Tag: classics

Classics Club Spin Result! Review 2595: The Passenger

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I know I’m early in reviewing my Classics Club Spin book, but it just so happens that when it was picked for the spin, I had just read it but not reviewed it yet. Lucky for me, because so many of the books remaining on my list are really long!

I am not sure how The Passenger made it onto my Classics Club list, but its origins are certainly interesting. Boschwitz, who had already escaped Germany with his mother, was so affected by the events of Kristallnacht that he wrote this novel in a great hurry. It was published in England in 1939 and in the U. S. in 1940, but then it just vanished. Revisions he mailed to his mother never arrived. Then, in 1942, he and his manuscript were on a passenger ship that was torpedoed by a German U-boat, and they were lost. Nearly 80 years later, a correspondence with Reuella Shachaf, Boschwitz’s niece, mentioned to Peter Graf that the manuscript for the book was held in an archive of the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek. So Graf looked it up and helped edit it and get it republished. It came back out in 2018.

The book opens with wealthy Jewish businessman Otto Silbermann handing over 51% of his business to a friend, Becker, to save it from being taken. As Becker points out, there is nothing Silbermann can do about it because he’s Jewish. Jewish men are being rounded up, but Silbermann has an advantage of not looking Jewish.

Back at home with his Christian wife, he tries to sell his house to another friend, Findler, who cheats him. Again, there is nothing he can do about it. Then thugs begin pounding on the front door, so Findler sends him out the back, saying he’ll protect Elfrieda.

Silbermann begins a journey lasting days, traveling by train from one city to another to find a way to escape Germany. His goal is to go to his son Eduardo in Paris. But Eduardo has been unable to get him the papers he needs. In the meantime, he lives in a state of paranoia, listening to constant insults to Jews, fearing strangers, and thinking he’ll be arrested any minute.

This is a tense novel that seems very realistic, although Silbermann occasionally becomes incandescent with anger about the injustice, thereby risking his own life. It’s a compelling novel.

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Review 2589: Lies and Sorcery

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This book was the last one I read for my A Century of Books project. At nearly 800 pages in small type and a fairly bizarre plot, it was quite a slog for me, but I was determined to finish it, especially because I hadn’t finished several others.

The novel is set in Sicily and narrated by Elisa, a young woman who is looking back over the history of her family to try to understand some complicated and intertwined relationships. She is an intrusive narrator, popping in frequently to make observations, and she implies in the beginning that she’s been mentally ill and is not altogether to be trusted. But I didn’t experience a big reveal that labels her as unreliable. Notes in the Introduction indicate that the novel is fairly autobiographical.

Elisa begins with her maternal grandparents. Her grandmother, Cesira, is a schoolteacher who marries Teodor Massia because he looks like a gentleman and acts like a gentleman so he must have money. Unfortunately for her, the Massia family throws him off because he has married a schoolteacher. Worse, he is a wastrel who blows away any money they have, so their daughter Anna grows up in poverty but with an inflated sense of self-worth as the daughter of the upper class.

On the other side of the family, Alessandra, the servant of a peasant, is happy to marry her elderly employer Damiano De Salvi, because for her it is a big step up. Unfortunately, they are not blessed with a child, that is, until she is dazzled by Nicola Monaco, a land agent who seems to her to be a great gentleman. When she has his child, she raises Francesco to think of himself as a person of great potential. The De Salvis spend every penny sending him to school and are repaid by his being ashamed of them.

For her part, Anna Massia (Elisa’s mother) spots her cousin, Eduardo Massia di Carullo, when she is five years old. Her mother points out this wealthy branch of the family, and Anna is struck by how handsome he is, like a prince. When they meet, more than 10 years later, he is struck by how beautiful she is, and she is instantly enamored. Unfortunately, Eduardo, although charming, is not a nice person, and he spends most of his time tormenting her and making her prove she loves him. They are engaged, but his family doesn’t know about it.

Eduardo, for some reason, befriends Francesco, who is a student in town dressed in shabby clothes, but he has adorned himself with some flashy but cheap ornaments and is introducing himself as a baron. It is through Eduardo that Anna and Francesco meet at a time when Eduardo is tiring of Anna. Francesco has no idea of their actual relationship and in fact never has. Then Eduardo disappears.

Anna doesn’t know that the Massia di Carullo family has been paying her mother a small amount of money every month since her father died. When Eduardo discovers this, just before he is ready to break with Anna, he tells his mother to double the amount. But this makes Anna find out about it, and she in her pride goes to his mother and says they don’t want her money. Then she and her mother are destitute, her mother ill and still having to teach, while she, indolent and untrained for anything, lies around the house all day. Francesco having fallen in love with her, she marries him even though he revolts her.

Our narrator describes all this in great detail, along with her parents’ marriage. Her mother is not at all maternal and often is quite nasty to her, but of course that makes the little girl idolize her more and follow her lead in disdaining her father.

The novel begins to turn into absolute weirdness about 10 years after the marriage when Anna learns that Eduardo died some time before of tuberculosis. Eduardo’s mother, who worshipped her son, has retreated from that reality and believes Eduardo is traveling around writing letters to Anna. Dona Concetta asks Anna to bring her the letters, which Anna begins writing.

Even though I have told a lot, by now, I’m not kidding, we are at about page 350 with plenty more to go as the entire family descends into madness.

Morante is a terrific writer, but she really takes her time. At one point early on, she is showing how Eduardo taunts Anna and she provides not one lengthy example but several. And these are sickening conversations.

The Introduction to my NYRB edition states that the theme of the novel is the inability to get out of poverty. That is certainly there, but I think a more important theme, aside from that of the perceived importance of class, is unrequited love. Nearly every character in the book loves someone who either doesn’t love them back or even actively despises them. And these people are tempestuous! And as for sorcery? Is there really a ghost of Eduardo or are these people driving themselves freaking insane?

Although the novel handles human emotions and behavior insightfully, and I sometimes sympathized with Elisa and occasionally with Francesco, most of the characters are more or less terrible, especially in their treatment of others.

I received this book from the publishers in exchange for a free and fair review.

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Review 2586: The White Bear

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The newly released (today, I think) reprint of The White Bear by NYRB is actually two novellas, The White Bear and The Rearguard. I wasn’t familiar with Pontoppidan but find he was an early 20th century Danish Nobel laureate. Both of these novellas were published in the late 19th century.

In The White Bear, we meet Thorkild Müller, who as a young misfit was directed into the ministry because of a grant that offered a generous university stipend for a theological degree if the recipient was willing to minister in the frozen north for an unspecified period. Thorkild takes the stipend but fritters away his time at university, barely setting foot in the classroom.

But then because of the deaths of two ministers, he receives his summons, which he tries to avoid by flunking his exams. That doesn’t work, and he ends up in Greenland ministering to the Inuit.

There he is miserable until one summer when, instead of returning to a trading post as expected while the Inuit were leading their nomadic summer lives, he goes with them.

Much of the story is about what happens when, as an old man, he decides to return to Denmark.

I really loved this story. I have a fascination for books about cold and desolate climates, but what’s more important is that Thorkild is an unforgettable character—huge and covered with an unkempt white beard, boisterous, simple, yet not as simple as he seems.

The Rearguard is about Jørgen Hallager, in some ways a bit like Thorkild but in others, not. He is also a big boisterous man, a social realist painter who considers that artists who turn away from realism are traitors, who is loud in his condemnation of almost everyone that doesn’t believe what he does.

He has recently become engaged to Ursula Branth, the frail, gently reared daughter of a state counselor. He has become engaged to her in Rome, where they make a lengthy stay and eventually marry. Her father and Hallager dislike each other. He is trying to separate her from her friends and family because of his socialist principles, and her father is worried about her.

I found Hallager to be insufferable—so full of himself and sure of his ideas, belligerent with anyone who disagrees, and verbally abusive to his wife, trying to bring her to a mental place where he wants her. I didn’t understand some of the basis for his rants (not being up on 19th century Danish politics and art).

I liked Thorkild a lot better. Both of the novellas are wonderful character sketches, though.

I received this book from the publishers in exchange for a free and fair review.

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Review 2582: #ReadingAusten25! Mansfield Park

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I decided to reread all of Austen for Reading Austen 25, even the books I had already reviewed. That said, I looked at my original review of Mansfield Park and thought it was still valid, so I thought I’d write about something else—the modern perception of Fanny Price.

The Introduction to my Folio Society edition by Richard Church asserts that the novel was written as a “self-disciplinary work imposed by Jane to exorcise grief and rebellion” after a promising courtship was cut off by the death of the suitor. Church himself rates Mansfield Park either 2nd or 3rd of Austen’s books, depending on where you put Emma (with Pride and Prejudice first).

A brief glance at Goodreads, however, tells me exactly what I expected to see—that of the six books counted as Austen’s oeuvre, (Sanditon isn’t usually included) Mansfield Park is the lowest rated. I suspect that’s because of Fanny Price, who is not at all a modern heroine. In fact, a few years ago someone made an “updated” movie that depicted Fanny as more of an Elizabeth Bennett- or Emma Woodhouse-like character, full of wit and energy. That movie missed the point. We have to view Fanny with early 19-century eyes, not 21st-century ones.

First of all, think how Fanny was raised. She is brought from her poor family to a wealthy one when she is only 10. She probably already has a retiring and timid disposition. Then for seven years she is treated with no regard for her feelings or wants except from her cousin Edmund. In fact, she is purposefully meant to feel the difference between herself and her cousins and is largely treated as a hanger-on, especially by horrible Mrs. Norris. In fact, it’s shocking to me that such a close relation is so treated, but we’re looking at money and class distinctions that may have been common in families. Think of Jane Eyre in exactly the same position.

But more difficult for the modern mind to deal with are the principles she’s been brought up with. To us, some of the distinctions that Fanny makes seem finicky, to say the least. (Others, like her reaction to Mary Crawford’s remark about the fate of Edmund’s very sick older brother, are not.) But to most of the early 19th century population, at least among the middle class or well-born (excepting, probably, the fashionable), they were not. As far as Henry and Mary Crawford are concerned, they have revealed too much of themselves, Henry in his dalliances with both the Bertram sisters and Mary in her remarks.

Fanny is growing up in this novel, learning to become herself. Much of her improvement comes from being able to develop a sense of self-worth after Sir Bertram returns from his travels and is happy to see her, and Lady Bertram discovers how useful and comforting she is, and different characters suddenly turn to her for advice. She may have learned her principles from Sir Bertram and Edmund, but by the middle of the novel, she is the one who recognizes principled behavior and speech, as Edmund becomes more in love with Mary Crawford and not only makes excuses for Mary’s remarks but is convinced to break his own principles.

Of course, the ultimate behavior of the Crawfords shows that Fanny was right all along, but before that, when Crawford decides he’s in love with her, she has the difficult task of sticking to her principles when everyone else disagrees with her. She may be gentle and retiring, but she resists all pressure. Think how much more difficult that would be for a person of her nature than for Emma or Elizabeth.

This has been rather a wandering post, but I hope that readers will look at Fanny differently.

Soon, we’ll be reading a book with a heroine much more like Fanny than the others, in Persuasion.

Oh, and I just have to say one more thing about the book in general. Edmund takes orders and has a parish, and then we never see him paying any attention to his job. He doesn’t stay in his parish; we don’t see him working on sermons. It’s like he’s completely forgotten about his work. I don’t think I ever noticed that before. There might be something about that which I don’t understand, though.

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Review 2571: #1952 Club! The Price of Salt

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Here we go with my last entry this year for the 1952 Club!

If you’re accustomed to Patricia Highsmith’s suspense novels, like the Ripley novels or Strangers on a Train, The Price of Salt may be a big change of pace. The W. W. Norton and Company edition I read tries to slant it more in that direction by using phrases like “sexual obsession” and “stalking” on the cover, but it’s not like that.

Therese Belivet is unhappy in her life. She is a set designer who can’t find a job, so she has taken a temporary Christmas-season job with a large department store. She hates that job. She dates a man who wants to marry her—Richard—but she doesn’t want to marry him, even though she likes him.

Then one day at work she sees a beautiful blonde woman about 10 or 15 years older than herself. She is immediately struck by her. After she sells her a doll, she puts a little thank you note into the package to be delivered, not signing it but using her employee number. To her surprise, the woman, Carol Aird, calls her at the store.

They begin a hesitant friendship, with Carol often picking her up to spend the night at her house. She lives alone because she is divorcing her husband, who is trying to get custody of their daughter. Therese, who is madly in love with Carol, can’t figure out how Carol feels, as she is cold at times.

Professionally, things are looking up a little for Therese. She gets a short-term job doing sets for an off-Broadway play and has the attention of a major director. Things are getting rocky with Richard, though, and she can’t figure out the situation with Carol. Then Carol invites her to accompany her on a cross-country driving trip.

If this book wasn’t written in 1952 or was about a man and woman, it would more or less be a standard romance with the entanglement of a 50s divorce. However, because of when it was published, it was a daring novel, especially for the United States. (I have read other similar books from English writers, published earlier.) Like many of Highsmith’s books, I wasn’t drawn to any of her characters, but I have never thought Highsmith cared about that kind of thing, in fact, may have preferred protagonists that readers don’t like.

I don’t know what I feel about it. I guess I admire Highsmith’s courage in writing it but otherwise felt sort of meh about it.

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Review 2570: #1952 Club! Excellent Women

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Entry #2 for the 1952 Club!

By “excellent women,” Pym seems to mean a type of English spinsters who occupy themselves with charity events and helping others, dress drably, and are taken for granted by men. That’s what Mildred Lathbury seems to think she is. She’s a clergyman’s daughter of limited means, mild-mannered and religious but observant of others’ characters while not wishing them any harm. In Excellent Women, she gets a surprising amount of attention from men, but then she’s always picking up after them.

Mildred lives upstairs of a vacant flat, and she’s curious about what her new neighbors will be like. She knows they’re named the Napiers by the sign at the doorbell. She meets Helena Napier on page 2, a young, stylish woman, and sees her around with a man, whom she assumes is her husband, Rockingham (known as Rocky). But he is not. He is Everard Bone, an anthropologist, and he and Helena, also an anthropologist, are writing a paper together. Rocky is off serving in Italy.

Mildred is good friends with Julian Malory, the vicar of her rather high church, and his sister Winifred. It is the expectation of several characters in the book that Julian will marry Mildred, but she doesn’t seem to expect it. Or does she? It’s hard to tell. Certainly, he is very friendly with her, but she thinks he is not the marrying kind.

Mildred meets Everard before she meets Rocky. Although he seems not to notice her at first, after a while he begins seeking her out. He is abrupt and serious, and she doesn’t think she likes him. Or does she? It’s hard to tell.

Once he shows up, Rocky is utterly charming and handsome. He is very friendly to Mildred and keeps popping up for tea. Mildred senses friction in the Napier home—well, she can hear them arguing. Rocky does all the cooking and cleaning in their home, because Helena is completely undomesticated. (She sounds like my kind of gal, even though she isn’t depicted particularly positively.) Mildred distrusts Rocky’s charm. She understands from Everard that Helena thinks she’s in love with him (Everard).

It being post-war London, it is still hard to find a place to live, so the Malorys decide to lease their upper floor. Soon, it is taken by Mrs. Gray, a beautiful clergyman’s widow. Mildred finds both Julian and Winifred transfixed by her, so she steers clear. It’s pretty evident what Mrs. Gray thinks Julian’s fate should be.

Mildred isn’t at all liberated. She is constantly cleaning up after men or doing ridiculously involved favors for Rocky and Helena, and all take her for granted. Yet, this is a lively, amusing social comedy. It is also a tale of the rapidly disappearing lives of upper- and middle-class English people.

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Review 2568: The Quiet American

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I long ago saw the movie version of The Quiet American starring Michael Caine and Brendan Frasier, but I couldn’t remember the details. I need to read more Greene, so when this book filled a hole in my A Century of Books project, I found a copy.

The narrator, Thomas Fowler, is an aging British reporter in Saigon, a cynical, world-weary man. The time setting is the early 1950s, when it was the French fighting the Communists in Vietnam. Fowler has lived a long time in Vietnam and has a young mistress named Phuong whom he cares for more than he admits.

At the beginning of the novel, he learns that an American, Alden Pyle, is dead. Then the story backtracks to his meeting with Pyle, a young naïve man who has just arrived in the country. Fowler catches on fairly quickly that Pyle has no real understanding of the country or its people but some half-baked ideas about Vietnam based on a book by an author who spent one week in the country. However, Pyle is not receptive to other ideas (until it’s too late).

Fowler invites Pyle to his home, where he meets Phuong. Very quickly, Pyle decides that he is in love with Phuong and tells Fowler he can make a better life for her, so he will court her but not behind Fowler’s back. He seems to have no conception that this may be painful for Fowler.

Fowler is married, so he cannot marry Phuong, but he writes a letter to his wife asking for a divorce—a request he’s fairly sure will be denied. At about the same time, he receives notice that he has been promoted and should return to London, but all he wants is to stay in Saigon with Phuong. He writes asking to stay.

He knows, though, that Phuong, although she cares for him, is probably ultimately going to be practical and take the young man who can marry her—egged on by her older sister, who has always thought Phuong could do better.

With this situation between them, Fowler begins hearing rumors about Pyle’s activities in Vietnam.

There are some suspenseful passages in this story, but what Greene does even better is get into the motivations of his characters. Of course, all the Americans in the novel are clueless oafs (except Pyle, who is clueless but not an oaf), and the women are disregarded. Phuong’s sister has more of a personality than Phuong does, and in one passage, Greene has Fowler basically say to Pyle that Phuong doesn’t think. (All she does in her own time is dance, visit her sister, and read movie magazines.)

If you can get past these caveats, this is a really good, suspenseful and psychological novel. None of the characters are particularly likable, but at some points you feel a lot of sympathy for Fowler.

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Review 2560: #ReadingIrelandMonth25! The Country Girls

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I have read many very long books lately, so I was relieved when I realized that I could read the first novel, The Country Girls, in my big volume of The Country Girls Trilogy for 1960 for my A Century of Books project. Not only that, but it would qualify for Reading Ireland, too! I will certainly read the other two novels at some time after I finish my project.

Just as another indication of the unreliability of Goodread’s list of books published for specific years, it had listed the trilogy for 1960, but all three novels as a single volume were not published until 1986.

Caithleen is 14 at the beginning of the novel, a naïve, gawky girl from Western Ireland. She adores her mother, but they both fear her father when he is drunk. Their house is falling apart, because her father routinely blows all their money when he is drunk and returns angry and violent.

The other girl is Baba, Caithleen’s frenemy, who bullies her in public and pulls nasty tricks on her but sometimes shows she likes her. Otherwise, her friends are older men—Hickey, who has worked for the family for years; the inappropriately behaving Jack, a pub owner; and Mr. Gentleman, who is middle aged and married but whom she likes.

Caithleen has won a scholarship to a convent school and is dismayed to learn that Baba is going, too. She tells Caithleen that scholarships are stupid, and her parents are paying her way, which obviously is better. Both girls are dreading going. Caithleen is suffering through a party at Baba’s house when People come to tell her that her mother is dead, having drowned crossing the Shannon when a boat sank.

The novel follows the two girls until they are 18 and get a room together in Dublin. All the while, Baba specializes in talking the more sensible and cautious Caithleen into situations where she gets into trouble.

This novel is a bit sad, a little funny, and true-to-life, as the naïve Caithleen follows more worldly Baba in their unusual friendship. Some tension is evoked by Caithleen’s continued friendship with Mr. Gentleman. I liked the novel very much and intend to read the other two of the trilogy.

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Review 2558: Reading Wales Month ’25! How Green Was My Valley

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I didn’t intend to participate in Reading Wales Month ’25 this year, but when this novel fit into my A Century of Books project, I decided to fit it in for Reading Wales, too.

Such a lovely book this is, especially in the music of its language. It’s the story of the Morgans, a family of Welsh coal miners, told by one of its youngest members, Huw.

Huw is six when the novel begins. His family and those of the others in the valley are relatively prosperous, but there are signs that with the mine owners, profits are becoming more important than the lives of the men. Huw’s older brother Davy has been reading socialist literature and is talking about a union, but his father is against it.

It’s difficult to summarize this book because it’s full of family events, one of the first being Huw’s brother Ivor’s marriage to Bronwen. And there is the arrival of Mr. Gruffydd, the new preacher. But overarching everything for the men is the work, as pay gets lower and the valley begins experiencing periods of hunger and want.

I was as entranced by this novel as I ever was, the family so upright, god-fearing, and loyal, Huw’s experiences as he grows up. All the while, the fate of the valley is foreshadowed as Huw speaks from his 60s, returning just as his house is being destroyed by a mountain of slag.

It’s a real page-turner, not in terms of action, but for other reasons.

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Review 2557: Cousin Rosamund

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Cousin Rosamund is the third book in West’s Aubrey family series, and another was planned. I couldn’t tell when reading it, but apparently West died before finishing the second book, This Real Night, so it was finished from fragments and notes. Cousin Rosamund was assembled the same way, although West’s style was certainly captured.

The novel begins sometime after World War I. The three Aubrey girls, Rose, Mary, and Cordelia, are the only ones left of their immediate family, but they still have Nancy, their old neighbor; their beloved cousin Rosamund; and the folks at the pub on the river. Cordelia, always the odd girl out, has become less hostile since her marriage.

Cousin Rosamund comes to tell Rose and Mary that Nancy is getting married. Mary especially is upset that Nancy didn’t tell her herself, but Rosamund’s intercession, they see later, is needed so that they will not judge Oswald on sight, for he is gauche, awkward, unattractive, and a man-‘splainer. But he loves Nancy and she him, and that is all that counts.

Rose and Mary are now both successful and famous pianists, but neither is interested in marriage. Mary, in fact, seems to find the idea distasteful, although they are glad to see their friends happily married.

Inexplicably, Rosamund, who has been working as a nurse, marries one of her patients. The girls are all hurt not to be invited to the wedding, and once they meet the groom, they are horrified. His name is Nestor Ganymedios, and he is rich, extremely vulgar, ugly, and probably dishonest in his business dealings. Further, they see almost nothing of her after the marriage.

This novel is about marriage, which West examines in several incarnations. Unfortunately, it ends before we learn the explanation for Rosamund’s choice, but at least West’s intentions for the entire series are explained in the Afterword of my Penguin edition.

All of these novels are beautifully written and show a profound knowledge of music. The girls have such pure affection for the small number of people they love, yet the characters are realistically drawn.

One caveat: In this novel some characters express outdated ideas about homosexuality, and some homosexual characters in the book are not depicted positively, but it is not clear when she wrote this. The first book went to the publishers in 1956, at which point she said she planned three more, but though she finished most of the second, she seemed unable to finish this one. It ends about 1929, but her original plans were to encompass World War II.

Although it doesn’t fit the context of what I’ve discussed, I wanted to give just one quote because it’s so lucid and poetically spare. Rose has seemingly been disgusted with her long-time friend Oliver after he told her the story of his first marriage despite its end not being his fault. She is really fighting a battle with herself. She enters a room where he is.

He came toward me and I became rigid with disgust, it seemed certain that I must die when he touched me, but instead, of course, I lived.

Wow.

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