Lorna Doone by RD Blackmore

<-This cover bothers me.

Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound). (or just download it for free from GoodReads)

For Classics Month, Meghan and I decided to read Lorna Doone together.  It's the story of a young farmer in Exmoor who falls in love with the daughter of the leader of a gang of thieves who murdered his father (more or less).  This is part two of our joint review.  For part one (and a more complete summary of what the book's about), go to Meghan's blog, Medieval Bookworm.



Lorna Doone discussion, part II:

Me:  The infantilization of Lorna--her being all cute and delicate and innocent *gag*--did kind of bother me. But she's no simpering idiot. After all, when John first asks her if she loves him, she's like, "No?" which I think showed she had some intelligence and a mind of her own, anyway. And she's the one who really dictates the rules of the relationship, when they're going to see each other, when they're going to get married, etc., so she's not a powerless puppet. Even though she cried a lot.

Meghan:  I like your idea about the knight in shining armour - I can definitely see that. I thought she might leave him when she went off later in the book - not to give anything away - but sadly she did not. LOL. It was John's attitude that bugged me, not Lorna herself. I had a hard time imagining any of the women as actual, mature women just because he was always talking about how tiny they were and things like how white their skin was, that sort of thing. And it's true that he was a giant but it sort of put me off that I couldn't imagine any of them as actual people.

I didn't mind Lorna so much compared to him. I laughed when she said "no" as you just mentioned. But overall I just thought the depiction of women was annoying even if they fought it with their actions.

Me:  The portrayal of Lizzie was annoying, just because she was the only female in the entire book who would actively stand up to John and he hated her. But I just wrote that off as sibling rivalry. I was surprised at how John's mother was depicted, because in the miniseries she's a very strong woman, and in the book she seems a lot weaker. But I don't think John was as misogynistic as you do--I think he does respect the women in his life, even if he occassionally denigrates them. I don't think John would view it as denigration; he was just raised in a time and place to think like that. I admit I would have liked it better if he questioned those beliefs.

Meghan:  I do agree that he was a product of his time. I tried to treat him as that, but it just made it hard for me to like the book and to like him. I know I've read Victorian novels where such things really didn't get to me as much - I think Blackmore laid it on a little too thick. I didn't think he was consciously doing it but I guess I still got annoyed!

Me:  Was there anything you liked about the book? How about those descriptions of nature? ;)

Reply

Edit

Meghan:  I genuinely skipped the nature bits as I got towards the end. So I probably shouldn't count myself as having read the whole book, I just skimmed them to see when the action started. But then I have always really disliked anything with in depth descriptions of nature, especially when it just goes on and on, LOL. I generally liked it better when something was happening and there wasn't too much wordiness going on. So, the fighting scenes were better and I loved the drama at the end, just because it was such a change from the painfully plodding pace of the entire book.

I wish I could say I liked the romance part as well. I thought John and Lorna were sweet occasionally but I just had too many issues with him to really care, and I never understood (as we mentioned) the basis of their relationship besides his obsession with a pretty girl.

What were your favorite parts?

Me:  The parts with Lorna in them were definitely my favorite. I have to admit that I did like the romance and the way Lorna and John interacted, but then I didn't have a problem with John. I don't think he was just obsessed with her because she was pretty; that for me was the point of the whole Ruth thing. Even if it did seem like he was leading her on, it seemed like Blackmore was trying to tell us that John isn't just a sucker for a pretty face or someone he can get along with, or he doesn't like Lorna just because she's there and willing. You know, he has options and stuff. :P

I skipped the battle parts of the book. lol The nature descriptions weren't too bad. I did love how all the animals had their own personalities, just as if they were people, and John got along more with some animals than with others--like Winnie and that one horse he rode at the end of the book. Knucklecrusher or whatever its name was.

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Edit

Meghan:  I liked Winnie, too. I thought that was a nice touch. And John had options, but everyone complained about Ruth and how she was too small (because being a little bit small is okay but not very small??) so I felt a little sorry for her, being a small person myself. They would have made a funny-looking couple but it was pretty clear she liked him.

I'm not always the person that hones in on the action, I just think that I found the rest of the book so boring I was happy when something else happened! I really think it was about 200 or 300 pages too long.

Me:  Definitely. This thing's a chunkster. I do have to admit that by the end I was skimming practically everything. I can't imagine anyone sitting down and writing this out long-hand.

Meghan:  Me neither! I really just wanted to get it finished. I hate reading books that take longer than a few days as it is. This one took me practically a month and I can't even remember the last time that happened. I think it would have languished forever if we hadn't been reading it together.

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Me:  I know! The only reason I kept reading was because you were reading it with me. :) I'm really happy I finished it, though. In the end I think it was worth it.

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Meghan:  I still haven't decided if it was worth it for me. I hadn't really heard of it until I got this set of books but apparently it's pretty big over here in the UK, my husband had thought it was really famous. He kept asking me why it was a classic when I complained about it so much! But I'm glad I can cross it off my list permanently now, and I do intend to watch the mini-series when I get a chance.

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Me:  I think he should read it, then! ;) The only reason I'd heard of it was because of the mini-series, and the first few times I watched that I had no idea what the setting was. I thought maybe Appalachia? The Doones are super red necky.

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Meghan:  He'd never get past the first page unfortunately. He's not too patient with books (or anything). There are a lot of British classics I never heard of until I actually came to England, but so many book bloggers know about them that I wonder often if it's just me. This was definitely one of them and I can see why it hasn't hit the American high school or even college curriculum.

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Me:  This book is a pretty hard sell. I haven't had so much pain over reading a book since... Hmm, Dickens? I don't even remember. But I actually would recommend it to people with patience and those who've seen the miniseries.

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Meghan:  I would say that I liked Dickens better. ;) I might recommend it to someone who really enjoys lingering in a book for a long time, though. I'm just not that person.

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TSS--Classics Month Wrap-Up

Happy Easter, everyone!  Classics Month is now officially over.  I have to confess that during the first half of the month, I thought this project was going to be a total bust; but towards the end, I discovered several books I truly enjoyed, and I think overall it was a success.  I read a lot of books and learned something in the process.  Here are the list of reviews and guest posts in case you missed them:

• Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne
• The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi
• What Do We Mean By Classic, Anyway? (Guest post by Colleen from Bookphilia)
• Rupert of Hentzau by Anthony Hope
• Discussion: Overlooked Classics
• Little Vampire Women by Louisa May Alcott and Lynn Messina
• The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope
• Discovering Culturally Diverse Classics (Guest post by Rebecca from Lost In Books)
• Monkey by Wu Cheng'en
• Little Women by Louisa May Alcott
• Appealing/Appalling Victorians (Guest post by Nymeth from Things Mean A Lot)
• Persuasion by Jane Austen
• Discussion: How Far Is Too Far?
• Nadja by Andre Breton (Guest post by Meghan from Medieval Bookworm)
• Suggestions for Reading Classics (Guest post by MJMBecky from One Literature Nut)
• Novels and Gender
• Discussion: The Last Classic You Read
• Top Signs Your Book is a Classic

I also read Lorna Doone with my partner in crime this month, Meghan from Medieval Bookworm (we're planning on posting a joint review of it on Monday), and read a book she suggested--Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, which I liked more than she liked my suggestion for her, Nadja.  And I failed to read Great Expectations or The 39 Steps, but c'est la vie.

What I learned this month is that:

1. I'm terrible at reading more than one book at a time
2. Nineteenth-century lit is easy to overdose on
3. Books in verse are not entirely tools of the devil
   
4. Reading classic books makes me appreciate modern novels so much more!  In fact, from now on, I think I'm going to try to read one classic novel every month.
   

Overall I'm very happy with how Classics Month turned out, and with most of the books I got to read.  I think this might be my most successful theme month yet!

And speaking of theme months, you might have noticed that there's a poll embedded in my sidebar.  You can vote for my next theme month!  How exciting is that?!?  Of course, I will probably just end up doing whatever I want anyway, but you never know. (kidding-or am I?)

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Thoughts on Around the World In Eighty Days by Jules Verne

Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

In 1870's London, Phileas Fogg and his servant, Passepartout (two of the awesomest names in literature, by the way) set off on a trip around the world to test the reliability of modern travel.  Phileas placed a bet on his ability to complete the journey in eighty days or less in the amount of twenty thousand pounds; and, since he took another twenty k with him for expenses, his entire fortune is resting on the success of the journey.

I had the same problem with this book that I did with Monkey--essentially, there's a lot of plot (and the story is told really well), but I simply could not connect with the characters.  Phileas Fogg seemed cool at first simply because he was so weird, but his personality didn't expand at all beyond my first impression of him.  Indeed, I viewed him more as a symbol of modernization--he's always precise, on time, regulated and repetitive, not to mention cold and impersonal--than as an actual human.  Passepartout was also initially interesting, but he's not enough to balance out Phileas.  I'm essentially a character girl, and if I don't care about these two characters, why should I care if they get around the world or not?  Especially when the whole endeavor to begin with seems at best silly and at worst idiotic.

Another thing that bothered me about the book was the modernization--or, more specifically, the ambiguous way Verne treats modernization.  The trains and steamers have allowed for what is really the modern tourist--rushing to get somewhere for a few hours, then rushing to the next stop.  If you're looking for a travelogue, this isn't it--Phileas just wants to get from one place to the next and counts stopping in a city for a few hours as "seeing" it.  There's also a great deal of talk about time and time zones in the book, which fits in with the theme of modern travel, since trains are what made it necessary to institute time zones in the first place.

Personally, I found it all a little cold and soul-sucking, but I wonder if Verne felt the same?  Or maybe he thought this new technology as teh awesome?  It's difficult to tell from what I read of the book.

Anyway, I didn't finish it.

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The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi

Proposed alternate title: Zen and the Art of Katana Maitenance



Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

Miyamoto Musashi is one of the most famous--if not the most famous--samurai to have ever lived.  He wrote several books, but The Book of the Five Rings is the ultimate summary of his philosophy in strategy, tactics, fighting, and life.

This book is often referred to as the Japanese Art of War, but I think it's much more accessible than that--the book is surprisingly short and readable.  Musashi starts off with a short autobiography and then summarizes his method, which falls into five rings or "Ways": Earth, Water, Fire, Wind, and Void.

Since I'm not, and not likely to ever be, a swordswoman, most of this book is of limited interest to me.  If it had been a long tome or difficult reading, I would have quit--however, since it was so short, I found it pretty easy to get through even though I know basically nothing about fighting.  I can definitely see how this book is still popular with those who study martial arts.  Considering it was written circa 1645, the writing is refreshingly straight-forward (although repetitive--variations of "you must practice this," "you must learn this," etc., are found at the end of every chapter) and uncomplicated.  Yet the philosophies Musashi lays out are ones you can truly spend years trying to understand and master.

One of the things I really liked about The Book of Five Rings is that Musashi starts off by saying natural talent doesn't matter.  What truly makes a samurai is dedication and practice.  That is a rather egalitarian attitude and one that I wish underpinned more philosophies.

I first heard about this book on a TV show, Samurai, which was on the History Channel a few days ago.  Honestly, I think I learned more about the basics of Musashi's philosophy from that show than from this book.  But it was still interesting to see how the words of Musashi translate to physical action in fighting. 

After reading this The Book of Five Rings, I have to say Musashi definitely deserves his rep as the greatest samurai; and if you have even a passing interest in samurai or martial arts, I definitely recommend this book.

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What Do We Mean By Classic Anyway?

I'm so happy that Colleen from the fabulous Bookphilia is here today to talk about classics.  As soon as I started thinking about having a Classics Month, I knew Colleen was someone I wanted to guest post--she's a bookseller, has a Ph.D. in English Lit., is crazy smart, and reads way more classics voluntarily than I ever will, so she knows what of she speaks!  Welcome, Colleen.

What are the “Classics”, and why should we read them anyway?

If asked, I think most of us could easily rattle off a list of Classic books – how about A Tale of Two Cities, Wuthering Heights, Hamlet, and Moby Dick? We can also, just as easily, come up with a list of Classic authors – let’s say, Shakespeare, two of the three Brontes, Thackeray, and Chaucer.

But what makes a Classic “classic”? The above examples suggest that age matters. And durability is important, after all. Classics, at their most basic level, are simply books which have remained widely read well beyond and outside their original milieu and context. Within this definition there are two subsets of the Classic. First, there are those Classic texts being investigated in classrooms and scholarly books and articles, but which are also still being snapped up by those with no educational affiliations, people who just want to read good reads that also make them use their brains a little bit.

On the other hand, there are the Classic books read almost exclusively in educational settings. These books are Classics because they represent some major moment in literary history. Chaucer’s works are very readable but they’re important because they were the first major English works written in English; they turned the tide towards writing in the vernacular, and that shift defined English literature ever after. But many of the landmark Classics are not what would now be considered readable; they don’t possess that certain something, seen in the works of Dickens especially (in my view), that manages to make the alien aspects of a context long gone seem both familiar and knowable. I recently read such a classic – Horace Walpole’s The Castle of Otranto.

The Castle of Otranto (1764) is not just “A Gothic Tale” as its subtitle tells us – it is the gothic tale that both defined and launched the gothic novel which was to become so widely written and read in the late 18^th and early 19^th centuries. Anyone interested in the history and development of the English novel, in the supernatural in western literature, in 18^th century English literature would miss a major milestone of both experience and crucial information if they were to skip this book.

And yet, it is not widely read outside academic circles now. The Castle of Otranto is, however, widely taught because it is useful as hell – not because like, say, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, that it is both useful and a joy to read and teach. The Castle of Otranto is sort of readable, but that’s in part because it’s only 100 pages long. It possesses none of the familiar yet alien contextual elements that Dickens’ work does – it’s pure alien, through and through. As a tale of horror, there is not one thing in it that would come close to either frightening or titillating any modern reader.

Gigantism, portents that lead to nothing, a talking skeleton that keeps its distance and quickly disappears – all would be very either boring or straight up laughable to a reading audience used to literary thrillers like The Turn of the Screw or, at the lower end of the spectrum, films about maniacs who cut your limbs off after trapping you in their hostel. Ghosts and the mere suggestion of divine punishment make no real sense in our cynical, secular world. Insanity and physical maiming, on the other hand, make horrifying sense to us, but Walpole wasn’t going there.

So, I guess my first question is, knowing that there are two streams of Classic literature that often have little in common, does the term still make sense? And what do we want to do with it anyway? What is the value in making a point of reading Classic literature for its own sake, if we don’t read all of it, good and bad? This last question I ask for all of you (and I’m one of them) who has at some point, or often, said to yourself “I should read more Classic literature.”

The “should” issue is a very different one from that of desire. To feel you’d prefer to read Dickens today rather that Dan Brown is not at all the same thing as feeling you should do so. In these shoulds there is a perceived cultural value in reading the things that have long been considered Classic literature. The problem with this perceived cultural value is that it is unaccompanied by anything that proves its correctness; it’s a tautology, a statement which proves its validity merely by restating itself, i.e., Shakespeare is amazing because he’s Shakespeare. (I wish I were making this phrase up, but as a former prof and a book-seller who likes to eavesdrop on people, I have heard such specious assertions more times than I’d like to remember.)

You see, I think we need to ask ourselves what we mean by Classic literature now, and why we mean it, for the label itself suggests there’s something different – more demanding of respect, perhaps – than the light reads we take on beach vacations. Whatever the source of this sense of duty, I think there’s something quite positive beneath our potentially shaming inclination towards the “should” in reading.

I think what it means, quite improbably in a world in which things move so quickly and patience is becoming an archaism of both language and living, is that a large portion of the population not only believes in literary art, but also in art which must be enjoyed slowly and often revisited. Or, in the case of the less readable stream of Classics done primarily in school – we nod respectfully at a literary past which has led irrevocably to a very rich literary present, busy with producing a batch of books which will someday also be Classics. We insert ourselves into a community of readers that spans broad time periods and crosses continents, just like those very best of the best Classics – and that’s worth celebrating.

Rupert of Hentzau by Anthony Hope

Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

As I mentioned in my review of Prisoner of Zenda, the evol villain Rupert was my favorite character in the book.  Therefore I was really excited that the sequel was titled Rupert of Hentzau.  Unfortunately, I don't think it was as good as Prisoner.

The book opens several years after Prisoner concludes.  The king has never fully recovered from his ordeals in The Prisoner of Zenda.  He's sickly and pale, harbors jealousy toward his doppelganger, and still lives in fear of Rupert Hentzau--who like any good villain managed not only to escape, but raise himself in stature from a normal man to a count.  Meanwhile, every year, the Queen sends a rose and a note with Fritz Tarlenheim, who meets her true love somewhere outside of Ruritania.  At the beginning of the book, Hentzau steals the Queen's note from Fritz with the goal of taking it to the King.  Rudolf, Fritz, Sapt, and some new characters go chasing after Hentzau in an attempt to recover the note and protect their queen.

The entire story is told, not from Rudolf or Rupert's viewpoint, but from that of Fritz--which is kind of odd, since he misses a good portion of the action in the book.  I didn't mind that too much, however.  I loved catching up with all the characters from Zenda and seeing Rudolf and the princess together again.  Plot-wise, this sequel is probably better constructed than Zenda, too, although it feels like it moves more slowly.

My main problem with the book is that Rupert of Hentzau is hardly in it!  He might get twenty pages, max.  I thought he would be all over this novel, since, you know, it's titled Rupert of Hentzau (although come to think of it, The Prisoner of Zenda didn't devote much time to the prisoner of Zenda, either), so I found that not only disappointing, but confusing.  Around the middle I felt very confused as to where this book was going and started to skim through a lot of parts, which helped to pick up the pace and keep me reading.

I was also very frustrated with the entire conclusion, which didn't advance any of the characters forward.  In hindsight, I suppose I should have expected it, but I didn't.  And to be honest, I feel a little manipulated into not expecting it by the author.  What exactly was the point of the running around and crap that everyone went into just to protect the freaking queen's reputation?  And, let's face it, it's not as if she didn't love someone besides the king, is it?  I'm just not sure it was worth it.

Don't get me wrong:  I still liked this book.  It just wasn't as ridiculously awesome as Prisoner of Zenda.  I don't think it has as broad of an appeal, either; there were times when I was reading where I thought this was a definite "guys" book.  But if you read and like Prisoner of Zenda, it goes without saying that you have to read Rupert of Hentzau--just don't expect a lot of Rupert in it.

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Classics Month Meme: Overlooked Classics

After reading The Prisoner of Zenda last week, I started wonder about books like it that are often overlooked as classics--novels that can certainly fall into the classic category, but it seems like only a few people have read or even heard of.

With Prisoner, I believe that because it's a fun adventure novel, it's been deemed a "lesser classic." (Those exact words were actually used in the intro to the book.)  No, it's not the deepest book on the planet, but I think scholars and bloggers would have lots to do unraveling romantic symbolism and connections with Arthurian tales in the novel.

What are some classic novels you've enjoyed that you would consider unfairly neglected?  And why do you think people don't read them any more?  Answer in the comments or on your own site (be sure to leave a link if it's the latter)!

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Little Vampire Women by Louisa May Alcott and Lynn Messina

Pre-order this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

First line:  "Christmas won't be Christmas without any corpses," Jo grumbled, lying on the rug.

You didn't think I'd be able to do a Classics Month without an adaptation or retelling, did you?

Actually, I got this book a bit by chance.  Pam from Bookalicio.us heard me whining talking about the original Little Women on twitter and offered to loan me Little Vampire Women to see if I liked it--and I did!  I found this rewrite a lot more enjoyable than the original, I have to say.

Before you die of horror, let me explain why:

• There are vampires.  You know hows I love the vampires.
• Beth actually complains!
• Kittehs!  OM NOM NOM
  
• Whenever the book starts getting the least bit sappy or sentimental, the Marches are attacked by vampire slayers.
• The German professor is much more coolio--he can change into a bat!  That's awesome.

Little Vampire Women is basically the original Little Women, edited down to a much shorter length, with more modern writing (i.e., that Victorian thing where it takes them ten words to say what we would in three?  Gone), and the March family as vampires--but very moral and upstanding vampires, of course.  Instead of being a writer, Jo wants to be a Defender, a vampire who hunts down pernicious vampire slayers.  Basically it's the novel re-written as if we lived in an alternate universe where vampires exist, complete with scholarly footnotes on vampire history and literature.

As I said, this is a much quicker, easier read than the original.  I think people who love the original LW will enjoy this book the most--it's full of clever little twists and jokes that you won't get unless you've read the original novel.  For someone who hasn't read LW, this book will probably be just okay--the writing and plot are decent, although the language is sometimes jarringly modern.  It certainly doesn't surpass the original, and Little Vampire Women's strength mainly lies in how it plays off its forebear.  But like I said, it's fun.

One thing that really annoyed me about the book, though, is that Jo is the LAMEST Defender I could possibly imagine.  She never apprehends a single slayer, can't even catch a stake that's flying right at her, and I'm supposed to believe that she's this great vampire?  Uh, no.  It was so bad that when she considered giving up being a Defender, I was totally on board with it and disappointed in her when she decided to stick it out.  Also, I just missed Jo being bookish and into writing!

But really, this book is just a fun, silly read that I think succeeds in its main purpose: to entertain.  And since I needed some entertainment this week, it was very much appreciated.


Little Vampire Women is scheduled to be released May 10, 2010.

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The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope

Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

This is by far my favorite read out of Classics Month so far!  It's a little cheesy, but cheese is one of the few things in life that has never bothered me.  And it's also full of romance, and adventure, and a smart hero--I didn't want to put it down!

Rudolph Rassendyll is a lazy second son of a noble family, and he carries the coloring of a scandal in the Rassendylls' past--when one of their ancestors had an infamous affair with the Prince of Ruritania (a small country somewhere beyond Germany).  Well, of course Rudolph takes it into his head to visit Ruritania; and of course when he does, he becomes embroiled with his distant relatives.  Throughout the book, two questions keep you reading:  will Rudolph remain in Ruritania?  And will he and Princess Flavia get together?

This is a really fun book I can honestly say I'd recommend to anyone.  It's very romantic, in the traditional literary sense; completely and utterly ridiculous; charming; and at once full of adventure and Victorian subtleness.  Plus, it has probably one of the best villians I've ever come across in a book--Rupert Hentzau, who is just absolutely fascinating (fortunately Hope did write a sequel about him, which I have already downloaded).  Despite its short length (less than 200 pages), it makes you care about the characters and the outcome of Rudolf's adventure.

My favorite part of the novel, of course, was the romance between Flavia and Rudolf (although the entire book could really be called a romance).  It's a love-at-first-sight, Arthurian-type romance that I didn't expect to work at all--but somehow it does.  And the ending is simply delicious, even if it wasn't the conclusion I was hoping for.

You seriously need to give this book a try.  You can download it for free, and it's a total blast from start to finish.  Like I said, my purpose in life now is make EVERYONE read this.



I read this for The Society for Exploratory Action in Literature, a book group on GoodReads that focuses on 19th-century literature.

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Discovering Culturally Diverse Classics

Today, the lovely Rebecca from Lost In Books (one of my favorite bloggers) is with us discussing a speciality of hers:  Classics from different cultures!  Welcome Becca!

Quick. 

Think of a classic novel. 

What is the first one that pops into your head? 

I am willing to bet that for most of us it is not one that is full of diversity in setting or characters.  It seems the majority of us think of classic American literature as books like The Scarlet Letter and The Great Gatsby and Of Mice and Men.  Or we think of English literature such as A Tale of Two Cities and Pride & Prejudice.  But how many of us go automatically to a novel full of rich cultural diversity?  How many of us even read classic novels that feature diverse cultures?  How many of us even know they exist in abundance?

I have put together a short list of classic novels that feature world cultures.  This is of course not a complete list (that would take way too long!) and you are welcome to leave more suggestions along with your comment!

 

A Passage to India by E.M. Forster tells the story of Dr. Aziz who takes his British friend’s visiting relatives to the Marabar Caves.  Adela accuses Aziz of attempting to rape her when they are alone in the caves.  The accusation, the trial, and the aftermath bring out all the prejudices and racial tensions between the Indians and the British colonists who rule India at the time. 

Visit the Congo with Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.  The tale of Mr. Kurtz, successful in his greedy quest for ivory in the African Congo, shows what happens to the natives- hunger, death, and slavery.

In Alan Paton’s Cry, the Beloved Country, Paton related the moving story of a Zulu minister who searches for his children in Johannesburg, only to learn that South African society has destroyed their lives.

Dostoevsky is one that many people want to have read, but one that not many people actually have read.  I will focus on one of his books, Crime & Punishment, which focuses on a poor man in St. Petersburg who designs a plan to kill a hated pawnbroker for the money, thereby solving his own financial problems and ridding the world of an evil person, which he justifies by relating himself to Napoleon.  Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy is another Russian classic novel worth trying out.

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys tells the story of a white Creole heiress, from the time of her youth in the Caribbean to her unhappy marriage and relocation to England.  Caught in an oppressive society in which she belongs to neither the white Europeans nor the black Jamaicans, this novel deals largely with racial inequality and the harshness of displacement and assimiliation.

 

If you want to visit Spain through the classics, try the romantic Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes.  If you want to learn about a rich Bengali noble who lives happily until a revolutionary appears, read The Home and the World by Rabindranath Tagore.  Visit 19^th century France after Napoleon’s final defeat at Waterloo in Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables.  Or you can visit French aristocracy shortly before the French Revolution via Dangerous Liasions by Pierre Choderlos de Laclos, where two rivals use sex as a weapon to embarrass and degrade others. 

 

Have you considered Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea, which tells the story of an old Cuban fisherman who is down on his luck, but fights an incredible battle with a giant marlin far out in the Gulf Stream?  The story is about courage, determination, and personal strength.  There is also a little known Pulitzer Prize winning novel called House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday which relates a Native American’s experiences after fighting overseas in WWI and struggling to find his place with his people again once he returns.  The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper is also a classic novel about Native Americans, who this time are fighting for, among other things, their way of life as the forests they call home give way to “civilization.”

And, if you are really into reading a great classic full of cultural diversity, there is always The Tale of Genji by Lady Murasaki Shikibu.  This is widely considered to be the world’s first novel, which was written in the early eleventh century.  At 1216 pages, it is definitely a clunker!  But there are shorter stories inside the bigger tale that help to bring it to a more readable level.  I have read some of it, but have not read all of it.  And if I can do it with ADHD, you can do it too, haha!

Of course this is just a sampling of the great classic novels out there that present a great cultural diversity.  I did not even touch on many cultures.  However, like I said, please leave a comment with other books you would like for people to know about and, also, any plans you have on reading some classics that feature cultural diversity.  Here are some websites that you can visit to discover more culturally diverse classics to read:

Penguin Group Classics – Lots under World Literature, including The Real Story of Ah-Q and Other Tales of China, the only complete edition of the fiction of Lu Xun, the father of modern Chinese Literature

Oxford University Press: World Literature – From 19^th century Cuba’s Cecilia Valdes or El Angel Hill, to the more familiar novel Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Classic Literature with Esther Lombardi on About.com – The expert in Classic literature, there is also plenty included on World Literature, which you can find by looking under the Browse Topics list in the left column of the site.  Lombardi has included articles and links to literature from Afghanistan and Bangladesh, to Serbia and The Netherlands.

Thank you to Tasha for allowing me the opportunity to guest post on her awesome blog!

Thank you, Rebecca!  And don't forget, another great place to find books from many different cultures is Lost In Books.  Check out Becca's feature, Take Me Away, where she shares books that can transport you.

Thoughts On Monkey

Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

If you've followed this blog for a while, you might remember that a few months ago I read a comic version of this book called The Monkey King because Jeff Markowitz recommended it.  Then I saw the actual book at the library book sale and naturally I had to get it.

Monkey is an ancient Chinese tale that tells the story of a monkey who is made of heaven and earth.  After this auspicious birth, he leads the other monkeys into a cave behind a waterfall where they're all very happy, and he becomes their king.  But after a few years, he realizes he's going to die and is terrified.  He travels the world for many years trying to find a way to acheive immortality, until he stumbles upon a Buddhist teacher who shows him how to stave off death, turn himself into a tree, and other fun stuff.  Then he gets tossed out for showing off and returns to the waterfall cave, where his fellow monkeys are being terrorized by a demon.  Using his new powers, Monkey defeats the demon, starts building an army, and soon gets into a lot of trouble.

Monkey is one of those books that can appeal to all age groups--it's written in the simple style of fairy tales or fables (although Kherdian, the translator--or "reteller" as the book puts it, which worries me--uses anachronistic language that seems really strange; i.e., "Chill, Monkey!") and I can see it appealing to kids.  At the same time, there's a lot of themes in this book that can make an adult really think, too.  It's a much deeper book than one would expect at first glance.

My main problem with Monkey was, well, Monkey.  To be honest I was kind of rooting for that little bastard to get his ass smacked into the ground--he's rude, arrogant, and a bully.  If there's someone who does not deserve to acheive immortality, it's him.  And is not wanting to die really a good impetus for spiritual growth?  Shouldn't one want to be reincarnated?  Also, that fairy tale, fable-y style of writing has never worked for me, even when I was a little kid.  It's just too hard for me to connect to the characters that way.

So while I do whole-heartedly recommend this book to anyone who's interested in Buddhism or Chinese culture, or even if you're looking for a different sort of fairy tale to read to your kids, I just couldn't get through it.  Not that I've given up completely--I do intend to get back to it.  But I don't think it will happen this month.

Deep Thoughts

Monkey's search for immortality reminded me what one of the main purposes of religion is--to ease our fear of death.  All religions in some way offer a chance at ever-lasting life, or they're not very successful religions.

Yet in the modern world, do the majority of us really believe a religion can make us immortal?  Not just metaphorically or spiritually, but actually physcially immortal?  No.  But science--science does hold the possibilty of that, as books like The Adoration of Jenna Fox demonstrate. 

So after reading Monkey, I'd have to say that science really is the new religion.  Which is sad.

And even though I didn't like Monkey, I do have to confess that it's revived my interest Buddhism yet again.

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Thoughts on Little Women

Find this book at an independent bookseller near you (via IndieBound).

At the beginning of Classics Month, I invited everyone to vote on a classic novel for me to read.  Little Women won by a landslide.  For those of you not familiar with the story (and who isn't?), it follows the growing-up of the four March sisters in Civil War-era US.  There's also one boy added into the mix named Laurie.

I knew I was going to have a problem with this book on the fourth sentence, but I soldiered on in the name of book blogging.  It was all just too idyllic and sweet and nicey-nice.  If you've seen the movie with Wynona Rider--there is way more conflict in the movie than there is in the book.  That's how full of the warm fuzzies and sweetness this book is.

I'm not saying it's horrible, but it's definitely written for very young girls--not even YA, more like MG.  And if I was still a young girl, I probably would have enjoyed it.  But since I'm a cynical old crone (haha), I just couldn't buy into the perfect life and people that is Family March. 



At the same time, reading the book was kind of a bizarre experience, because I've read some of Louisa May Alcott's horror stories, as well as Work.  And neither of those books was like this one at all.  I was shocked when Rebecca from Lost In Books said Alcott was a drug addict; but now I believe it, because there's no way the same author who wrote A Whisper In the Dark could have written Little Women without smoking something.  And do all Victorian women look like psychopaths in their photographs, or have I just watched way too many episodes of Deadly Women?

Anyway, I didn't finish it.  But I can see why it's a classic and I wouldn't mind reading it to my own daughter some day, should I ever have one.

Side Note: Movie Rant

I also watching the movie (the 1994 version) this week, and after reading the book, I just think the whole thing is TRAGIC.  First, Jo rejects Laurie.  Then she meets the German professor; and while I love Gabriel Byrne, he tells her her stories aren't good because they don't come from her heart or some bull like that.  Oh, yes, Jo, why don't you write this happy-happy stuff instead?  I mean, what. the hell?  This is the guy she marries?  And then Laurie marries Amy and claims he never loved Jo.  No one believes you, Laurie!!!!

The end.

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Appealing/Appalling Victorians

--Ana? ;)

Guest post time!  Today I'm very happy to have Nymeth from the wonderful blog, Things Mean a Lot.  Nymeth is famous for her love of all things Victorian, so I asked her to explain what she finds appealing about Victorian literature.  Welcome, Nymeth!

When Tasha invited me to write a guest post about why I love Victorian novels for the Classics month, I had a moment of panic. Though I do love the Victorians, my interest only dates back a few years, and there’s SO much I haven’t read yet. No George Eliot! No Trollope! Only one Dickens! What do I know? Who am I to write about this at all? But then it hit me that perhaps it’s not such a bad thing that I’m only a common reader with a newly-found interest. I can tell you, as one reader to another, what ignited the spark.

The first thing to attract me about the Victorian period was simply its aesthetic. As a lover of Gothic fiction, it was a natural follow-up. I love the atmosphere: the fog, the hansom cabs, the gas-lit streets. I love the isolated country houses, the early trains, the feverish letter-writing, the several mail deliveries a day. I love the clothes, though the knowledge of how uncomfortable and unhealthy those tight corsets really were duly horrifies me. When it comes to writing, I even love the intricate prose of all those unnecessarily long novels. And above all, I love how the Victorian era feels like a whole other world in some ways, and yet also feels remarkably close to our own in others.

And this brings me to another thing – to the thing that truly hooked me.  Atmosphere is marvelous, but on its own it wouldn’t account for the slight obsession I seem to have developed. The reason why I’ve come to enjoy Victorian novels so much is because I find that they tell me a lot about the world we live in today. I’m not saying, of course, that Victorian society is similar to twenty-first century European society. I realise that back then women’s rights were in an appalling state, that racism wasn’t even subtle, that colonialism was considered Only Right and Proper, that homosexuality was criminally punished, that class divisions were extremely rigid and seem as Facts of Life, and so on and so forth.

Only, as is often the case, to say that about the Victorians is to only tell half the story. All of the above is true, but what about the people who lived amidst all that rigidity? What about the real, breathing living human beings who looked around them and saw injustice? As in any historical period, not everyone supported the status-quo, and many people suffered under it. If we read between the lines we can find their stories too, and they tell us so much about what it means to be human.

I guess that in some ways, I see the Victorian world as an amplified version of our own. All the problems I mentioned above are still around today, but they have become more subtle and diluted, and therefore they are easier to ignore for those who can afford to do so. In the Victorian, era they were so obvious they were impossible to miss, which is why I enjoy reading about how people responded to them. Also, in my most pessimistic days I feel that we’re losing some of the headway we made in the twentieth century, so it’s comforting to know that even in an extremely rigid society, people survived.

But it’s really not just a matter of comfort, or of aesthetic pleasure: it’s that in the stories of early feminists, of intelligent women who realised how unfair and artificial their position was, of gay people who had to live in shame, of those who fought for social justice of any kind, I hear strong echoes of the world that surrounds me today.

Persuasion by Jane Austen

Find this book at an independent bookstore near you (via IndieBound).

I just had to include the actual cover of my copy of this book, because it is u-g-l-y.  Captain Wentworth looks like Ahab.  And the Armageddon-ishly orange sky and off-kilter horizon don't help matters.

Anyway, this IS a review, not just a post where I make fun of book covers.  Persuasion is a novel by Jane Austen, wherein Anne Elliot, who has DOORMAT stamped on her forehead, is in love with Captain Federick Wentworth.  But, when he proposed seven years ago, she was persuaded by her family and friends to refuse him.  Instead of trying his own brand of persuasion on her or the people who influenced her, Capt. Wentworth stomped off in a huff and made tons of money stealing other people's ships and cargo.  Now he's back in town, which means he and Anne pretend to ignore one another for the entire book until the very end.

My main problem with this novel was Capt. Wentworth.  I really didn't like him, and I don't buy him and Anne as a romantic couple.  Let's take a closer look at some of Wentworth's actions, shall we?

• He remains pissed off at Anne for dumping him seven years after the fact.  Hold a grudge much, dude?  There's a quality you want in a mate.
• When he first sees Anne again, he tells Louisa and Henrietta she's so changed he wouldn't have recognized her.  Wow.  Somebody better start getting ready to grovel until it hurts so good.
• There's a scene where Wentworth volunteers Anne to ride in a carriage on a walk back from some person's house.  Anne takes this as consideration on Wentworth's part--but is it?  What if he was just trying to get her out of the way so he could schmooze with Louisa some more without his ex-luvah looking on?  Hmmmmmm?
• After he puts Louisa into a coma, he volunteers Anne for nurse duties: "Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as Anne!"  Oh, yes, Anne will do it!  Anne will sleep on the floor taking care of someone!  Anne likes to do things!  Jackass.  (Sub-point to this point: he likes to talk with exclamation marks.)
• And speaking of Louisa--he practically throws himself at a teenage (I'm guessing she's a teenager) girl without thinking it through?  What did he think would happen, that no one would assume they were engaged or whatever?  That's not just lack of judgement, that's a complete lack of consideration for other people's feelings.
  
• He only becomes re-interested in Anne after he hears/notices other men are interested in her.  Then suddenly she becomes acceptable wife material.
• The letter--that was just strange.  I would have thought Capt. Wentworth would have had the balls to say those things in person instead of writing a letter.  Isn't that the 19th-century version of texting?

As for Anne, I'm of two minds with her--a part of me really, really liked her.  I think she's an absolutely wonderful person.  And while I did mention she's a doormat (she is), that doesn't mean I think she's a weak character; quite the opposite, actually.  If I had to live in her house with her father and sister, I'd either kill myself or go completely mad, so I admire her fortitude in that respect.  But at the same time, Anne is almost exactly like Jane Bennet from Pride & Prejudice, in that she's way too nice and too forgiving; except Anne hasn't got a Lizzie around to point out when people might be taking advantage of her, or to get her to stand up for herself before the world rolls over her like a giant bulldozer.  There were times during this book that I found myself saying, "JESUS CHRIST, ANNE!" and wanting to shake her.  So what I really wanted from this novel was for Anne to assert herself just once.  To say something like, "If you think I'm so pretty, why did you tell Louisa and Henrietta you never would have recognized me, you giant cocksucker?"  But she never does--she never calls Wentworth (or anyone else) out on his behavior, toward her or even anyone else; and strangely, she never allows herself to feel anything.  As soon as she gets excited, or hopeful, or sad or angry, she tries to "calm herself" until the feelings pass.  I can only guess this is because if she did, the floodgats would open and she'd go bat-shit insane like the rest of us; but I would have liked to have seen that moment: the moment Anne Elliot reaches the end of her rope.  Because you know it's coming.  OH YOU KNOW IT.

My point is, the status quo was maintained throughout this novel--when it started, Anne was in love with Capt. Wentworth, and at the end she's in love with Capt. Wentworth.  No change.  And because I liked Anne so much, I wanted someone equally as awesome for her to fall in love with.  Unfortunately, that person does not exist in this book.  I think it's pretty safe to say Anne will continue being a doormat and Wentworth will continue doing whatever the hell he does, without much regard to her desires, which he never inquired after.  But to be fair she wouldn't tell him what they were even if he did ask.

Does it deserve to be called a classic?

You might think because of that itsy-bitsy rant I just went into that I didn't like this book.  Au contraire, my little cabbages!  I actually think this is quite a well-executed work of art--and I don't often call novels that.  But here the term is very apt.  The way Austen starts off the book, almost hiding Anne, and then bringing her slowly to the forefront of the story and revealing her relationship with Wentworth, was masterfully done.  This book isn't an easy read, but it does completely pull you in, and you have to keep reading.  Which is amazing because, really, not that much happens as far as plot goes--it's almost entirely character-driven.

This isn't a story about a romance.  It's about how we all make compromises for the sake of the people we love.  That is the nature of relationships, especially with family.  And allowing oneself to be convinced to act against one's nature or desires isn't necessarily a bad thing.

But at the same time, the book is about how people let themselves be dissuaded from going after the things they want by fear.  This is especially true in Anne and Wenworth's case--Wentworth convinces himself that he can love Louisa because he's afraid Anne doesn't like him anymore.  Austen shows that what drives people's action is rarely what they want or don't want to do, but the influence of their friends and family, and their own insecurities.

This is why Austen is still so relevant and popular (and I'm sure I'm not the first one to say this, but it bears repeating):  she's such a keen observer of human nature that it's still very easy to sympathize with her characters, and probably always will be.

"Zombified" Adaptation Suggestion:

Devil's Persuasion

Sir Walter Elliot is really a demon, using the mirrors in his bedroom to travel to and from Hell.  His daughters, half-demon spawn, have succeeded in spreading discontent and misery throughout the county--all except for Anne, who has resisted the influence of her demon side for many years.  But will the demon remain quiet when Capt. Wentworth returns to Somersetshire?  Or will it emerge to wreak vengence on Anne's innocent cousins and anyone else who dares mess with her man??

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Classics Month Meme: How Far Is Too Far?

As Nymeth from Things Mean a Lot pointed out in a recent post, a lot of literature is in conversation with or taking inspiration from other literature.  "You don’t need to have read these other books to understand what’s going on in this story, but you’ll likely have a lot more fun if you have."

But where does one draw the line between conversing with other books and relying them on to prop your book up?  Cthulhu get so many mentions in novels these days, it's practically a steampunk cliché.  Lots of contemporary novels borrow whole plots from classic literature--Bridget Jones' Diary, for example.  What about borrowing characters, like Austen adaptations?  Or taking an entire classic novel and rewriting it into a different, modern genre, like with Little Vampire Women?



One book that really impressed me with its reworking of a classic novel was Just the Sexiest Man Alive by Julie James.  This book obviously took inspiration from Pride & Prejudice, but adapted it to present-day Hollywood very creatively.  If there hadn't been some lines in the book to clue me in, I don't think I would have even noticed its similarity to P&P (but I do see P&P everywhere, so maybe I would have).

On the flip side, a total FAIL adaptation for me was Jenna Starborn by Sharon Shinn.  This book proclaimed right on the cover that it was "a brilliant new twist on the classic story of Jane Eyre."  I love Sharon Shinn; and as most of you probably know by now, I love Jane Eyre, so this book should have been the easiest sell on the planet.  Unfortunately, I found to be just too derivative.  It was exactly like Jane Eyre--the "twist" was that it was set in an interstellar future.  But Shinn didn't do enough integrating the world with the plot to make it feel like an adaptation so much as a copy, which left me wondering why she even bothered to write it in the first place.



Now it's your turn!  How far can a modern novel "reference" a classic before it becomes derivative?  What are some books you think were successful or unsuccessful at referencing or using classic literature? 

Answer in the comments or on your blog (be sure to leave a link with Mr. Linky if it's the latter so I can check it out).

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Nadja by Andre Breton

You might recall that at the beginning of Classics Month, Meghan and I challenged one another to each read a classic novel.  Since my specialty is art, I challenged Meghan to read Nadja, by the pope of surrealism, André Breton, and today she's going to tell me what she thought of it!  

If you want to read what I thought of my challenge book, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, head over to Medieval Bookworm.

Review: Nadja, Andre Breton

While walking on the streets in Paris one day, Andre Breton encounters a young woman to whom he is immediately drawn.  As he gets to know her, he begins to encourage her art, and despite his married state, he begins to obsess over her and eventually fall in love with her.  Interspersed with this odd love story are Breton’s musics about art, beauty, and the state of the world, as well as numerous photographs and drawings.

This is one of those books which requires a ton of engagement on the part of the reader.  It felt as though every sentence was just loaded with meaning, at times to an overwhelming degree.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t intelligent enough to “get it all” the first time, and I think a second read would probably help a lot.  It’s a book that you need a class to dissect, and I’m sure that if I had a class on it, I would probably like it a lot more.

As it stands, though, I’m not sure reading it was entirely an enjoyable experience (although I wasn’t helped by the fact that it was on reserve and I had to read it in the not-so-quiet library!).  There were a full sixty pages before Andre even met Nadja, full of his musings on various things.  There were plenty of sentences that struck me as meaningful, but there was almost too much of it, and I wanted some part of the story to start.

When Nadja finally arrived on the scene, I was surprised to discover how peculiar she was, and also that I didn’t feel this was a love story.  They have a relationship, certainly, but it felt to me like Breton was using her as an object of curiosity, placing her on some pedestal where she didn’t belong, only so he could discard her later.  I didn’t like him at all, and I wasn’t interested in his thoughts on anything.  The photographs were interesting enough, but I wasn’t sure I was intelligent or educated enough to see how they fit in with the text.

In fact, probably the most interesting part of the book was the introduction, wherein I learned that Nadja was a real person!  I always read introductions last, and it was fascinating to know that this wasn’t actually fiction like I’d automatically assumed.  After years of thinking Nadja was a combination of different women, researchers discovered that she actually existed.  That caused me to think about the book in a new light, but didn’t rescue Breton from my dislike, that’s for sure.

To be honest, I’d never read a surrealist novel before, at least not that I can recall, and perhaps my lack of education in that area made it difficult for me to appreciate this sort of literature.  I’ve had enough experience with everything else that I can generally “get it” but I’m not sure this is a book that can just be enjoyed when read straight through alone.  Tasha might disagree with me, but I think I’ll stay away from this movement in the future!