'The Other Bennet Sister' by Janice Hadlow

MY THOUGHTS:

The recent Binge series starring Ella Bruccoleri was delightful so I followed it up with a re-read of this hefty novel, which I bought back in 2020 when it was first published. 

It focuses on poor, nerdy, lonely Mary, the middle Bennet girl. Of course Jane Austen, her initial creator, never intended for us to admire this character. In Pride and Prejudice, Mary is depicted as a bluestocking in the worst sense of the word, with no sense of humor. Her scholarly ambitions are poked fun at as pompous and try-hard; the polar opposite of Lydia's and Kitty's giddy frivolity, but equally silly in the eyes of others. 

Yet the popularity of this novel along with the TV series proves how many of us are eager to take Mary to our hearts. Not only does she fail to impress people on any account, despite trying so hard, but she has no close sister companion. Mary Bennet is a representative for those of us who ever felt outshone or eclipsed. She's unsought and invisible unless mocked. 'Plain like a potato, a length of unbleached calico, a flat, white dinner plate.' 

This story follows Mary to London, where she seeks refuge with her uncle and aunt Gardiner to escape Lady Catherine de Bourgh's overbearing plans to set her up as a governess. But in the big city, Mary catches the eyes of two young gentleman. First is Tom Hayward, a hard-working young lawyer with a passion for poetry, and second is William Ryder, a wealthy university drop-out whose luxury loving motto may well be YOLO or 'Seize the day.' 

Being all about Mary, one of the novel's themes is the limitations of trying hard. Since I've worked on all sorts of projects with Mary's white-knuckled determination to excel, I really understand her earnestness. Yet some attributes simply elude effort. For example, Mary simply doesn't sparkle, while Lizzy does it naturally. Then later, the kind-hearted and whimsical Tom describes the sort of mindset necessary for appreciating poetry. Rather than doggedly trying one's best to figure out the poet's intentions, a more helpful approach is to come at it with a simple willingness to be swept up in the grandeur, inviting it to yield its meaning. (This may, in fact, hold true to some extent for all literature and not just poetry.) 

Janice Hadlow is sensitive in extending several secondary characters' stories too. She never contradicts the personalities Austen has given them. I love it when Mary goes to stay with the Collins family, and our sympathy for poor Mr Collins is properly stirred. At the same time, Hadlow leaves us wondering whether Charlotte just shoved poor Mary under the bus. But the wonderful Gardiners of Gracechurch Street step up even more graciously than they do in the original classic. And mean girl, Caroline Bingley, gleams at her catty and malicious best. Once again, she's trying to sink her claws into an extremely eligible bachelor before a Bennet girl gets him. This book is a very cool example of why I love fanfic style works that stick strictly within the parameters of canon. 

I do think the novel could have been condensed quite a bit. For example, the TV series compresses a couple of the ball incidents into a single one, for good reason. But never mind, even though it tends to ramble, at least we're in Austen's Regency era, a very fun time period to get bogged down in.

 Also, of course, is the question that can't be hedged. Is it a stretch to believe that awkward Mary, after merely moving to London and buying a few brighter dresses, suddenly attracts the serious attention of not one but two bright and appealing young gentlemen? It would seem that since they are both literary and cultured fellows, Mary's unconventional depth of reflection appeals strongly to them. I can buy that. 

Overall, Janice Hadlow's aim is probably to help modern Mary counterparts grow more generous toward themselves. Its potential to do just that makes it a book worth reading. As Mr Collins and Aristotle help her to understand, true happiness depends on ourselves. And the most important habit to conquer is the habit of misery itself.  

You might also like to visit my fanfic page.

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The Bottom Line - Some ways in which the TV series embellishes or improves upon the book. These may be spoilerish so proceed with caution. 

1) In the series, Mary accidentally smashes Mr Ryder's prized momento from his father. It's a shattering end to one episode. 

2) In the series, Mary's four sisters are actively snooping around while Mary ponders whether or not to accept Mr Ryder's proposition, (which only later becomes an actual proposal). This adds a nice comical touch, especially when Elizabeth does her utmost to convince Mary that Ryder's first idea is demeaning. 

3) The series starts Tom Hayward off with a fiance, Ann, who never exists in the book. This possibly does add a bit more necessary tension for the screen. 

4) Now, here is an adjustment I really like. In the series, Mary offers some impromptu assistance to Caroline during that stormy day on Scafell Pike, when Caroline falls and badly twists her ankle. Hence, Caroline's letter to Tom shortly after this event humanizes this mean girl, as she decides to return a favor. In the book, this formative accident never happens. Therefore, Caroline's motive for writing to Tom remains essentially selfish, as she wants Will all to herself. Kudos to the series, for excavating a grateful, generous side to Caroline Bingley, be it ever such a fleeting flash in the pan.  

5) As I mentioned above, some handy editing takes place in the series. For example, the ball in which Lizzy is first offended by Darcy is one and the same as the ball in which Mary is forced to offend poor John Sparrow. Yet in the book, they're needlessly stretched out. 

6) Also as mentioned above, Lady Catherine de Bourgh gets way too bossy in the book, insisting on trying to find Mary a position as a governess, until Mary appeals to her uncle and aunt hugely to prevent this happening. The series didn't feel it necessary to add this detail, which I consider a strength of the book. Poor Mary was beginning to feel cornered like a rabbit in a hole, which thoroughly stirred my empathy. 

Taken together, the visual excellence of the series is a great treat after the effort of getting through the thick book. I wouldn't miss it. You can watch the series without reading the book, as many viewers have done, but I recommend not doing it the other way around. If you've read the book alone, it simply must be followed by watching the series.     

 

'The Screwtape Letters' by C. S. Lewis

Summary: A Masterpiece of Satire on Hell’s Latest Novelties and Heaven’s Unanswerable Answer

C.S. Lewis’s The Screwtape Letters has entertained and enlightened readers the world over with its sly and ironic portrayal of human life and foibles from the unique vantage point of Screwtape, a highly placed assistant to “Our Father Below.” At once wildly comic, deadly serious, and strikingly original, C.S. Lewis gives us the correspondence of the wordly-wise devil to his nephew Wormwood, a novice demon in charge of securing the damnation of an ordinary young man. The Screwtape Letters is the most engaging account of temptation—and triumph over it—ever written.

MY THOUGHTS:

 This is the first time I've ever read this spiritual classic through from cover to cover, although I've dipped into it here and there over the years. But I decided this year would be the year.

It is an epistolary novel. We all know humans are said to have guardian angels, but it seems we are each assigned personal demons from hell too. Wormwood is a novice tempter whose Uncle Screwtape writes him a series of letters, instructing him in the treatment of his human charge at a pivotal moment. Not only has a serious war just broken out, but the young man has just turned to the enemy's camp and become a Christian, and the two fiends aim to get their own claws stuck back into him. 

Okay, from the very outset, we must get used to topsy-turvy references. God is always referred to as 'the Enemy' while Satan is depicted as 'our father below.' Once we have that straight in our heads, we are treated to a wealth of diabolical wisdom full of snares, traps, and subtle attitudes tweaks that have proved effective against humans for generations. 

Don't let its modest size fool you. It's a really dense little book, full of pithy prose slabs. Some of the letters are worth pondering several times. 'The fact that devils are predominantly comic figures in the modern imagination will help you,' Screwtape tells his nephew. Therefore, Lewis didn't make the book overly funny. It is full of witty, pointed satire rather than comedy. 

'Humans are amphibians, half spirit and half animal. The Enemy's determination to produce such a revolting hybrid was one of the things that determined our father to withdraw his support from him.'

And how about, 'You first allowed the patient to read a book he really enjoyed because he enjoyed it and not in order to make clever remarks about it to his friends.' Ooh, is that a call-out to all book bloggers to assess our own motives? 

Throughout the story, the pair of demons aim to set the young man up with dodgy women, but he falls in love with a nice, pure girl from a squeaky clean Christian family. They then realize that they might be able to use this young lady's fixed, somewhat judgmental opinions to infuse the young man with spiritual pride. And so it goes on. I appreciate how Screwtape identifies the young man's mother as a glutton, even though she eats extremely sparingly, for the vice is not a matter of quantity but rather the extent to which our consumer habits grip our passions and priorities. 

My problem is the ending. I got to Letter 31, the culmination of the book, after a long day in hospital where I'd had some day surgery. At home that same night, I thought nothing could lift my spirits better than finishing off one of the bestselling, uplifting classics of the last century. But the ending broke my heart!

It devastates me in the same way the The Last Battle hurts me at the end. And I partly blame myself. I should have seen where Lewis was going with this. I should have! I should have!

As it is, I suspect these same two demons have now been assigned to me. I can clearly imagine Screwtape telling Wormwood, 'Use timing to your advantage. Be sure this woman ends the book during a moment of personal fatigue and vulnerability. Then she'll always remember one of the most sublime and insightful novels of the 20th century with a touch of trauma.' 

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No Platform Jumping Here!

 Over the past year or so, I've noticed a new trend. Bloggers I follow (often with their own custom built WordPress blogs) have been abandoning their domains in droves to begin fresh with Substack, even though their old blogs still appear to be extremely interactive and frequently visited. This suggests they must expect a lot from this new platform. My daughter, who is in her mid-twenties, recommended that I follow their lead. She went so far as to tell me that she only ever reads articles or opinion pieces on Substack. If a post from a Google blog like this one popped up on her search engine, she claims she'd scroll straight past.

That surprised me. 'Even if it's a topic that really interests you?' 

'Yes.' 

Whoa, did you know platform snobbery of this nature is so rampant? It seems to be especially the case with the younger generation. My youngest son tells me he admires humble blogs on vintage platforms, but he might be an outlier.

Anyway, back to these bloggers and their new Substack accounts. Since I enjoy these people's writing, I subscribed to their Substacks, careful to remain on their free settings. As a low income family, if I start paying subscription fees to read people's material that used to be free, the budget will balloon into something unaffordable in a heartbeat. It's not that I don't think thought-provoking writing deserves pay, because I definitely do. I simply can't afford to allocate money which is already spread to its limit to read bloggers' content. And getting selective about whose Substack I'd be prepared to pay for when many people have started putting a price on it isn't a road I want to travel down.  

But I've considered my daughter's suggestion, and do understand some of Substack's appeal. It seems to have a simple start-up process, a nifty way of dropping into followers' in-boxes, and that option to try to earn a bit of money by charging readers to access some articles. I've been told it's also a great forum for writers of all types to rub virtual shoulders. In many ways, jumping off Blogger to begin over there seems like a sound move for possibly gaining more traction and followers.

There's just one thing though. I'm still invested heavily into this blog!

My heart doesn't want to jump ship to some new, trendy platform. During this past decade, people have recommended that I change to WordPress or try writing on Medium. While I was still assessing the Medium idea, that platform seemed to fade from my radar, although I know it is still around being used. (And see here, my justification for leaving Bookstagram which I did try my best at for a while.) But now Substack is surging to the fore.

I've spent every week since 2014 adding to my history here. When I introduce new pages with common themes, it feels a bit like adding new wings to my castle. What's more, my dedicated building has begun to reap benefits by showing up high on search engines. Often when I google some vintage book or other, my reviews pop up near the very top. Over a decade of quiet, regular updating seems to have bestowed on this blog a credibility of its own, which even search engines seem to pick up on in their own impersonal way. My blog has taken years of steady updates to nudge search engines that it is around, filling a valuable spot. I'm loath to turn my back on that by starting over fresh with Substack. 

This is an extremely modest blog, which is undoubtedly evident, but page views remain in triple or quadruple figure averages, which increase over time. (Surely they can't all be bots!!!) I don't often see these readers, for they rarely comment, but I appreciate this secret evidence that they're out there. Some of my blog posts do amazingly well. My ranking of the Bronte sisters' seven books has collected around 20000 views to date. My pages on my Trixie Belden Marathon and the Pollyanna series have also got far higher traffic than I expected.

Hopefully the readers who visit are researching, browsing quietly, saving links, and simply enjoying my takes on books, both vintage and in the current spotlight. The stats seem to promise that they are. 

Hey, I invite you to type 'The Vince Review' into the Google toolbar of your phone and wait for the AI blurb to pop up. It consistently boosts my mood with its accurate (and complimentary) summaries of what I do here. 

In a nutshell, I'm going to doggedly stay put. This blog is not trending or going viral or being talked about, and that will never happen. I know nothing about adding bells and whistles and incentives. But I have reason to believe it is quietly doing its job. It serves as a reading room, a quiet resource library of sorts, where people can pop in, spend some enjoyable minutes or hours, take what they need, and hopefully return. 

This blog is over a dozen years old as I write, which can't be said for too many. I read somewhere that the average lifespan of a blog before they crash and burn is three to four years. So I'll resist the siren call of Substack, or any other shiny new platform, and still be here in the future with reliably free content. And I'll finish with this friendly reminder that you are welcome to subscribe to my feed in the toolbar, and then it will show up in your inbox anyway, even though it is not Substack.       

'The Penderwicks in Spring' by Jeanne Birdsall

Here is the fourth instalment of a five part series about a family of girls which has been likened to modern classics. This follows The Penderwicks, The Penderwicks on Gardam Street, and The Penderwicks at Point Mouette.

MY THOUGHTS: 

The first three books in this series cover a fairly short time span, but this fourth skips ahead six years, which I welcomed because of the potentially changed dynamics. Batty, now 11 years old, takes center stage. She's the same age as her elder sisters during most of their earlier escapades. So rather than spreading the focus around, it now seems more concentrated on one specific Penderwick.

Still, I find it refreshing to have a shy and sensitive heroine, when feisty, bold young girl protagonists seem so popular with readers and publishers alike. Batty is such a private person that she hates writing book reports for school because a person's opinions are her own business. It's ironic, in a way, that she proves to be endowed with such an up-front talent as singing.

But at the heart of the story is 'The Conversation'! Batty accidentally overhears a devastating revelation Skye makes to Jeffrey. The news sheds a horrifying light on Batty's position within the Penderwick clan, making her consider herself as 'The Girl who Brought Death.' 

Grief is a major theme of this book. At the very start, we learn that beloved old Hound died six months earlier, and Batty still struggles to cope with his loss. One song her music teacher coincidentally chooses for her to practice is 'Not a Day Goes By' with that very motif. Even Lydia, the smallest sister, is aware that her kindergarten teacher had to bury Frank the guinea pig in a box. Perhaps this book should come with a warning for middle-graders who simply expect a bright, comical read. Even the title gives the impression that this is exactly what we'll get, but it's not the case.

Meanwhile, Rosalind has split up with Tommy and currently dates Oliver, a crashing bore with a gorgeous face. Skye, who still doesn't do emotions well, tries her hardest to keep Jeffrey at arm's length now that he extends romantic feelers toward her. Jane keeps her notebook of story ideas, still keen on becoming a published fiction author. I would've liked even more of Jane's bookworm antics now that she's sixteen, although there is one fun incident in which she tries to embellish Batty's dreaded book reports. 

This book starts off fairly slow. We're nudging the halfway point with still nothing more than a young girl walking dogs to save up some money for singing lessons. Sweet as that is, it could've been condensed. The second half is when all the real action starts. In all honestly, these Penderwick books tend to drag in spots. 

But characterization is their saving grace. I love Batty, even though she does a ton of crying. Even Skye has grown on me a bit, in her prickly way. (Surely these two sisters' relationship must always be fraught and awkward from now on. A sensitive soul like Batty will surely never forget how Skye expressed what she said.) 

Skye, as we know, is Jane's opposite, and she is also Batty's, but in an entirely different way. Rosalind still does the eldest sister role in the style of Meg March, and Ben adds a bit of brotherly spice which does the story no harm. Now a free-thinking eight-year-old, he provides dashes of comic relief with his passion for digging up rocks. And we have a brand new baby sister, Lydia, who brings a fairy princess vibe. I have a hunch that Lydia will assume the pivotal role in the fifth and final book. 

But I can't believe there's no lock on the bathroom door, with all those teenage sisters floating around! I agree with Ben, what the heck? 

Look out for my review of the fifth and final instalment, The Penderwicks at Last. 

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'Are you there God, it's me, Margaret' by Judy Blume

I'm always on a quest to revisit retro books from my youth and work my way through books I have on hand on my physical piles. This one ticks both boxes. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

Essentially, Margaret Simon, our 11-year-old protagonist, moves from New York City to New Jersey with her parents. She makes new friends, conscientiously tackles school assignments, grapples with a crush on the boy who mows their lawns, and tries to compare different church services to choose the most outstanding. On the face of it, this doesn't sound like a book which deserves to have been banned many times since its publication in 1970. Yet it has been, even though it's now considered a classic! 

To me this novel is less of a revelation than a recognition. I first read it in the early 1980s when I was the same age as Margaret and her tweenie friends. Back then, my own secret girls' club certainly found our current fixations mirrored in theirs. 

It's a world of trainer bras, which are basically strips of fabric for kids who don't really need them but simply can't wait. My friendship group also had the same unofficial race to start our periods, consequent period envy, and fascination with our changing bodies, not to mention those of the boys in our classes.

 But the book's critics deem it too frank a forage into the mindsets of enquiring adolescent girls. The content has been dubbed, 'inappropriate' by many parents, teachers, and librarians, which sadly suggests these gatekeepers diminish the preoccupations of pre-teen girls as unworthy of attention. 

Sure, I find my own behavior a bit facepalmy in hindsight, but this novel reminds me that the physical aspect of adolescence really seems the substance of magic while we're living it. Our metamorphoses are like spiritual portals into the secret (and sexy) world of adulthood. I think being reminded of our feelings, and having them normalised is probably a healthy thing.

The book has a great cast, including Mr Benedict, their young teacher fresh out of college, poor, well-endowed Laura Danker, who puts up with so much rubbish from her peers, and Philip Leroy, who behaves like a crass clown but gets away with it, because all the girls agree he's so handsome. And Nancy Wheeler, Margaret's best friend, is such a diva, using water-works, exaggeration, truth stretching, tale telling, and gossip like weapons. I do pity her older brother, having to live with her.

The second reason for frequently banning this book is its other main preoccupation, in which Margaret undertakes her personal quest to discover her ideal religious faith, or at least one that gels with her. Her community itself, in that time and place, seems divided between Judaism and Christianity. Throughout this story Margaret attends a Jewish temple with her paternal grandmother, and three different Christian denominations with friends. Yet the fact that she ends up even more confused if not downright disillusioned is assumed by some readers to be Judy Blume's indictment against organized religion. 

Some reviewers object to the idea of an 11-year-old embarking on her own independent examination, without the guidance of any clergy-person, such as a priest, rabbi, or minister. Yet to me it's clear that Margaret, knowing herself to be a clean-slate, instinctively intuits that seeking professional guidance would instantly enmesh her in the webs of institutions she might choose not to continue with. She isn't ready for that yet. It is a jungle out there, for a young person in Margaret's position, and after what happened to her parents, she fears getting burned too. 

From the start, Margaret has always felt slightly bereft to be known as the girl with 'no religion.' Her parents have been seriously hurt in their past in the name of their faith. (My own youthful background has parallels but I won't go there and blow out this review.) Her mother's piously Christian parents disowned their daughter for marrying a boy with Jewish roots. I don't blame Margaret for finding this horrifically over-reactive and dreadfully sad. 

One of her most private habits is talking things over quietly with God, who she assumes is not only interested in her but active in her world, shaping her personal events behind the scenes. Hooray for Margaret, who has successfully managed to place the main thing in its rightful spot without any input from anyone. 

The ending disappoints some readers, when Margaret apparently rejects all of the religious services she attends. But surely the end is not really the end. Margaret is still only twelve years old. Although this novel finishes, her search for faith presumably doesn't. And for the record, I believe encouraging people as young as eleven to research and think for themselves rather than blindly following any type of herd is a great move. 

I can't help thinking that if Judy Blume had written this story in such a way that Margaret did feel drawn to any of the denominations she attends, she couldn't have possibly pulled it off without appearing agenda driven, and then she would have been accused of outright propaganda. 

It's simply an extremely hot topic she's chosen as a main theme. 

Overall, it is amazing to think that, having been first published in 1970, this book is over half a century old. Its content still seems so fresh and evergreen, with a few exceptions. (Class visits to the library to consult encyclopedias for school projects. Margaret's father's Playboy subscription, which his wife and daughter never turn a hair at. I don't remember noticing this dodgy detail when I first read it as a twelve-year-old. I also discovered more recent editions, including mine, have been subtly updated. Sanitary belts in the original have been changed to adhesive pads, which are all I've ever known, and I sincerely hope I'm not far from menopause.) 

Bottom line: for such a slim, simple, enjoyable, and fun little story, the content has certainly pushed lots of people's buttons over the years. Human nature is a funny can of worms. Prod and poke it with care. 

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'Home' by Marilynne Robinson

Summary: Home parallels the story told in Robinson's Pulitzer Prize-winning Gilead. It is a moving and healing book about families, family secrets, and the passing of the generations, about love and death and faith.

Hundreds of thousands were enthralled by the luminous voice of John Ames in Gilead, Marilynne Robinson’s Pulitzer Prize–winning novel. Home is an entirely independent, deeply affecting novel that takes place concurrently in the same locale, this time in the household of Reverend Robert Boughton, Ames’s closest friend.

 MY THOUGHTS: 

This isn't a sequel so much as a complementary story. In Gilead, we have Reverend John Ames' written account of what happens when his namesake, Jack Boughton, returns home after an absence of twenty years. This book shines a light on what takes place in the Boughton household simultaneously, with frequent intersections. 

This time round we see Jack through the eyes of his sister, Glory, the youngest Boughton sibling who holds the home front and cares for their ailing father. Glory is a former English teacher with a Master's degree, and she's been jilted by her long-term romantic partner. Now that she's back where she started, her question is, 'What have I done with my life?' Full-circle at the age of 38 isn't what she'd ever planned. 

It's a great story about the strong bond that forms between Reverend Boughton's two self-proclaimed unexceptional children, Glory, the frustrated try-hard, and Jack, the brilliant underachiever. Their other six siblings all managed to tick the boxes of respectability and conventionality. There are all too few great books about sibling relationships, especially those like Jack and Glory, who are nudging middle-age. 

Although Gilead and Home are companion novels, I believe this one should be read second to give us the best all-round picture of Jack. I appreciate his self-inflicted torture and complexity even more, having first seen him through old Ames' cynical and weary eyes. Now, Home delves deeper into ways in which Jack's youthful indiscretion has, in fact, rocked his world and shaped his personal conception of himself.

Ah, Jack! He's the quintessential spiritual seeker who cannot bring himself to accept the validity of the religious panaceas he sees on offer, or at least not in his case. In Gilead, we see him grapple with the question of whether he is truly among the damned. Here we see more of his inner struggle. 

As I read Home, I asked myself whether Marilynne Robinson really intends to reveal what makes Jack tick for us. He's never managed to fathom his own self, after years of effort. Does she truly hope to crack his code, simply because she's his author? Jack Boughton has taken on a life of his own, if ever a character has. The question certainly kept me reading.

I've got to say, one thing that boy can do is garden! He has an undeniable green thumb. Perhaps he should consider that his true calling. Instead, he perceives it as a restless use of time that would otherwise hang heavy on his hands. Never have I made any property as shipshape as Jack manages to get the old Boughton place in a reasonably short time frame. 

And then there's Glory, whose tears flow so easily and frequently. I consider her a super-sister, for Jack is not an easy brother to deal with. It must be true, deep affection. Glory's weeping is a sign of strength, revealing her tremendous reservoirs of empathy and solidarity. Her tears indicate a seeping over of all that she's processed in her life. I've often noticed modern reviewers criticize the tears of any female characters as gender weakness. But examples such as Glory Boughton prove to me that this is sometimes a shallow judgement. 

The third family member beneath their roof is, of course, the patriarch, Reverend Robert Boughton. He's a frail wisp in his physical frame, a titan in his faith, yet very old-school and reactive in ways elderly clergy can be, taking provocation out of proportion. For example, Reverend Boughton is horrified to hear Jack blaspheme, yet dismissive of the horrific and topical cause that triggered it. Still, sometimes the simplest souls grasp the greatest truths. Robert sums up the paradox of life when he says, 'Some things may have worked out better than they did. I know that. But there was always a lot to enjoy.' 

I loved the brief appearance of Teddy, doctor extraordinaire and cream of the Boughton crop. He's fourteen months Jack's junior, but drags himself through life like a weather-beaten Atlas, old before his time with grey hair and rheumatism. It's fascinating to see the toll being the 'good boy' has taken on Teddy. And one of my favorite moments of the book is when Teddy flings his schedule to the wind, telling Jack, 'I'll just make a few phone calls. I see patients every day, but seeing you is exceptional.' 

As you might have gathered, it's a very character-driven, rather than plot-driven book. The ending is as frustrating as any story can possibly deliver, but in a way which suggests hope of future fulfilment not far on the horizon. I'm removing one star though, because of the frustrating ending.

Toward the conclusion, Glory prays, 'If I, or my father, or any Boughton has ever stirred our Lord's compassion, then Jack will be alright. Because perdition for him would be perdition for any one of us.'

I'll certainly be continuing with Lila and Jack to conclude the Gilead Quartet, so stay tuned.   

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'Sleeping Murder' by Agatha Christie

Summary: Our indomitable Miss Marple turns ghost hunter and uncovers shocking evidence of a very old crime.

Soon after Gwenda moved into her new home, odd things started to happen. Despite her best efforts to modernize the house, she only succeeded in dredging up its past. Worse, she felt an irrational sense of terror every time she climbed the stairs.

In fear, Gwenda turned to Miss Marple to exorcise her ghosts. Have the two of them dredged up a perfect crime committed many years before?

MY THOUGHTS:

21-year-old Gwenda Reed purchases a quaint home to live in with her new hubby, Giles. 'Hillside' is a small, white Victorian villa in the seaside town of Dillmouth. Gwenda claims it as hers in an instinctive, emotional way. It's love at first sight.

However, something creepy begins happening. Any changes or renovations she commences turn out to be peeling back the past. Gwenda's bright ideas have all been done before. She fancies a door in a particular wall, and one already existed at some point, now boarded over. Old garden steps are excavated precisely where she desires a new path. Even her ideal wallpaper pattern turns out to be an old feature, long covered over. 

Things come to a head during a night out at the theatre with distant relatives, Raymond and Joan West. A startling line is delivered in 'The Duchess of Malfi'. 'Cover her face, mine eyes dazzle, she died young.' Gwenda gets a vivid flashback of a young woman named Helen being murdered at the foot of her very own stairs. It turns out Gwenda had actually lived at Hillside briefly during her very early childhood. 

The 'sleeping murder' of the title doesn't refer to the victim, but rather the hidden crime itself. It would seem that eighteen years earlier, somebody got away with murder. Now there is only the hazy memory of a three-year-old as a springboard for investigation, unless Gwenda dreamed or imagined the whole thing. (Unsurprisingly she didn't, or there would be no story.) Or perhaps Helen simply disappeared with a lover, as people assumed. (Ditto. I wondered briefly if this might be the big twist. A Christie murder mystery without an actual murder, but no.) 

Luckily Raymond West's Aunt Jane, who was there at the theatre, takes Gwenda seriously. Miss Marple establishes herself as a friendly guardian angel to be sure young Gwenda and Giles don't get carried away in their eagerness to excavate answers. She's seen enough of human nature to suspect that the murderer may be lurking in the shadows, alarmed to have light shone on the scene after such a long time. Miss Marple knows that for this person, the effect must be like peeling the top off a long un-prodded wound.

Sadly, this is not one of Agatha Christie's best stories. I guessed who the murderer was instantly. As soon as this person came on the scene, I thought, 'Aha, I'll bet's you. Stands out a mile.' My instincts were sound. And the murderer's motive was based more on their own defective, twisted personality than on anything specifically juicy or interesting. 

But the story is not devoid of appeal. The premise is suitably chilling, Gwenda and Giles have an eager Tommy and Tuppence vibe, from their most youthful stories, and Helen Halliday's trio of former male admirers under investigation are all quite intriguing.

Then of course there's Miss Marple, a perfect period piece, according to her nephew, Raymond. Victorian to her core. She's adept at using pleasant small talk to disguise the fact that she's digging for information, and takes advantage of her appearance for all she's worth, because, 'old ladies are supposed to be inquisitive.' 

The cover declares this to be 'Miss Marple's Last Case, ' so I left it until last. But chronologically, it is nothing of the sort. That honor belongs to Nemesis. Miss Marple is far less frail than she is in some of the other later stories, she's out weeding in her garden and Dr Haydock pronounces her in remarkably fine fettle for a woman her age. And her friend Colonel Arthur Bantry is still alive and well. What's with these false cover claims? It turns out this was, in fact, the last Marple mystery published, which was done posthumously as a treat for her fans.

Anyway, for me it's farewell to the fluffy little old lady sleuth who claims to have lived such an uneventful life, but understands human nature all so well. 

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 Do check out my entire Agatha Christie page. 

The Greatest Story Ever Told: An Eyewitness Account by Bear Grylls

MY THOUGHTS:

My daughter gave me this book last Christmas, and my first reaction when I saw the cover was, 'Haha, I had no idea Bear Grylls was so old.' But joking aside, I decided to save it for a couple of months to read during the season of Lent, which is what I've just done. And truly, Grylls has done a fabulous job. Adapted versions of the gospel events in story form are a dime a dozen, but this is one of the most appealing and immersive I've come across so far.

Grylls chooses five 'eye-witnesses' whose headspaces and cultural biases he appropriates while the action plays out. I'll mention just a few examples of their collective amazement, for the story is full of them. 

First is Mother Mary (Myriam) who is rattled when the Magi present her infant son with myrrh along with gold and frankincense, for it clearly signifies death. Enough death omens occur throughout the years of her son's life to wrench her maternal heart, right up to the pivotal day when she considers herself an old woman at the age of 46. Her being present on that day is unimaginable, yet how could she stay away?

When practical Thomas (Ta'om) wonders why his unpredictable leader would take them straight through the dodgy land of Samaria for a shortcut, it's easy to echo, 'Yeah, what the heck is he thinking?' We also 'get' Peter's (Kephas') instinctive antipathy to the ratty, beady-eyed Zaccheus. ('It's one thing to hang out with the poor and sick, but to be associated with the corrupt and traitorous? That was something else.) 

We share John's (Johanan's) confusion regarding the Passover elements at that Last Supper. And we glimpse a flashback of Mary Magdalene's (the other Myriam's) fearful and grievous life before Yeshua entered her world. She was said to be demon possessed, but this story makes her sound more like a sufferer of panic attacks and what we may now consider mental issues, which is interesting.

The unconscionable behavior of the religious leaders and Pharisees is right in our faces, their hypocritical insistence on wanting to avoid street riots by manipulating events to make Yeshua's execution appear like a Roman decision. The devious arm-twisting it takes reflects particularly badly on them, when Pilate keeps repeating, 'No, I don't want to do it.' 

The Crucifixion itself is written in such a way that makes clear how costly and powerful the sacrifice on our behalf truly was, not a throw-away gesture. Overall, this book is a brilliant attempt to make the ancient and alien political climate of Roman Palestine accessible for 21st century western readers. The inclusion of what would have been contemporary Hebrew and Aramaic person and place names is a nice touch, making the unfolding action feel fresh and immediate. 

Most importantly, what a legend our hero is! He calls everyday people his closest friends, attacks conventional sacred cows and tall poppies, hangs out with the unclean, and makes healing and restoration his main priority. And he doggedly keeps his revolutionary and subversive stance, knowing full well that the world's religious leaders see him as somebody who keeps forgiving the unforgiveable and breaking the law instead of fulfilling it. And, of course, knowing what it will cost him.  

The back cover flap tells us that Bear Grylls has written over 100 books (I never knew he was that prolific) but says that if he were only to have written one, this would be it. And his devotion shines through every page. It's a must-read not just once but over again.

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My Top Five Dickens Novels

Hooray, this is the wrap-up I've longed to write for years, and it's taken almost a decade to get here! At last I've completed every single one of Charles Dickens' major completed novels. They're finally done and dusted, read and reviewed. That's a lot of plucky orphan kids, saintly young women, and London grime. For your edification and entertainment (and to save you the slog of reading them all) I'm about to reveal my Top 5. These are the novels which I not only might, but definitely will re-read.

Note: I'm not including novellas, short stories, or unfinished works. That's why A Christmas Carol, despite being everyone's sentimental favorite, is ineligible to make the list. 

My aim has been to present teasers rather than spoilers but tread carefully anyway. So counting backwards from my fifth favorite to very top pick, here they are!

5) Oliver Twist

There is far more to this story than a little workhouse boy daring to say, 'Please Sir, I want some more.' Nor is its central focus creepy old Fagin's abysmal factory that churns out young criminals. The fact that certain colorful aspects spring to our collective unconscious mind proves how brimful this classic is of iconic moments. But poor young Oliver has a dastardly, behind-the-scenes, older brother who we'd never hear of if we didn't do ourselves the favor of reading the book. The novel is a scathing indictment of the harsh Victorian society in which Dickens lived. If his era's version of charity looked cruel and soul crushing, he had an obligation to make that clear, but Dickens has also made it simultaneously delightful.

4) Great Expectations

Our hero, Pip, allows strokes of good fortune to mold him into a proper snob. That's why it's such an entertaining blast to share that pivotal moment when he discovers the *real* identity of his secret benefactor. It is definitely not the person he assumes it to be. I enjoy immersive bildungsroman tales, and this one takes its main character full circle to renewed humility. Lucky breaks may prove to be fortunate indeed, but not necessarily in the way they seem at first. It takes time and character development to draw out the nuances. And as an Aussie, I appreciate the offstage subtext that exiles to the Colony willing to work hard may have had more opportunity to change their lives than it first appeared. 

3) Little Dorrit  

This one makes my list because Dickens shows how sudden financial windfalls may shape any personality in detrimental ways. Even goody-goody title character, Amy, loses her mojo when her purpose to be a self-sacrificing drudge is taken away. It's quite chilling to see good fortune turn her snobbish father into a nervous wreck. We also have two characters I can't ever forget, Miss Wade and her follower, Tattycorum, who view the world through the lens of their own paranoia, which is far from accurate. Second guessing our impressions on others may give us a distorted pseudo-reality which nonetheless seems totally true to us. That revelation alone makes this one of my personal game-changing novels. It is such a psychologically immersive character study. 

2) Our Mutual Friend

Three male characters earn its high spot for me. Bradley Headstone is an insanely dangerous and jealous wacko, yet he's the school teacher! Young Fledgeby is so disgustingly foul and hypocritical for somebody who presents such an innocent and upstanding face. And Eugene Wrayburn is the sort of smart-aleck who elicits fist pumps from me whenever he opens his mouth. But when a smooth and confident smart-aleck decides to mess with a thwarted lunatic, he's playing with fire. Even Dickens' inevitable 'good girl' character earns my admiration easier than his usual blindly loyal, spiritless saints. Lizzie Hexam will not cave in to pressure to marry a man she doesn't love, and she rescues the man her heart chooses in a stunning way. Solid gold. 

1) A Tale of Two Cities  

I find this such an outstanding Number One. It is surely one of the best French Revolution novels ever written. By showing extreme partisanship from characters on both sides of the Channel, Dickens proves singlehandedly how human nature is the toxic ingredient that promotes war. It is still so relevant in the 21st century. As for the characters who are drawn into the chaos, I'll surely never come across another doppelganger story that ticks my boxes as much as this one focused on Charles Darnay and Sydney Carton. As soon as I got to the part about Sydney's breathtaking sacrificial gesture, I knew instantly this must skyrocket to my all time favorite Dickens novel. It is thoroughly devastating, breathtakingly suspenseful, and also highly romantic.  

But wait, there's more!

Now, check out the following tables for some very revealing statistics. First off is the haphazard order in which I read the 14 completed major works and ticked them off over almost a decade. I've highlighted my Five Favorites in red.

Table 1: My mood-led, unsystematic reading of Dickens' major works

2017 The Pickwick Papers

2017 Great Expectations

2018 David Copperfield

2019 Our Mutual Friend

2020 Bleak House

2021 A Tale of Two Cities 

2021 Martin Chuzzlewit

2022 Dombey and Son

2023 Oliver Twist

2023 Little Dorrit

2024 Hard Times

2024 Nicholas Nickleby

2025 Barnaby Rudge

2026 The Old Curiosity Shop  

This indicates that my Top Five were spread across the board, as I'd expected. 2023 was an excellent Dickens year for me, yet in more recent years, I've found the quest a bit grinding, which shows. But it's only when I compare my reading list with the actual order in which they were written, that a revealing insight emerges. 

Table 2: Charles Dickens' Major Works - The Publication Order

1836 The Pickwick Papers

1837 Oliver Twist

1838 Nicholas Nickleby

1840 The Old Curiosity Shop

1841 Barnaby Rudge

1843 Martin Chuzzlewit

1846 Dombey and Son

1849 David Copperfield

1852 Bleak House

1854 Hard Times

1855 Little Dorrit

1859 A Tale of Two Cities

1860 Great Expectations

1864 Our Mutual Friend

Wow,  it appears I accidentally but undeniably favored Dickens' later works by far, with the exception of Oliver, which was evidently an outlier. On the strength of this I'm willing to believe I might've found the Mystery of Edwin Drood to be absolutely mind-blowing, if only he'd lived to finish it. This may be my unintentional statistical tribute to a man who was cut down in his creative prime. When Dickens died at the age of 58, I have no reason to believe he wasn't still on his upward trajectory.

Of course your Top Five and subsequent tables might look completely different from mine. To be honest, I'm steeling myself for a bit of friendly protest that neither David Copperfield nor Bleak House make my final cut as I know they are greatly loved by many.  Indeed, were I to extend my list, I'd place Davy in sixth place. I was surprised myself that when tally time came, I placed five others above it.

Do I have a wooden spoon award? Yes, it's probably a tie between Barnaby Rudge and Dombey & Son for least enjoyable. And for a title which pleasantly surprised me, Martin Chuzzlewit.  

Please do check out my entire What the Dickens page, where you'll find my thorough reviews of every single one, along with even more discussions. 

'The Penderwicks at Point Mouette' by Jeanne Birdsall

Summary: When summer comes around, it's off to the beach for Rosalind . . . and off to Maine with Aunt Claire for the rest of the Penderwick girls, as well as their old friend, Jeffrey.

You may like to start with my Book One and Book Two reviews. 

MY THOUGHTS:

 Hooray, at last Jeanne Birdsall has hit her stride with this third installment in the series!

Their father is away on his honeymoon, and Rosalind is visiting New Jersey with Anna, her best friend. With Aunt Claire in charge, the three younger sisters are off for a few weeks to a coastal peninsula town named Point Mouette. To their delight, Jeffrey is able to join them, for his mother and the deplorable Dexter are recent enough newlyweds to relish alone time.

Skye and Jane are stressed for different reasons. Skye has a serious case of nerves because she's now the OAP (Oldest Available Penderwick) for the duration, yet she's lost the list Rosalind wrote for her about Batty's needs. Meanwhile, Jane decides it's time to introduce a love element into her Sabrina Starr stories, but develops an unprecedented case of writer's block. And she falls head over heels for a boy named Dominic, who has that unfortunate combo of gorgeous physique and clueless immaturity shared by many lads his age. Yep, the contrast between practical, no-frills Skye and sentimental, dreamy Jane really works well this time. 

Little Batty (who I'm convinced is nowhere near as high-maintenance as her sisters think) makes a new friend and develops a talent for playing music, encouraged by Jeffrey who she still adores. She's breaking the myth that no Penderwick can possibly be a musician. 

As for Jeffrey, he has no idea that his world is about to be thoroughly shaken. The unexpected news he receives is equally huge for another character. This thread is the main reason for my high ranking. I could certainly see it coming, but predictability is sometimes a good thing if it makes us hold our breath to prepare for the shockwaves. It feels as if we readers are aware of a missile on its way, which isn't remotely on the characters' radars. 

Even other events are more to my liking than before. Until now, I've considered Birdsall unskilled at writing simple, charming chapters. But this time, she's got it. Incidents such as playing music from a boat to basking seals, toasting marshmallows, and selling golf balls are great. Far more evocative than the melodramatic rescues, slapstick stage fright, and overdrawn thief-captures she's offered us in the first two novels.  

Shout out to Aunt Claire, who has no idea how much of a camp-mama she'll have to be, but still steps up, even with a crook ankle. Jeffrey is depicted at his most considerate and wistful best. And Jane, simply being herself, adds a dash of comic appeal. She brings zaniness to being a bookworm. I love this paragraph about her inner world, for example. 

'Until now, Jane's biggest crushes had been on boys in books, especially Peter Pevensie who became High King of Narnia. There'd been others - Tom Hammond from Leepike Ridge, Finn Taverner from Journey to the River Sea, and though he was so small, Spiller from the Borrowers books.' 

(Haha, I'm sure many girl readers would agree with Jane's choice of Spiller, but I'd argue that either Edmund or Eustace may be more appealing choices from the world of Narnia, since Peter is pretty perfect from the outset and needs minimal character development. I've always had a soft spot for boy characters with issues. If I could, I'd discuss the subject further with Jane.)

Bring on the fourth book in the Penderwick series, and hopefully the writing quality will stay at this level. (Update: here it is, The Penderwicks in Spring)

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'4.50 from Paddington' by Agatha Christie

This is a fun mystery to discuss. First will be my spoiler free review, and then beneath the red line I'll add my speculations about the secondary puzzle we're left with on the very final page. Proceed carefully with that though, as it reveals spoilers concerning the main mystery (namely, who wasn't the murderer).  

MY THOUGHTS: 

On her way home from Christmas shopping, Mrs Elspeth McGillycuddy witnesses a brutal murder from her train window. A man in a train adjacent to hers, with his back to the window, savagely strangles a woman who is facing him. And then both trains set off again, placing Mrs McGillycuddy in a helpless position. Fortunately she's off to visit her friend, Jane Marple, at St. Mary Mead, who will surely know what steps to take next.

Both ladies are shocked when the crime doesn't appear in the morning paper. Miss Marple figures that the body may have been dumped off the train overlooking one specific property, Rutherford Hall, home of the Crackenthorpe family. 

She is too limited in her ability to snoop around, so hires a trustworthy young Wonder Woman clone named Lucy Eyelesbarrow to be her cohort sleuth. Discovering the whereabouts of the body is their first tall order, and then they must figure her identity and that of her murderer. 

I found this mystery lots of fun. It turns out that the Crackenthorpe family, who know the lay of the land so well, are prime suspects. The building itself is an anachronism from the past plonked into modern suburbia, and the family comprises a bunch of mismatched members who rub each other up the wrong way. 

Miserly old Mr Crackenthorpe and his dutiful daugher, Emma, live on the property full time. Visiting over Christmas are the sons; Cedric, the bachelor artist; Harold, the pompous businessman; Alfred, the black sheep; and Bryan Eastley, the likeable widowed son-in-law. Would any of the Crackenthorpe guys really be dumb or daring enough to plant a body practically on their own back doorstep though?

Also home for Christmas holidays are two young schoolboys, Master Alexander Eastley, the only grandchild, along with his best buddy, James Stoddart-West. They consider themselves keen wannabe detectives, and are described as having 'suspiciously angelic faces.' 

At this stage, it's nice to see Miss Marple draw from the expertise of other members of the very youngest generation. Her nephew Raymond's son, David, works for the British Railway, and Griselda's boy, Leonard, now grown up, is good with maps. 

My main disappointment with this story is twofold. A pair of extra deaths toward the end seem redundant to the main plot. Even now, when I think of the big revelation, it strikes me as bizarre that the murderer would even bother, since their main purpose had been achieved. Miss Marple steps up in her role as unlikely nemesis to another despicable killer, but it would've been nice if she could've prevented these other senseless deaths. 

What's more, although we readers normally get breadcrumb trails of clues dispersed for us throughout Christie mysteries, this story is problematic. The key circumstance that fuels the murderer's motivation is completely hidden until the final scene. This makes it unfair, if not impossible, to expect us to hazard our own guesses. Red herrings are great, but only when they're balanced with something real.

Details such as these prevent me giving it five stars. 

But overall, an enjoyable read with a varied and interesting cast. Lucy and the two young boys specifically, are great. 

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The bottom line: To Avoid Spoilers, read no further!

We readers are tantalized with another mystery on the very final page which doesn't get revealed. It seems to be a teasing challenge from Miss Marple to Dermott Craddock, and also from Agatha Christie to us readers. It made me groan. How are we supposed to know? I certainly don't have Miss Marple's nous. The question is who does Lucy Eyelesbarrow marry? I can't claim to have a stand-out favorite from the possibilities set before us.

Here they are.

1) Cedric Crackenthorpe.

He follows Lucy out to the pigsty, which seems to make her starry-eyed about the location from then on (ugh) and he's the only brother who doesn't make his interest in her clear throughout the story by throwing propositions at her feet like a panting dog. But Cedric's rough edges are almost razor sharp. He's a slob with no finesse whatsoever, and tends to get himself totally smashed. Worse than all this in my opinion, he doesn't seem to care about his two younger brothers being murdered. No matter how annoying they might have been, surely nostalgia for their shared childhood ought to stir him a little. I find it in very bad taste that it doesn't. 

2) Bryan Eastley.

He's pleasant and obliging, and Lucy is sympathetic to his forlorn, little-boy-lost persona. Bryan, once a fighter pilot in the war, seems to have completely lost his mojo now. Much as Lucy would make young Alexander an excellent stepmother, she is genuinely surprised when the boy starts some non-subtle matchmaking on his dad's behalf. Bryan reminds me of Ashley Wilkes from Gone with the Wind. He's just such another turtle on his back. I don't think Lucy seriously considers him. 

3) Inspector Dermot Craddock.

Some readers suggested this possibility that would've gone straight under my radar. They do have grounds for their suggestion. Craddock is the person who poses the question and Miss Marple twinkles at him when she makes her ambiguous reply. She has an undeniable soft spot for this godson of her great friend, Sir Henry Clithering. And at once stage, Lucy cheekily tells him, 'You seem almost human today.'

Yet Craddock appears in a subsequent Marple mystery, The Mirror Cracked from Side to Side, without a wife. I take that as a pretty sound indicator that, charming as it seems, this theory is way off the mark.

(Sigh) If it comes down to a choice between the brothers-in-law, I'd have to favor Bryan. But I tend to think the brilliant, productive, and accomplished Lucy ought to aim higher than both these blokes. Either one of them might prove to be deadweight around her ankles.

What do you think?  

Do check out my entire Agatha Christie, Queen of Crime page. 

'The Old Curiosity Shop' by Charles Dickens

Summary: Little Nell Trent lives in the quiet gloom of the old curiosity shop with her ailing grandfather, for whom she cares with selfless devotion. But when they are unable to pay their debts to the stunted, lecherous and demonic money-lender Daniel Quilp, the shop is seized and they are forced to flee, thrown into a shadowy world in which there seems to be no safe haven. Dickens's portrayal of the innocent, tragic Nell made The Old Curiosity Shop an instant bestseller that captured the hearts of the nation, even as it was criticised for its sentimentality by figures such as Oscar Wilde. Yet alongside the story's pathos are some of Dickens's greatest comic and grotesque creations: the ne'er-do-well Dick Swiveller, the mannish lawyer Sally Brass, the half-starved 'Marchioness' and the lustful, loathsome Quilp himself.

MY THOUGHTS:

Yay, with this volume under my belt, I've now read my way through all of Dickens' major completed works. I hadn't been looking forward to this book, but in many ways, it wasn't so bad, although it took several weeks to read. 

It's essentially a tale about a young teen and her deadweight grandfather trying to flee a heartless pursuer and live a peaceful life of beggary on their own terms. Daniel Quilp, the evil and misshapen, money-lending dwarf is determined to take his pound of flesh from the old man who owes him so much money. Quilp also has his predatory eye on Little Nell as a potential future wife to replace his current missus, who he's almost bullied the spirit out of. ('Such blue veins and such translucent skin,' Quilp gloats over Little Nell. Ugh!) 

These escapees are one of the most feeble duos I've come across in classic literature. With the intention to secure Nell's future, old Grandpa gambles away all that Quilp loans him. He's lost his knick-knack business, the titular old curiosity shop. And the long-suffering Little Nell is too pure-hearted to ever admit to herself that her grandfather is a total loser. She's referred to by the narrator over and over as 'the child' even though she's fourteen years old. Wide-eyed and idealistic, Nell expects homelessness to deliver them both a happy, pastoral lifestyle. However, the harshness of the Victorian era and her grandfather's degeneracy are insurmountable obstacles, even minus the Quilp factor.  

Little Nell is one-dimensional and overly sweet, but I do feel for her. She's in a horrific situation. Not only is she forced to be the 'grown-up' in their fugitive existence, but her grandfather's pathetic, addictive nature every so often morphs into a malevolent force. If it's a question of which character destroys Nell's life the most, I'd say it's undoubtedly her grandfather and not Daniel Quilp. Dickens treats him far too sympathetically. This old man is not a mere victim of circumstance, he's an incorrigible agent of his own downfall who drags his granddaughter down with him. 

Also searching for them is the wastrel grandson. Nell's older brother, Frederick, thinks their grandfather is wealthier than he lets on and wants his share of the booty. (I find it hard to fathom how old Grandpa, with his persistent delusions about his card-playing savvy, has the nerve to consider Fred a more hopeless case than himself. Perhaps I've answered my own question. He's seriously clueless.) Frederick aims to marry Nell off to an easy-going friend of his, Dick Swiveller, who ends up being one of the novel's heroes. And Dick's eventual romance with another character is a very cool, Victorian version of workplace camaraderie, based on generosity, grown deeper.

Another story savior is Nell's friend, Christopher (Kit) Nubbles. Although he never manages to save Little Nell, this boy rescues the novel itself from being a total slog. At first I thought he was destined to be a character such as the simple-minded Barnaby Rudge, or Sloppy from Our Mutual Friend. Not so. Kit is hardworking and brimming with initiative, a credit and major support to his widowed mother. I appreciate how he always manages to cheer himself up by doing something nice for his mother and little brothers, rather than taking his bad moods out on them. It's unfortunate for them that Grandfather and Little Nell, each oblivious in their own way, don't perceive Kit to be a fine catch from the outset. Instead grandpop is quick to believe bad of him, and always treats him with a touch of condescension. (Again, what gives him the right?)

At first the title seems misleading, since Nell and her grandfather reside in their shop only during the very early stage of the story. However, I think Dickens intends a double meaning. The eccentric and noteworthy people who cross paths with the two wanderers turn rural Britain itself into a 'curiosity shop' of sorts. These include the generous Mrs Jarley and her traveling waxworks exhibition, a poor old village school teacher whose prize pupil dies, and Mr Slum, a poet who sells his creations. I also enjoy cameos such as the elderly widow who has spent decades visiting the grave of her twenty-three year old husband, and now considers him fondly as a sort of grandson.   

 Just recently, several old buildings from my past have been demolished to make way for new infrastructure. This helps me appreciate the ending, many years future to the events in the story, when Kit tells his own kids that the original curiosity shop was 'thereabouts' because the street alterations made its exact site confusing. The passage of time is a theme that occurs throughout the story. 

So there's my unembellished run-down. I didn't set out to make this sound melodramatic or overly sentimental. If it gives you that impression, that's pure Dickens. But apparently those sensation-seeking Victorians couldn't get enough of it. It was the only British novel that came close to equalling the same retail furore as Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Crowds lined up on the release day of the final installment, avid to find out whether Little Nell was going to live or die. (No prizes for guessing the right answer. There have been two centuries of spoilers. And as the phrase goes, 'Only the good...') 

To me, the brightest spot of the story is that my favorite boys, Dick and Kit, each end up married to far more suitable spouses than the saintly and saccharine Little Nell would have made either of them. 

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If you would like to read more of my reviews, on any Dickens major novel, along with reflection pieces and further commentary, please visit my What the Dickens page. 

And here is my wrap-up page in which I reveal my Top Five. . 

'The Ordinary Princess' by M.M. Kaye

This blast from the past is possibly more relevant for young readers than ever before.

Summary: Along with Wit, Charm, Health, and Courage, Princess Amy of Phantasmorania receives a special fairy christening Ordinariness. Unlike her six beautiful sisters, she has brown hair and freckles, and would rather have adventures than play the harp, embroider tapestries . . . or become a Queen. When her royal parents try to marry her off, Amy runs away and, because she's so ordinary, easily becomes the fourteenth assistant kitchen maid at a neighboring palace. And there . . . much to everyone's surprise . . . she meets a prince just as ordinary (and special) as she is!

"This delightful fairy tale is sure to please young romantics . . . Neither Kaye's princess nor her book should be considered ordinary."

MY THOUGHTS:

This story is told in four sections, each named after a line from the first verse of the poem 'Lavender's Blue.' 

Phantasmorania, like any generic fairy tale kingdom, has a predictably exceptional royal family. The six little princesses, Diamond, Opal, Emerald, Sapphire, Crystal, and Pearl, are all uniformly beautiful, clever, and talented. The king and queen plan to hold a Christening party for their seventh baby, Amethyst Alexandra Augusta Araminta Adelaide Aurelia Anne. 

King Oberon has misgivings about inviting any fairies as guests to the event, for he considers them capricious and potentially dangerous. But his wife overrides his doubts, because fairies, if they're flattered into good moods, bestow such wonderful gifts.

Alas, the king's fears are realized when Crustacea, an elderly water fairy, arrives cantankerous because her seaweed robe has dried up. She pronounces, 'My child, I'm going to give you something that will probably give you more happiness than all these fallals and fripperies put together. You shall be ORDINARY!' 

Instantly the angelic baby wakes up screaming like any common infant.

Unlike her sisters, Amethyst grows up freckle-faced with a sloppy posture, snub nose and mouse brown hair, and she prefers going by the derivative name of Amy. The narrator says, 'because she was not beautiful, nobody noticed her other virtues, which was so often the way of the world.' But Princess Amy is happy because she knows her impressive sisters miss out on such a lot of simple fun. She never envies the sacrifices she sees them make day after day, just for the sake of being brilliant and admired. 

To escape the angst of having to marry a handsome prince, Amy runs away from home to work as a kitchen maid in the castle of a neighboring kingdom. There she meets a nice young man who she assumes to be a royal page or man-of-all-work. After the best first date ever, it dawns on her that he may not be quite as he seems.

(It's worth mentioning that Amy's bed in the castle where she works is hard and lumpy, but she's too tired by the end of each day's work to care. There's a nice nod to the Princess and the Pea.)

What a lot of wise fun. Reading between the lines, isn't real life as ridiculous as this story in many ways, for Phantasmorania represents the spirit of our western world. When you read anyone's work resumes or social media bios, you'll find we're all outstanding and impressive just like the six older princesses, or at least we're all groomed to present ourselves as such. Aren't we all advised to perfect our elevator pitches? And so many users of social media aim or claim to be 'influencers'. The rare souls, who simply rejoice in the privilege of ordinary joys, are perhaps in the minority. Amy, who grows up so startlingly different from her sisters in attitude and habits, is the real outlier here. 

It's a refreshing little yarn about simple contentment and resisting the urge to maximize our strengths and make big splashes. Sliding under the radar and shunning attention can be far more rewarding. Well done M.M. Kaye! I expect she'd find that with modern communication methods to fan the flames, the situation she addresses is even more extreme than it was in 1980 when this was first published.

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'Gilead' by Marilynne Robinson (further thoughts)

The traditional Christian season of Lent isn't generally observed across the board in the 21st century, but I like to keep the time of year on my radar not by a sustained fasting period from anything, but by adding a book or two which fits my category of reflective or devotional fiction classics. This year, Lent begins today. What better than a re-read of this Pulitzer prizewinner. I sadly lost or misplaced the secondhand copy I purchased back in 2017. I can only assume I might have lent it to somebody, and now I'll be looking out for a replacement copy. I borrowed this one from the library and was re-wowed. 

NOTE: My initial review from back then is here. And during the coming weeks and months, I intend to also read and review all four books in the Gilead Quartet so look out for them. 

MY THOUGHTS:

First a quick recap. The elderly Reverend John Ames has been told his days are likely numbered. As he prioritises writing a heartfelt collection of letters for his young son, he is blindsided by the homecoming of his prodigal namesake. Jack Boughton is his best friend's son, who has always been a great disappointment to his family. Reverend Ames intends to keep a disapproving distance, but his memoir project gets hijacked by his encounters with Jack, this baffling godson who has always challenged and horrified him. Reverend Ames even grapples with the dilemma of whether to warn his wife and son that Jack is a bad egg, for he certainly hates to imagine the ne'er-do-well wreaking more mischief once he is dead and out of the way. 

When the past is gradually excavated, the a-ha moment packs quite a punch. A crucial reason for John's antipathy to Jack reveals a fact about himself that he'd prefer not to admit. How can a man help resentment when he sees somebody else squander a gift that he himself would have treasured with all his heart; one which he once had within his grasp but tragically lost. I think the fact that it was done by the boy who bore his own name seems like a particularly cruel twist. It's as if John is taunted by a tantalizing glimpse of a life he might have had, but sees it stomped on with apparent indifference. 

Although Jack's major scandal as a very young man wasn't personally directed at John Ames, old Ames can't help taking it personally. Jack's situation stirs up a well of covetousness that John would prefer to leave un-rippled. Since his position among the clergy denies him the outlet of blaming the Almighty, it is easier to hold a grudge, however suppressed, against young Jack.  

Ouch! Robert Boughton's profoundly loving gesture, of dedicating his newborn son to his best friend all those years earlier, seems to have backfired badly!  

But this novel is all about grace! What takes place quietly between these two families in this nondescript, humble town is a powerful example of practical holiness. John and Jack are both wonderfully nuanced characters, and the change of heart is subtle and touching. I love Reverend John, whose depths of compassion turn out to be bottomless after all, and I love Jack, whose personal soul-searching, and quest for authentic answers, is so honest and raw. When John finally tells his dying old friend Boughton, 'I love your boy the way you always meant me to,' I just had to stop reading and sit still for a while.

This story is what all devotional fiction should be like.

Of course this will automatically make it onto my list of the year's best reads, for I'd go so far as to call it one of my best reads ever. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟    

'The Penderwicks on Gardam Street' by Jeanne Birdsall

I'm two down and three to go with this award-winning, twenty-first century middle grade series.

MY THOUGHTS:  

Timewise, we're barely any further on from Book One. The Penderwick sisters are back in their routine of school and neighborhood goings-on. Then their favorite aunt drops a bombshell. Before her death, their mother made Aunt Claire promise to encourage their father to start dating again. Now that four years have lapsed since that sad time, she decides to set the ball rolling. 

However, the girls aren't crazy about the idea, and neither is Martin Penderwick himself. His daughters conduct top secret 'Save Daddy' meetings. They agree that the best way to achieve their goal will be to set him up with horrible enough first dates that their aunt's scheme can't possibly launch. 

(Despite the name of their committee, it's themselves they really want to save from the prospect of having a stepmother. Their ignoble ulterior motive extends to wanting to squelch potential 'good' dates.) 

Meanwhile, having got over her unrequited crush on Cagney, Rosalind tries not to notice the sudden appeal of her friend, Tommy. Skye and Jane decide to switch homework assignments with unexpectedly alarming consequences. Their plight shines a light on the school system's way of keeping us distracted from our true passions to focus on what bores us. And little Batty notices a furtive, bug-like man loitering around their cul-de-sac, although everyone else thinks she's invented him. 

The main premise makes me question how much power the hand of the dead should wield. Because Aunt Claire is doing her heavy-handed meddling on Elizabeth's behalf, it's meant to be fine. Yet Martin is adamant that he definitely doesn't want to begin dating again. Does Claire really have the right to boss her brother around and override his wishes simply because she considers herself the ambassador of her dead sister-in-law? Implying that the pressure comes from beyond the grave seems particularly manipulative, however well meant. Who says dead loved-one's wishes should always be fulfilled anyway? What if they're as off-the-mark as any living person's?  

 Of course the outcome of the 'Save Daddy' thread is predictable from the very start. 

Two books in, I still find the Penderwick series to be nothing like the vintage counterparts I've seen it compared with. Goodreads calls them 'modern classics.' This novel reminds me more of a sentimental nineties sitcom. Either that or an overdrawn movie with a PG rating. There's a sudden ridiculous Home Alone style twist near the end. I find there's a fine line between charming and cheesy, and this book keeps crossing it. 

I can't blame poor Martin Penderwick for wanting to escape from this book he's written in for a far better one! His third daughter, Jane, hates coming to the end of a favorite book because she'll have to wait a few months before reading it over again. Same with me, Jane, but rest assured, this isn't one of those! 

🌟🌟½

Note: I've borrowed the third installment from the library. Not sure what keeps me going, but I'm in this far, so why not see what happens next? Stay tuned for The Penderwicks at Point Mouette. 

'A Caribbean Mystery' by Agatha Christie

 

I'm getting toward the tail end of the Miss Marple section of my Agatha Christie page. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

Miss Marple is far from home. Her nephew, Raymond, has sent her on a holiday to the West Indies to help her recuperate from a bout of pneumonia. The setting is an earthly paradise, the Golden Palms Hotel on the Island of St Honorė. There is plenty of sunshine, sea, and coral reefs. There is also music from a steel band, which Miss Marple resolves to try and appreciate although she finds it cacophonous.  

When another elderly guest dies suddenly, Miss Marple can't help suspecting foul play. The talkative Major Palgrave had been on the point of extracting 'a photograph of a murderer' out of his wallet to show her. But then he was shocked by the appearance of somebody approaching along the beach behind Miss Marple's shoulder and changed his mind. Now he's dead.

Miss Marple understandably feels too uneasy to dismiss this hearty, garrulous old man's death as a case of high blood pressure and old age. She begins to look into the case using her only weapon - conversation. However, she knows this can be a landmine, and tries to guard against her human tendency to automatically place words in people's mouths, filling in gaps and making leaps of supposed logic about what she thought they'd inferred, or been about to say. 

Jane Marple's own spiritual convictions get stirred in this story. She feels almost like a humble deputy of the Almighty, quietly responding, 'Here I am,' in response to the question of, 'Who will go for me? Who shall I send?' At one point she reads a few lines of Thomas ȧ Kempis before bed and says a prayer, 'for one can't do everything oneself.' Agatha Christie could hardly make it clearer that Miss Marple is willing to consider herself an agent of divine retribution, somebody's nemesis. 

Miss Marple's views on how elderly people may appreciate the value of life more than anyone else are interesting to ponder.

'Life is more worth living, more full of interest, when you are likely to lose it. When you're young, and strong, and healthy, and life stretches ahead of you, living isn't really important at all. It's young people who commit suicide easily, out of despair from love, sometimes from sheer anxiety and worry. But old people know how valuable life is, and how interesting.' 

This 1964 publication reveals some thankfully dated twentieth century personalities and attitudes. The resort is run by a young couple named Tim and Molly Kendal, and Molly feels she must politely brush off the sleazy pick-up lines of Gregory Dyson, because 'you can't offend guests.' Even her husband agrees with her logic unequivocally. And Miss Marple refers to this middle-aged creep as merely, 'someone who has a very gallant manner with the ladies.' Come on dudes, this is sexual harassment! She shouldn't be expected to put up with this behavior. 

As for Major Palgrave, the victim, perhaps one less old blowhard wreaking mass destruction on the world's precious population of elephants and tigers, bringing them to the brink of extinction, isn't such a bad thing. 

🌟🌟🌟 

Dopamine Management

Perhaps while we're still in January, it's a good time to think about this hormone and its effects on us. I've chatted about it lots with my youngest son, who has completed assignments on the subject for High School and University. 

Dopamine is well known as the motivational hormone, and we all know how hopeless we feel when we're unmotivated to do the things we need to do, or that our minds tell us we should want to do. For our own benefit, those in the know suggest engaging in activities that promote 'slow dopamine' release, rather than the 'fast dopamine' that skyrockets our pleasure detectors, then crashes us below baseline the following moment. 

We're all familiar with 'fast' surges, including sweet or junk food, phone scrolling, smartphone games, social media, and frequent checking of notifications, bitcoin rates, stock market prices, or anything that rings our bells. Then these sudden spikes naturally swing back the other way like a clock pendulum, depleting our dopamine baseline levels, making it increasingly difficult to experience pleasure and genuine motivation for some time afterward. 

What's more, we tend to unconsciously want to 'stack' our dopamine, for example by watching movies and eating sugary snacks simultaneously. These furtive attempts to maximize satisfaction keep playing havoc on our wellbeing.  

The dopamine experts recommend that we abstain from phone checking first thing in the morning. Setting the standard of our day with a fast spike followed by a reactive plummet reduces our craving for  more wholesome, slow dopamine release habits. We prime ourselves for a sorry state in which nothing small and simple will satisfy us for the rest of the day. ('Would you care for a crisp, juicy apple?' Meh, naw.) 

Incidentally, some authors I've come across recommend cold showers or water dips. The theory works in reverse. A sudden burst of discomfort will swing back the other way, releasing feelings of well-being in the relief of being warm. 

Okay, now, the list of wholesome, slow dopamine activities include concentrating on educational videos and books, reading fiction (and surely writing it), steady physical exercise, cooking, gardening, and DIY projects. 

It's easy to notice that these slow dopamine release activities are often driven by intrinsic motivation. We do them purely for their own sakes, enjoying the process. When our western civilization, starting in the early years of school, begins to hand out extrinsic rewards for the work we do, our intrinsic motivation really takes a nosedive. It is important to remember that although we've grown up believing that the aim of life is to accomplish our goals, in actual fact the best feelings come from merely pursuing them. It really is all about the journey rather than the destination. Having a clear pursuit that feels possible to accomplish yet not extremely easy is the best thing we can do.  

And trying to maintain an 80/20 ratio between slow and fast dopamine will only do us good. I've got to admit, I love the exciting rush that comes from engagement on my blog posts or fan fictions, and get gloomy when they're not forthcoming. Reminding myself that the work itself is the thing will help me to get back on track. I guess telling myself, 'You don't need to check that now,' or, 'Stop thinking about that at this moment,' in the light of this knowledge, might do the trick. 

(When I pair this sort of research with Oliver Burkeman's further insight into why we procrastinate on the things we genuinely want to do, it all makes a lot of sense.) 

I wonder if I can possibly change my routine from checking my phone and completing my favorite NYT puzzles to evening instead of morning? I might give it a try and see if it makes any type of difference.