Tag: classics

Review 2612: Across the Common

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Louise has left her husband Max for reasons that are not clear to her and gone to stay at The Hollies with her elderly aunts. Part of the problem is that she still considers The Hollies home and bears some guilt for how she left it. Maybe she resents some of the attention Max gives to his students or maybe that he realized his limitations as an artist but is happy as a teacher. (When we finally meet Max, he seems perfect, so it must be for some other reason.) In any case, she eventually realizes, she needs to grow up.

At first, she is happy to be home with her formidable Aunt Rosa and her fey-like Aunt Seraphina, although not so pleased to hear that Aunt Cissie, who has broken her hip, is coming to recuperate. And then there’s Gibby, the cook and housekeeper, who is more like family. But very soon, she learns something disturbing—that her grandfather committed suicide years ago. No one will talk about it, so she doesn’t know why.

As she listens to her aunts talk about their past, Louise begins considering what happened to all the men in the family—they all left or died. Her own father was a sort of invalid, and both he and her mother died there from the flu. Neither of her sisters ever married.

Soon, Louise begins to discover secrets in her family history and instead of retreating to her childhood, as she does at first, learns to become her own person.

I liked this book very much. The writing is gorgeous, and Berridge manages to tell the story without falling into clichés. Rooms, scenes, and emotions are minutely observed, as are perceptions about human relationships.

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Review 2607: Girls in Their Married Bliss

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Girls in Their Married Bliss is the third book in O’Brien’s Country Girls trilogy. It is unusual in that the book is narrated partially by Baba instead of only by Kate (once Caithleen). Baba is much more cynical, and she lets us know right away that neither of them is happy.

At the end of the last book, Kate seemed to give up on her older married boyfriend Eugene and moved to England with Baba. However, she was pregnant, so, in the interim between the last book and this one, she and Eugene eventually married. But Kate felt ignored in their marriage except for Eugene’s myriad of rules, so she began a romantic relationship with another man. They have just broken up at the beginning of this novel when Eugene discovers his love letters. He turns cruel and nasty and threatens to take away Kate’s little boy.

Baba has married a rich, crude builder for his money. After she has an unsatisfying encounter with a drummer, she becomes pregnant. Despite her knowing attitude, neither she nor Kate have any idea what to do, and they must do something, as Baba’s husband is not big on sex.

This is an affecting trilogy, but I thought this book was the most affecting. I don’t want to say any more about what happens, though.

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Review 2601: #ReadingAusten25! Emma

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After rereading Emma, I can understand in a way why Austen called her her favorite heroine. She has a long way to go in self-awareness, and I think that’s something novelists enjoy.

Although Emma has been played as a sparkling beauty by such actresses as Gwyneth Paltrow, when I began this reread, I found a lot to dislike in her. Fortunately, she is also easy to come to like. Rich, charming, somewhat spoiled, and managing, she is also bored, because her beloved friend and ex-governess, Miss Taylor, has recently married Mr. Weston. Since she prides herself on having made the match and has recently befriended Harriet Smith, she decides to make a match for her.

Now, Emma’s biggest fault—besides trying to arrange the lives of other people—is that she decides something and then sees nothing that doesn’t support that decision (despite hints by her brother-in-law, Mr. Knightly). Harriet is a beautiful girl, but she is the illegitimate daughter of who-knows-who. Emma, based on no evidence, decides she is the daughter of someone important, and the first harm she does to the suggestible Harriet is convince her she’d be throwing herself away by marrying Robert Martin, a farmer who has proposed to her. Emma intends her for the vicar, Mr. Elton, ignoring Mr. Knightly’s warning that Elton is looking for a marriage that will advance him. In fact, Emma, having decided for the match, takes his attentions to point at Harriet when in fact he is courting Emma herself. Harriet would never consider Mr. Elton without Emma’s management, so she develops affections where there will be no return.

Then there is Jane Fairfax, a lovely young woman who has recently returned from years of living with friends to the home of her impoverished aunt and grandmother. Jane Fairfax’s friend being recently married, Jane has returned home for a few months before seeking a position as governess. Although Jane is the only young woman of Emma’s age and birth in the neighborhood, Emma says she finds her too reserved to like. Emma is jealous of Jane’s accomplishments but doesn’t know it.

Mr. Weston has a son who was adopted by his wife’s family after she died. Although Frank Churchill is now a young man, he has never visited his father, having many times promised to come. He finally arrives, and Emma, who has not taken a hint about his character from his continual nonarrivals, finds she likes him very much.

As usual with Austen, there are lots of comic characters who echo people we know in real life. Mr. Woodhouse, Emma’s father, worries continually about his and everyone else’s health, and if Emma isn’t around when they entertain, he’ll have guests eating gruel instead of their dinners. Mr. Weston is so open and sanguine that if he knows something is a secret, he’ll only tell five or six particular friends. Mrs. Elton, once there is one, is full of self-importance, despite coming from an inferior background, and tries to patronize people, especially poor Jane Fairfax.

Of course, class difference is important in this novel, maybe more so than in much of Austen (except maybe Persuasion). So, some of the problems may not be obvious to modern readers.

Even if you don’t like Emma’s managing at first, she is such a sparkling and witty creation, fond and gentle with her silly father, and she is truly repentant of her faults once she comes to see them. This is a great book.

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Review 2600: Helen

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I thought I had read all of Georgette Heyer’s books, but when I looked up something recently, Amazon showed me that there were several I’d never heard of. So, I got a Conservatory Press print-on-demand copy of this one. It is one of her very few contemporary novels that are not mysteries, published in 1928.

Helen’s mother dies in childbirth, and although her aunt offers to take her, her father insists on keeping her. She is brought up in wealth on a country estate enjoying riding, hunting, and sports. She has old-fashioned values when she becomes an attractive young woman. Then everything is upended with World War I.

This novel spends a lot of time with the bright young things that emerged after the war. Helen is drawn into the set by some friendships, but her older friends are dismayed. She also attracts a young artist who may be a dangerous type.

There are long conversations in this novel meant to show how the younger generation is changing its attitudes from their Edwardian parents. It seemed to me that both sides had intolerant viewpoints, but the younger people, meant to be witty, seemed silly. In any case, I hate to say it, but I found this focus as well as Helen’s relationships to be a little tedious after a while. I didn’t think that this more serious romantic novel was Heyer’s forte. And both generations expressed attitudes about women that we find objectionable now.

As with most machine-read books, I found lots of wrong words. Not typos, but the wrong word replacing a correct one. I thought perhaps no human had read the book between machine-reading and publishing, but maybe someone read the beginning. I say this because the errors increased so much in the last third of the novel that sometimes it was difficult to guess what was meant. Helen is fairly consistently called “he” instead of “she,” and at one point, she is called “Heaven” instead of “Helen.” So, you can imagine how several errors could mount up to make the text unintelligible at times.

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Review 2599: The Lonely Girl

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The Lonely Girl is the second novel in Edna O’Brien’s The Country Girls trilogy. The trilogy is quite autobiographical without matching the details of O’Brien’s life exactly. I did a little reading about O’Brien lately and was interested to learn that her books were originally banned in Ireland because of their frankness about sex and other women’s issues.

If you haven’t read the first volume, you may not always understand what’s going on at first. It is very short, so I recommend it.

Caithleen and her friend Baba are still living in a rooming house in Dublin at the beginning of the novel. I was happy to learn that Caithleen has broken with Mr. Gentleman. However, the girls are living a giddy life, crashing parties, trying to find men to buy their drinks, and hanging out with people Caithleen disapproves of. They are happy to be thought fast but still very innocent and silly.

We saw in the first novel that Caithleen is attracted to older men, and early in the novel, she meets Eugene Gaillard, a documentary film maker, who is older. He is obviously attracted to her, but it is she who takes the initiative to see him. Although he is attracted by her freshness and innocence, he doesn’t understand how innocent she is. Eventually, she finds out that he has been married, and although they are separated, they are not divorced. Caithleen is still very Catholic, so there would be a problem even if he were divorced.

Some ill-wisher gets involved and sends anonymous letters around, including to her father, which makes a difficult situation even worse. I was struck by how everyone assumes these letters are true (they are not) without asking her.

Although I think Caithleen is very silly at times, she is struggling with a lot considering her total ignorance of sex, her uncertainty with Eugene, her jealousy of Eugene’s wife, and so on. She is kind of a wet noodle in this one, always in tears, but I still want to find out what’s next.

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Review 2598: A Place to Stand

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The first novel I read by Ann Bridge was contemplative. This one becomes much more action oriented. But both are about women developing new conceptions of themselves. This one is about a young woman becoming an adult.

A Place to Stand was published in 1951, but it is set ten years earlier. Hope Kirkland is a little bit spoiled, a nineteen-year-old American whose wealthy father is an oil executive living in Budapest for the last eight years. Although she and her mother have lived there that long, neither of them seems to understand much about what’s going on around them politically.

Hope is engaged to Sam Harrison, a young journalist who has just been transferred to Istanbul. At his departure, he gives Hope a large box of chocolates, which she thinks is an odd goodbye gift. However, when she opens it, she finds it contains two passports for young men and money with a note of where to take them. So, she does. In a less desirable neighborhood, she finds a group of Polish refugees, an old woman, her two sons Jurek and Stefan, and Jurek’s fiancée Litka.

Hungary is neutral, but Poland is fighting the Nazis. Some Hungarian politicians are pushing the country toward Germany, so Polish refugees are in potential danger. Stefan and Jurek are almost ready to leave the country, but they are waiting for something to arrive from Poland first.

Hope is immediately drawn into the affairs of the Polish group. She is struck by what was clearly once a wealthy family having no home and no possessions. Then the Nazis arrive in Budapest and immediately begin looking for Poles. At the same time, the Americans are asked to leave the country.

I had to get over my initial reaction to Hope and her general obliviousness, which was made worse for me by Bridge’s continual use of the word “little” to describe just about everything about her, her little hand, her little figure, etc. However, this novel turns into an adventure that results in self-discovery for her. I enjoyed it quite a bit, acknowledging that probably many rich American girls at the time were silly and clueless (although ones living right there in Budapest? I’m not so sure).

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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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