker (Jacqueline Wilson)
-Of Mice and Men (John Steinbeck)
-Matilda (Roald Dahl)
-Bridget Jones’s Diary (Helen Fielding)
-Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Roald Dahl)
-The Catcher in the Rye (JD Salinger)
-The BFG (Roald Dahl)
-Ulysses (James Joyce)
-Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (Louis de Bernieres)

Grammar Police

Inspiration is dry tonight, so shall try to show you a cartoon Mel drew for me a while ago. My natural inclination for accuracy, and generous willingness to bestow such accuracy on others (which said ‘others’ have been known to label pedantry) led to the joking initiation of the Grammar Police. With appropriate disciplinary action. Click on the picture to enlarge it – in case that doesn’t work, I’ve included a typed version below.


“So I told him, I didn’t know who she was going with…”

“Freeze! Her Majesty’s Secret Grammar Police!
My duty compels me to retract that sentence and replace it with ‘I didn’t know with whom she was going’. And to administer the following penalty…”

*WHAP* with the Oxford English Dictionary

“Ow… What the…?”

“You reckon she’s going with Pete though?” “Yeah…”

Let’s Put Shakespeare Among The Pigeons


Goodness, Booking Through Thursday brought out some strong opinions, didn’t it? How strange – we all love the contents of books, but have disparate views about the vehicle for that content. A few of the comments made me ponder, and I’ll meander through some musings – but this post is mostly about Billybob. My very lovely parents, Our Vicar and Our Vicar’s Wife, heeded my unsubtle references this year, and I now have the new RSC edition of the Collected Works. Oh, it is BEAUTIFUL. I ‘needed’ another one, because of the scribblings in my old copy, and the fact that the spine has fallen off – and this one came recommended by Judi Dench. Says so on the back. (Just seen the Dame in Cranford, which was wonderful, though the odd amalgam of three sources was a little hit-and-miss). Anyway, my new Shakespeare. It comes in its own box, much like Folio books, and has that pretty yellow design on it. Feels great; smells great (and I’m not usually a fan of New Book Smell, preferring Old Book Smell. That’s another interesting division for book lovers, with people firmly and resolutely in one camp or the other); can’t honestly say it sounds or tastes great, but three out of five senses isn’t bad. As Susan Hill wrote on her blog a while ago, I think, if one is buying a classic which is available everywhere, then of course appearances and so forth are going to influence one’s choice. So judging by covers is positively sensible in this case.

And I warn you – write in it and heads will roll.
It’s not that I think books are sacred objects – but neither is wallpaper. Wouldn’t scrawl over that either. And while I love to make my own response to a book and its ideas, that has to go on in my head – I’d hate to return to re-read a book and discover I couldn’t read the book – only read my previous response to it. Perhaps because there is something eternal about a book, and something so transitory about my thoughts when reading it. Contrarily, though, I enjoy finding secondhand books with people’s opinions in them. Especially if they’ve been done in pencil, of course. That way I can read the book and make up my own mind, and see what they’ve thought – if it’s my own writing, then I just feel slightly mad disagreeing with my previous self…

Just musing. No point in trying to convince anyone to see my point of view, or vice versa, because somehow one’s sensitivity or otherwise to books themselves is inbuilt and impossible to alter. But there isn’t the slightest chance of it stopping others reading, I shouldn’t think, as there are enough scrawlers out there for it to be a valid option for anyone wanting to do that. Just so long as people learn NEVER to do it in books they’ve borrowed (I know nobody visiting here would dream of it). Or in front of me, please.
(!!)

For now, just admire my beautiful collection of Billybob – and I relish the fact that the words are even more beautiful. I feel a re-read of All’s Well That Ends Well coming up next…

Lazy…

Too sleepy for full update, so here is my day in bullet points:

– morning… tired and cold
– teabreak – mmm, tea. Fine invention.
– meet Our Vicar’s Wife for lunch, lovely
– worky worky work
– friends come over
– aubergine and mozarella rolls (mmm)
– Sound of Music: Songs Only Option
– Children in Need for a bit (gosh, Boyzone haven’t aged)
– bed…

Booking Through Thursday

This week’s BTT is something we’ve covered a while ago, but I’ll throw it out there again. For those who were baffled last week, apologies for the incorrect hyperlink on ‘Booking Through Thursday’ – just pop along to www.btt2.wordpress.com. Every week they pose a bookish question for those of us who have run out of inspiration by Thursday, and then I encourage all of you to ponder it yourself. This week:

…how many of us write notes in our books. Are you a Footprint Leaver or a Preservationist?

Well, we came across this perilous question in my review of Anne Fadiman’s Ex Libris, I think, which can be read here. And you may remember that I am VEHEMENTLY against writing in books, or defacing them in any manner. The library trainees recently went on a training session about boxes and foam pads (it’s like a rollercoaster, I tell you) which included the speaker tearing pages out of a book as a shock tactic. Although the book was destined to be thrown away anyhow, it was still painful… an actual physical pain, running through my body, and quite a loud involuntary gasp. Shared, I’m proud to say, by those either side of me. Anyway – books are not notebooks, they should be treated with dignity.

Having said that…. this is where the hypocrisy comes in. My name is Simon and I am a Footprint Leaver. Very occasionally. Though a repeat offender, I must confess. The worst instance is my Collected Works of Shakespeare – reading this, while being shaken around on Filipino Jeepneys, I had to scrawl notes (always in pencil, mind) or remember nothing when I started writing essays months later. Nor could I keep a notebook – the quotations would take an age to write out, and while I could jag a line on a rickety journey, legible writing was beyond my capability. What is amusing is the type of notes I make in the books, when not simply underlining. I write things, for the most part, not as analysis, but pointers. I.e. when I later write an essay on a certain topic, I’ll be able to locate all the relevant passages. Which leads to such erudite pronouncements as ‘death’ alongside deaths, or ‘time’ by the use of the word ‘time’. As Our Vicar’s Wife’s teacher used to say – “If you are the cream of the intelligentsia, Heaven help the skimmed milk”.

Howsabout yourself? I promise I won’t shout if you perennially leave footprints…

Book Group: The Results


I’ve talked so much about Tove Jansson’s Fair Play, without actually saying anything, that many of you will probably think Book Group was months ago. Well, I’ve just come back from it, and nine other people who had read Jansson’s book over the past six weeks. So here is my opinion of Fair Play, and what the group thought of it, so pile in with your feedback too, please! The cartoon is recycled, and not as appropriate to the topic for today, but I like it as an image of the bookish blogging community, and it’ll appear whenever I report back from my terrestrial Book Group.

I’ll start off a little defensively – I don’t think Fair Play was as good as Tove Jansson’s other works, those I’ve read anyway. Have a look at A Winter Book and The Summer Book by searching in the blog searcher, if you like – short stories and a sort of vignettey-novel respectively. Having said that, Fair Play was still a delight. Marketted as a novel, it is in fact a series of short stories/ideas/vignettes/snapshots featuring the same characters. Jonna and Mari live on the same, small Scandanavian island, artist and writer, and… well, that’s about it. Jonna rearranges Mari’s pictures; a girl obsessed with Mari’s mother comes to visit; they discuss their fathers; they watch an old film; edit one of Mari’s stories, and so forth. Each chapter has a small incident occur, and Jansson wraps her delicious prose around it. By the end she has provided a beautiful portrait of an unconventional couple, co-dependent and close rather than affectionate. Jansson doesn’t allow the narrative to become twee, but she does give beauty. This was especially true on my re-read (the first time in many years I have re-read a novel immediately) where I could just wallow in the prose.

So, what did the Book Group think? I must confess, I was worried whilst I was reading it. Plot is quite far down on my list of priorities when evaluating a book, but I know that’s not the case for a lot of people – Jansson’s novels are either viewed as beautiful writing, or just fairly pointless. One guy definitely took the latter view – just couldn’t see the point, engage with the characters, or be bothered to read on. A few others agreed to a lesser extent. That’s fine – I deliberately suggested one I hadn’t read already, so that I wouldn’t be too sensitive about people’s reactions. Most of the group found the writing to be very good, the novel to be gentle and evocative, and the characters intriguing, if slightly distant from a depiction of ‘love’, which the introduction suggested. Nobody loved it, desperate to read more (if only they’d started with The Summer Book!) but a few said they would if they came across some.

So, not a failure, not a success – but people were happy to have read something they wouldn’t otherwise have come across, and that is, after all, one of the main reasons that people join Book Groups.

Over to you! As far as I know, Curzon and Carole have read Fair Play – and of course anyone else is welcome to join in. Thoughts?

Odd…

As an addendum to the previous post… strangely, my Blogger homepage tells me I’ve written 150 posts (as declared yesterday)… but the little drop-down bit in the left column says 145 (146 including this one, I suppose). What’s happened to the other five? Where are they? What are they? Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would say.

Canada Canada

Before I start this post – Fair Play Book Group meeting tomorrow, and thus my opinion of it, and whether or not the group agreed… and hopefully all of you will chime in with what you thought!

150th post today, and somehow that puts me in mind of Canada. Don’t ask, cos I don’t know. There is something about Canada that I can’t put my finger on – maybe because, like Britain, it often seems to play second fiddle to the US? Because they have two languages? Because of that lovely maple leaf? I don’t know. Whatever it is, it makes me feel I’ve missed out on Canadian literature. It remains an almost wholly untapped mine for me. In fact, the sum total of my Canadian reading (so far as I know) is Michael Ondaatje’s Anil’s Ghost, and lots and lots of the inimitable Stephen Leacock. There’ll be more of him at some later date, as I just know you’ll love him – like a Canadian PG Wodehouse, if any comparison is possible for an author who is really only Leacockian. Anyway, yes, Ondaatje and Leacock – that’s it. No Margaret Atwood, Carol Shields, L. M. Montgomery, Alice Munro… ok, I’m out. Whoever else there is, I haven’t read ’em.

This all snowballed when I came across Margaret Laurence’s The Stone Angel. In my unliterary sort of way, it was news of a film adaptation which reached me first. Fancied seeing it when it came out, so went off in search of the novel… lo and behold, Lynne mentioned it at dovegreyreader. Having CRUELLY made me go and find a copy myself, I pulled some library strings and have a copy in front of me now. A couple review books first, methinks, but Margaret Laurence is going to become my next dip into Canadian waters.

So, dear Transatlantic readers (and any others, of course) – where’s best to start with Canadian lit? In my perverse way, I’d rather avoid the Famous Ones listed above – I’d prefer someone fairly big in Canada, but who is a Best Kept Secret. Or someone who’s not even big in Canada, but comes with a recommendation tied to them. Any ideas?

Dear Nancy/Jessica/Unity/Diana/Pamela/Deborah…


Not the whole Birthday Books list just yet, but shall tease you with the biggest one of the lot, to whet the appetite. I knew this one was coming, as I’d not-too-subtly suggested it as a present option from my library colleagues Lucy and Clare, who have become very good friends in the two months I’ve known them. Both bookish types, and great fun as well.

So, it was without surprise, but with great delight, that I unwrapped The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters edited by Charlotte Mosley. They’d also sneaked in another book – more on that when you get the full rundown – today is just about Nancy and co. My previous acquiantance with the sisters consists only of The Pursuit of Love, and 10, Curzon Street: Letters Between Nancy Mitford and Heywood Hill. Even so, they’ve been on the horizon for most of my life, and I was keen to get my mitts on this beautiful collection of letters.

Haven’t finished (come on, my birthday was only a few days ago!) – in fact, only read the introduction so far, but that was enough to make me want to post about it. Charlotte Mosley explains that the book only represents a small fragment of the extant letters – and only three ‘links’ between sisters are unrepresented at all by surviving letters. My A Level Maths has to be dusted off here – if there are six sisters, each of whom can write to each other… call sisters ‘x’… carry one… divide by the number you first thought of… I think that gives 30 possible letter-routes (taking, say Diana-to-Pamela as distinct from Pamela-to-Diana) and thus 27 combinations covered in the book. Phew! What an amazing collection. Might be a bit tricky to keep track of who’s who, writing to whom, what their relationship is (in terms of temperament – obviously they’re all sisters), but thankfully there are mini-biogs and symbols in a family tree for each of them. The symbols are quite amusing, actually – while Nancy gets a ink-stand and quill, Jessica has her life summarised by a hammer and sickle. Reminds me of The Carbon Copy’s version of Scissor, Rock, Paper, entitled Hammer, Sickle, Stalin.

Anyway, where was I?
With so many letters from which to choose, chances are the most pertinent and entertaining will be here. There’s something to be said for comprehensive editions, but they can be a bit difficult to wade through – for instance, Virginia Woolf’s A Writer’s Diary was much more palatable than Volume One of the unedited thing. I’ll let you know more choice excerpts as I read through – I think this is going to be one I read a small portion from at the end of the day, and may take me til next birthday to finish – so shall just finish with one.

‘I had letters from you & the Lady [Nancy] & Henderson [Jessica] today, wouldn’t it be dread if one had a)no sisters b)sisters who didn’t write.’ [Deborah to Diana]

For you and us both, Debs!