'The Family from One End Street' by Eve Garnett

MY THOUGHTS:

This kids' book was first published in 1937 and won the Carnegie Medal in 1938. The author, Eve Garnett, also drew all her own excellent illustrations. I found an old vintage copy in a secondhand bookshop which instantly swept me back decades to the time I tackled it while I was still a fraction too young for the long chapters, and the innuendoes about split social classes tended to soar over my head.  

 Josiah and Rosie Ruggles barely make a living cleaning up after others. She's a washer-woman and he's a dustman. Yet they have seven children to bring up and must make ends meet however they can. There's stout and helpful Lily Rose; smart and skinny Kate; the adventurous twins, James and John, young Jo, little Peg, and baby William.

The Ruggles kids tend to not let poverty bother them, because it's all they've ever known. And they learn first hand in a way wealthier children don't, that sometimes when you're short of cash and left to your own resources, you may come up with Wonderful Ideas. While these sometimes flop in the short term, they're always character building. And as kind Mrs Beaseley tells Lily Rose, 'Even if your ideas aren't always a success, it's a good thing to have them.' 

Each family member faces a challenging issue or adventure. Poor Lily Rose accidentally shrinks the petticoat of one her mother's paying customers. Kate is clever enough to win a scholarship to the local High School, yet her parents can't figure out how they'll pay the steep uniform fees. Jim gets more than he bargains for when he attempts to hide in a pipe by the dockyards, and young Jo earns money to see his beloved Mickey Mouse films by opening doors for teahouse customers. But my favourite incident is when John gets to attend the birthday party of a wealthy kid named Peter quite by accident, and finds the afternoon far more of a novelty than do the youngsters brought up free from financial worries.  

Small details about having to make do pop up frequently. For example, Mrs Ruggles rubs Jim's sore head with margarine, because butter is too expensive. And the twins' jerseys are 'lovely' shades of pastel which only come from much washing. John's is pinkish and Jim's a strange blue.  

In another revealing chapter, it dawns on Mr Short, the struggling literary author (Short by name and perpetually short of funds), that a subtle hierarchy of deprivation exists and the Ruggles' are far lower down on it than he is. Yet he can't figure out whether to pity or envy them, since they've taught themselves to curtail their ambitions to such an extent that a simple day out is a major celebratory event for them. When was the last time he had so much fun with so little?

My opinion is divided about books such as this, in which poor families have fun times. The idea that several early to mid twentieth-century stories were written to whitewash or romanticize poverty bothers me a bit, since in actual fact poverty is limiting, frustrating and demoralising with nothing to recommend it. Yet on the other hand, authors such as Eve Garnett considered themselves to be providing a voice for the unheard majority of their time, and their unfolding plots reveal mental benefits such as freedom from entitlement, greater initiative and being easier to impress. But since these positive attributes definitely aren't shared by all underprivileged families across the board, is it really an accurate picture or brushed with a tinge of sentimentality?    

As I say, the jury is still out on that one for me. 

I still think the chapters may be a little on the long side to hold the attention of young readers. Mine drifted back in the 1970s, and with the prevalence of the internet, concentration spans have only got shorter. I'd be interested to see how today's young kids handle this book.   

🌟🌟🌟½      

'At Bertram's Hotel' by Agatha Christie

MY THOUGHTS: 

 When Miss Jane Marple is offered a free holiday by her nephew Raymond and his wife, she chooses a nostalgic week at Bertram's Hotel in the heart of London. She'd stayed there once as a 14-year-old and longs to see how the place has dated. To Miss Marple's astonishment, nothing much has changed. She finds the current Bertram's Hotel of the 1950s is like stepping straight back into an Edwardian time warp. 

Guests are thoroughly looked after, with Henry the butler presiding over a wonderful high tea with signature muffins. The menu includes old-time treats such as beef steak pudding and seed cake. Elderly clientele are offered reduced rates simply because the management believes they add to the ambience just by sitting around in the lavish foyer. But Miss Marple starts to suspect something's a bit fishy beneath that stately roof.

The senior Chief Inspector Fred Davy is on Miss Marple's wavelength. Bertram's seems to be the scene of so many red herrings, he can't help wondering if they have some sinister significance after all. Could the grand old hotel possibly be the front for some shady business? 

Other guests spark curiosity. Why is Bess Sedgwick, the media magnet with a history of several husbands, staying there? Is the sneaky flaxen-haired teenager, Elvira Blake, her estranged daughter? Why is Ladislaus Malinowski, the celebrated Grand Prix driver, hanging around? Mysteries come to a head when muddle-headed Canon Pennyfather, an ecclesiastical academic, goes missing. 

This novel seems to be Agatha Christie's homage to old age. Having so recently read The Secret Adversary, featuring the youthful vitality of Tommy and Tuppence Beresford, this novel swings to the other end of the spectrum. Its heroes are Miss Marple, who never starts her morning knitting, because her stiff and rheumatic fingers need a chance to limber up; and Chief Inspector Davy, a rotund and bovine gent who's regarded by younger cops as deadwood to be cleared away. There is also the dreamy and doddery Canon Pennyfather, who I imagined to be at least 85 but is actually 63! People used to be considered elderly far younger in the mid 20th century. 

Miss Marple considers how the illusion of making time stand still must cost Bertram's management a small fortune, since it never really does. She decides that people shouldn't ever wish to turn back time, since the essence of life is always forward moving. 'Life is really a one-way street, isn't it?' Although she's right in some ways, I don't entirely agree. There is always a place and time for nostalgia, the study of history and learning from mistakes. I probably wouldn't even be reading through the Agatha Christie mysteries at all if I didn't love that sort of backward glance. 

Overall, I wasn't wowed by this mystery. The murder occurs fairly late in the story, which gives the earlier two thirds a bit of a rambling effect. Revelations, when they come, are underwhelming. Although the story is descriptive, historical, and quite interesting, it's not what I really expect when I crack open an Agatha Christie novel. So thumbs up for the setting, but not so much for the plot. 

After all that goes down at Bertram's Hotel, it must surely have to close its doors, so bad luck for anybody in that fictional version of London who would like to sample those fantastic muffins. 

🌟🌟🌟  

'Hard Times' by Charles Dickens

"My satire is against those who see figures and averages, and nothing else," proclaimed Charles Dickens in explaining the theme of this classic novel. Published in 1854, the story concerns one Thomas Gradgrind, a "fanatic of the demonstrable fact," who raises his children, Tom and Louisa, in a stifling and arid atmosphere of grim practicality.

MY THOUGHTS: 

 I'm cruising toward the finish line of my reading of all Dickens' major works. I expected to find Hard Times a slog. The title itself certainly doesn't sell it to me, and stories set during the Industrial Revolution written by honest-to-goodness Victorians tend to be grim. Still, when I got I started, I was surprised to find myself quite enjoying it. 

The setting is 'Coketown' - a typical northern England borough rife with capitalistic greed, exploited factory owners and black smoke. Two middle-aged chaps carry a lot of clout, and the novel is basically about what a hash they make of everything they touch.

Thomas Gradgrind is a leader in the education sector who insists on having nothing but facts, figures and statistics taught to the students. Anything remotely fanciful or imaginative is instantly squelched, and beginning a sentence with, 'I wonder' is a huge faux pas. 

This passage highlights his extreme fanaticism:

'You must discard the word Fancy altogether. You are not to have, in any object of use or ornament, what would be a contradiction of fact. You don't walk upon flowers in fact; you cannot be allowed to walk upon flowers in carpets. You don't find that foreign birds and butterflies come and perch upon your crockery; you cannot be permitted to paint foreign birds and butterflies upon your crockery. You never meet with quadrupeds going up and down walls. You must not have quadrupeds represented upon walls. You must use for all these purposes, combinations and modifications (in primary colours) or mathematical figures which are susceptible of proof and demonstration.'

Gradgrind's own children are guinea pigs of his militant system. During the story, his daughter, Louisa, comes to realise she's emotionally stunted and cynical - accepting a marriage proposal from hell because she's had no practice allowing herself to imagine a higher destiny. And his son, Tom, becomes a self-centered and manipulative jerk after years of being fed this pragmatic, 'look out for number one' type of curriculum. Dickens makes it clear that Louisa and Tom's regrettable destinies are a direct result of how their characters have been shaped by their well-intentioned, yet culpable father. 

Gradgrind's best buddy, Josiah Bounderby, is a big vulgar capitalist who owns a factory and a bank. He oozes hard luck stories about his childhood which become his excuse to show no mercy to the downtrodden people he exploits. And he takes great pride in his housekeeper, the hilarious and calculating Mrs Sparsit, for the opposite reason. She was supposedly born into great nobility, yet has now come down enough in the eyes of the world to work for him. 

The story's fall guy is poor Stephen Blackpool, the loom weaver. He's a kindly, hardworking, peace-loving guy, but since Stephen was created by his author to stand for an entire class of people, the poor guy can't win a trick. If it isn't horrendous blows of fate causing roadblocks for him, it's unscrupulous miscreants. The most unenviable people ever are fictional characters created to be scapegoats for a sorry multitude. For any readers who get their hearts totally invested in Stephen's plight, this may be a terrible book. I think the trick is to stand back and remind ourselves that he's a symbol rather than a person, although that's easy to say a century or two later. 

I couldn't help reflecting all through that some of my own ancestors were poor downtrodden menials like Stephen and his love interest, Rachael. I'm sure many of my fellow South Australians have similar backgrounds. Our ancestors grabbed the opportunity to escape from the horrific grind by fleeing to the opposite side of the world. If nothing else, this novel provides some perspective to make us thankful for the 21st century. 

As for authors like Dickens who used their writing talent to stand up for those with no voice of their own, well done. They undoubtedly helped change the course of history with their heartfelt works of fiction. 

Every Dickens novel seems to have an exemplary young female character. This one's is Sissy Jupe, the daughter of a poor, despondent circus clown. She can't wrap her head around her school curriculum, preferring to cheer her father up by reading him stories of fantasy and imagination. Even though Sissy remains highly respectful of authority figures all through, she's a good example of how we must draw upon courage and individuality to follow our own North Stars, especially when those in power try to fill our heads with propaganda which is contrary to the way we tick. 

This isn't a romance, unless we count the doomed attraction between Stephen and Rachael. However, I found 'The Sound of Music' kept springing to mind. Sissy Jupe quietly does for the younger Gradgrind kids what Sister Maria did for the Von Trapp children by broadening their outlooks with beauty and fun. And in their hour of need, a few desperate asylum seekers flee to the circus for protection, just as the Von Trapps did to the convent. It's an apt analogy, because the circus, in Hard Times, really does represent a sort of sacred jollity in the face of severe oppression, so both refuges serve a similar function. (Circuses have fallen out of favour since Dickens wrote this, but's that's another story.)

By denying Louisa a chance to exercise her imagination, Gradgrind inadvertently 'robbed her of her refuge from what is sordid and bad in the real world around her.' I couldn't agree more, narrator! I can't imagine living like that.

I'm glad I didn't have too hard a time with Hard Times. It's sad to think Dickens saw a need to write a novel to promote having fun, but that's the rough side of the Victorian era we love to romanticize 

Mr Sleary, the lisping circus proprietor, deserves the final word. 

'People mutht be amuthed. They can't alwayth be learning, nor yet they can't alwayth be working, they an't made for it.'  

🌟🌟🌟🌟

   

The Bronte Books Ranked

Today, April 21st, marks the anniversary of Charlotte Brontȅ's birth back in 1816. That's as good a reason as any to do what I've intended for some time and rank the seven books of all three Brontȅ sisters. I'm sure there will be as many combinations as readers, but here is mine.

The top four are those I'd recommend as must-reads for everyone. When you've read them, you've read the very best. 

The bottom three, in my opinion, can be passed over unless you're a Brontȅ completist who aims to read them all just to tick them off. I wouldn't recommend anybody select one from that trio to start with, anyway.

THE TOP FOUR

 1) Wuthering Heights

Although I've considered changing my mind over the years, because I was never a great fan of either Heathcliff or Catherine, this is still my top pick. The book holds a special place in my heart because of my circumstances when I first read it. I was 15 years old with ambitions to be a fiction author myself, and learned a lot about story craft through my own passion-driven analysis of this book. I still enjoy how various narrators make this Gothic family saga so multi-layered. Most of all, I love seeing the second generation of characters begin to mirror the mistakes of the first, until a sudden, touching twist of grace changes the trajectory. Emily Brontȅ convinces us that ancestral curses aren't set in stone. The gentle, loving final glimpses we get of my three favourite characters, Nelly, Hareton and Cathy, still make me smile whenever I think about them. (My review is here.)

2) Villette

For me, this was Charlotte's Magnus Opus. I get a sense that she poured her own self into the creation of restrained and reflective Lucy Snowe, the young English teacher in Brussels who falls for two different men. Author vulnerability is probably never rawer than this, but Charlotte lets her guard down with such lavish and stirring prose, drawing from all sorts of cultural and literary sources to make a somewhat drab and homely tale into a masterpiece. Making me fond of the overbearing, bossy Monsieur Paul gets my thumbs up too, because I normally shy away from control freaks like him. The ending is certainly controversial, but I'll give no spoilers. (My review is here.)

3) Jane Eyre

I have many friends who would place this masterpiece at the very top, and I understand why. Jane is such a refreshingly grounded and sensible main character. Her integrity and developing rapport with her intimidating employer, Mr Rochester, is delightful to read. So is his awesome epiphany. The fact that a harried, world-weary cynic like himself decides a modest young governess holds the key to all he's been looking for is pure satisfaction. In her quiet, modest way, Jane turns Rochester's life upside down. We're even willing to overlook the concealing of his deep, dark secret, which proves how successfully Charlotte wrote him, for it's pretty darned shocking. (My review is here.)

4) The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

It's cool to think how Anne, the youngest sister of all, made it her personal mission to write a revelatory story with an unforeseen, unprecedented theme: Girls, don't ever romanticize bad boys! Even her sister, Charlotte, thought Anne was making a colossal mistake to focus on an alcoholic jerk like Arthur Huntingdon as a main character. I imagine Charlotte, who had such a way with words, would have been very persuasive, but Anne gently stuck to her guns. Thank heavens she did, or we would never have had this excellent early example of feminist literature. If this novel helped just one hapless victim of domestic abuse face facts and take action like Helen, it would have been a success, but there have surely been thousands, and even more to come. (My review is here.)

THE BOTTOM TRIO

5) Shirley

This has all of Charlotte's evocative detail and brings to life her own backdrop of Yorkshire during the Industrial Revolution. But her character Caroline Helstone's way of handling her supposedly unrequited love for mill owner Robert Moore disappoints me. You wouldn't find Jane or Helen taking on such a weepy, mopey attitude, to the point of death. No bloke is worth dying with lovesickness over, let alone a calculating dude like Robert with dollar signs for eyeballs. My favourite character, Shirley herself, isn't even introduced until a couple hundred pages into the story, and even longer for her cool romantic interest, Louis Moore. So this story gets thumbs down for both irritation and longwindedness too. (My review is here.)

6) Agnes Grey

This is Anne's attempt at what Charlotte does in Villette, to fictionalize her own personal experiences. Sadly, she hasn't pulled it off half as well. Agnes comes off as a sanctimonius martyr of a governess, always ready to blame setbacks on her employers. This waters down Anne Brontȅ's valid observations, that these girls lived tough and thankless lives. It does have the admirable Mr Edward Weston going for it, but he's not enough to boost my ranking from second bottom. (My review is here.)

7) The Professor

It's Charlotte's very first novel, which some critics say should never have seen the light of day. Hear hear. It's the only Brontȅ novel I've got rid of, because the main character's attitude kept making me angry. William Crimsworth is a know-it-all, 21-year-old school teacher who looks down on others with such smug condescension, it completely undermines the underdog position Charlotte is going for with him. He is this story's hero, yet I'd hate to have had him as a teacher, or have him teach my kids! Still, it gives me great pleasure to award the wooden spoon to such a deserving book. (My review is here.)  

There's my ranking of the seven Brontȅ novels. I'd be interested to see yours, if you'd be willing to tell us in the comments below. From 1 to 7 (or however many you've read) go ahead and rank them from best to least favourite.     

'Pollyanna's Golden Horseshoe' by Elizabeth Borton

For generations, the sunny philosophy of the "glad girl" has touched the hearts of millions of readers. In this book, the beloved heroine reappears to make new friends and renew old acquaintances. How Pollyanna helps countless "square pegs" find a new niche in life and how she earns a golden horseshoe make a story of true inspiration and delight.

MY THOUGHTS:

This is the 10th Glad Book, and the last one written by Elizabeth Borton.

Jimmy is back from the Antarctic, but now weakened with frequent chest infections. His masculine pride denies the idea of not being at his prime, so his boss and family make a secret pact to give him an easier job at a men's camp in a mild climate. True to the year 1940 in which this is published, he also smokes! Come on Jimmy, giving up the ciggies will help your coughing, yet nobody suggests it. 

His son goes along too, to keep an eye on him, although Jimmy believes it's to give the lad some work experience. Since his son is now often referred to as 'Young Jim' rather than Junior, the elder Jimmy is sometimes called, 'The Chief.' It's easy once we get it straight in our heads.

Meanwhile, Pollyanna is given another role by Dr Bennet. She becomes a consulting director at Rehabilitation House, which is a sort of employment agency, matching desperate job seekers with their skills. Pollyanna makes it her goal to either round out a bunch of square pegs, or else find square holes in which to place them. She believes the organization needs so many improvements that rather than being a deterrent, it's impossible for her to resist accepting the job. And since the Pendletons hire Mrs Maddux, who comes each day to clean, wash dishes and help with the cooking, Pollyanna may as well volunteer at the agency, for there is time on her hands at home.

(I can't help thinking that while Harriet Lummis Smith's Pollyanna was a thriving and outspoken stay-at-home-mom who relished the creative lifestyle, Elizabeth's Borton's Pollyanna is beginning to quietly subvert Smith's stance. The very first page tells us, 'The pleasant room, the potted plants flourishing in the windows, the knitting in her hands, the iced cake waiting for supper - these were not, to her, work.' Hmm, well not since Mrs Maddux does the lion's share, I guess. You might think that with three teenagers to assign chores to, the family wouldn't need to hire an employee, but apparently they think it's money well spent.)

People Pollyanna helps include Margaret Dunn, an equestrian girl who loses all her wealth in one fell swoop; Della Treat, a circus acrobat who needs another position; Dr Auguste Michel, a slightly shabby young vet of foreign extraction; and Harold Thorkel, a homeless musician. She's also able to find performers for Mrs Harkness, an eccentric harpsichordist who lives in a castle, with a passion to form an orchestra comprised solely of ancient instruments. 

I reckon this may be one of the early novels targeted at horse-crazy girls, for two of the best 'characters' are Margaret's beloved blind Irish filly, Colleen, who must learn to jump again; and Della's very ladylike circus performer, Alice, who is getting a bit old for the ring and needs another role, just like some of the human job seekers. 

I like Borton's author dedication. She writes, 'To my Dad, who because he loves horses, may enjoy meeting Colleen and Alice.' Although Borton's dad has surely long passed away, we get this snapshot of a time and place. In a similar way, Borton refers to young Jim in his darkroom, 'busy with the magic of bringing to life views of things that had happened and would never happen again.' Books do the same, in a slightly different way from photos. 

For example, this one is full of other signs of the times. Judy collects pin-ups of Robert Donat and Charles Boyer for her bedroom wall. And although they hedge around the point, Jimmy's loved ones can't help fearing a diagnosis of tuberculosis, which was still rife back then. And Pollyanna has misgivings about the unrest over in Europe. Oh boy, it's only just 1940 when this book is published, so there's a lot of horror still to come which even the Glad Book authors are unaware of yet. I guess we might see it play out during the rest of the series.

I'd like to meet Pollyanna, and get the benefit of her 'eager, friendly mind' myself. I'm sure she'd be able to help straighten me out, in her lovely, tactful manner. As the mother of teenagers, she's still the same optimistic soul, but is now mature enough to add some wise perspective for other, younger characters. We are far enough into the series for her to utter:

'So many friends come and go. My life is chequered with friends who have been close for a year or so and then married and gone away, or have been taken away by business or health or something.' 

Yeah, isn't that just the way life rolls? Whenever we regret losing touch with old classmates, work colleagues or neighbours, as my own daughter was not long ago, well we're no different from Pollyanna. Different friends for different phases, and nobody remains static. 

(Having said that, I still find it hard to forgive the way Borton writes out Nancy in Pollyanna's Castle in Mexico!) 

So next up will be Pollyanna's Protegĕ by Margaret Piper Chalmers. I wonder what this new author will add to the canon. 

🌟🌟🌟½

 

 

'The Wolves of Willoughby Chase' by Joan Aiken

Wicked wolves and a grim governess threaten Bonnie and her cousin Sylvia when Bonnie's parents leave Willoughby Chase for a sea voyage. Left in the care of the cruel Miss Slighcarp, the girls can hardly believe what is happening to their once happy home. The servants are dismissed, the furniture is sold, and Bonnie and Sylvia are sent to a prison-like orphan school. It seems as if the endless hours of drudgery will never cease.

With the help of Simon the gooseboy and his flock, they escape. But how will they ever get Willoughby Chase free from the clutches of the evil Miss Slighcarp?

MY THOUGHTS:

 This book was a DNF from my childhood, but of the 100+ books Joan Aiken ever wrote, it pops up frequently enough on lists of recommended kids' lit to make me curious. I thought I'd read it straight through for a second opinion, since it's decades on from my first attempt.

Hmm, I can't really fault my juvenile self. Not that there is anything bad about this book, except for being a bit overdrawn and melodramatic. Yet I find myself wondering just what captivates generations of readers. Is it the alternative history of England that sparks people's imaginations, or the Steampunk vibes, or the lovely illustrations by Pat Marriott?

Here's how it all goes down.

Bonnie Green is a somewhat pampered only child who lives in a lavish mansion with her wealthy parents and plenty of doting staff members. Her father and mother are soon to commence a long voyage seeking treatment for Lady Green's illness. But Bonnie's dainty cousin Sylvia is expected any moment. Alas, so is Miss Slighcarp, a governess hired, sight unseen, for the pair of girls. She's distant kin, which is enough to recommend her to Sir Willoughby Green. 

The parents have barely departed before Miss Slighcarp reveals her true colours as a despicable bully and fortune-hunter. She's not the sort of villain who pretends to be a good guy. Slighcarp is at least no hypocrite, but begins an instant reign of terror - including a harsh boarding school for Bonnie and Sylvia. But Slighcarp underestimates Bonnie's crusader's heart, especially where fights for justice are concerned. 

The story is essentially a battle between good and evil. Slighcarp has a handful of formidable buddies but Bonnie and Sylvia have some fine allies, the most lovable being Simon, the boy who sells geese for his living. He helps them out of some really tight jams.

In the alternative British history in which this is set, packs of wild wolves have migrated from Europe through a tunnel between Calais and Dover, and now plague the British Isles. But except for one or two random stagey attack scenes, I can't see how the wolves are integral to the plot at all - which is Slighcarp and her minions versus Bonnie, Sylvia and Co. 

The write-up at the back of my library edition says, 'When Joan first showed the story to a publisher, they said it was too scary and asked if she could please take out the wolves. Of course she said No.' 

Well, I'm baffled as to why we should automatically echo that 'of course' since the wolves hardly ever do anything! 

The story even borders on outrageous when we learn Sir Willoughby Green is filthy rich, yet his sister Jane who lives in London almost dies of poverty. Sure, she's too proud to reveal her straightened circumstances, but he should've made it his business to find out. She's in no position to keep her plight hidden. Sir Willoughby strikes me as one of those oblivious doofuses in more ways than one. It gets irritating when we're coerced to regard these airheads as heroes.

However, I guess nothing is wasted. Reading this increased my vocabulary regarding some drinks that weren't familiar to me. The kindly maid Pattern gives Bonnie and Sylvia a posset, which is a hot drink with citrus and spices. There's also Bohea, a low quality tea which is all Sylvia gets to drink when she lives with poor Aunt Jane, and Simon's Metheglin, a sort of honey wine. (It would be yes please, no thanks and maybe for me.)

Any good takeaways? There's a nice reflective, pastoral section when the three kids wander the countryside with necessary slowness, since Simon says, 'There's no sense hurrying with geese. By the time we reach Smithfield they'll be thin and scrawny and nobody will want 'em.' Thumbs up for leisurely lifestyles and homely wisdom. The blacksmith's remedy for a chesty cough makes me smile too. (The breath of sheep.)

But altogether, I don't feel inclined to follow up with all the other titles in this series. There are quite a few. At least not yet, which I know may well mean never. There are so many other books to read.

I've got to give this edition thumbs up for its beautiful cover though.  

🌟🌟🌟   

Two Mini Reviews

The Pilgrim's Progress, Part Two (John Bunyan and Alan Vermilye.)  

Firstly, check out my review of the very famous Part One

This is the sequel to John Bunyan's famous masterpiece; the tale of Christian's wife and kids. Although Christiana and their four sons initially resisted Christian's pleas for them to go with him to the Celestial City, they now have second thoughts and decide to follow in his footsteps. The boys are called Matthew, Samuel, Joseph and James, but we don't find that out upfront. Their names unfold along with the story.  

It begins when Secret delivers a gold-written invitation for Christiana to embark on the same journey her husband took. Mrs Nervousness tries to talk her out of it, advocating the safety of a comfort zone, but a young woman named Mercy opts to travel with the family, although she fears she'll be rejected because she has no personal invitation. When Christiana advocates for Mercy, they discover the Lord will accept all who believe in Him, no matter how they come to be pilgrims. So we traverse the same ground as before, beginning with the Slough of Despond, the Wicket Gate, the Interpreter's House and so on. 

Some readers claim to love Part Two for its more corporate vibe, but I tend to agree with Emily of New Moon, who felt the crowd that surrounds Christiana at every turn dispels the fascination. Their guide, Greatheart, faces most of the dangerous foes on their behalf. All Christiana's party really has to do is tag along and hide behind him, which isn't my idea of a riveting adventure. 

That's not to say nothing interesting ever happens to the family at all. Matthew gets a bad stomach ache from snacking on fruit hanging over someone's fence. It turns out to be Beelzebub's orchard, so no wonder! And remember the Giant Despair. He gets his just desserts. 

Interestingly, Greatheart tells the family that although Christian faced Apollyon in the Valley of Humilation, that doesn't make it a bad place per se. It's a pretty good place to settle down. 'I've known many working men who have magnificent estates in the Valley of Humiliation, because God resists the proud and gives grace to the humble.' 

I think this has to be a 3-star read. Its slower pace and lack of challenge for the main characters probably deserves just two, but I guess the spiritual insights lift it to three. 

I didn't enjoy it half as much as the original. 

🌟🌟🌟 

The Body in the Library by Agatha Christie

Early one morning, Mrs Bantry is woken by hurried footsteps passing her bedroom door, followed by the maid's frantic news, 'There's a body in the library!' Incredibly, a pretty young girl lies dead on the library hearth, a stranger to the Bantrys and staff alike. Mrs Bantry's first impulse is to phone her friend, Jane Marple, because, 'You are so good at bodies.' 

Miss Marple's driving force for helping this investigation is to shield poor old Colonel and Mrs Bantry from the backlash of rumours which has already started buzzing, since the victim was found in their residence. Sure enough, our elderly sleuth homes in on the killer before the plethora of police have a clue. 'People have been much too credulous and believing.' Although Miss Marple is too kind and modest to say it, it's highly unlikely the police would ever have stumbled on the truth.

It's pretty clever unmasking of some cold-hearted, calculating crime. 

This is one of Christie's usual page-turners. The dead girl, Ruby Keene, turns out to be a dancer on the entertainment staff of the nearby Majestic Hotel. It's revealed that one of the wealthy guests there, the magnetic and mesmerising Conway Jefferson, had intended to adopt Ruby as his daughter and heir, which infuriates his family. His son-in-law, Mark Gaskell, calls Ruby a, 'half-baked, nitwitted little slypuss.' To daughter-in-law Adelaide, she's, 'a vulgar, gold-digging little simpleton.'

Miss Marple, as usual, draws heavily from other anecdotal examples in her memory banks to make educated conjectures. This prompts her old mate, Sir Henry Clithering, to remark, 'I must say I do dislike the way you reduce us all to a general common denominator.' I'm sure we can all anticipate Miss Marple's inevitable reply. 'Human nature is very much the same anywhere.' 

Agatha Christie gives herself a plug in this story. A nine-year-old character, Peter Carmody, boasts how he's collected autographs from all the current crime writers. 'I've got Dorothy Sayers, Agatha Christie, Dickson Carr and H. C. Bailey.' I like how she gives her mystery writing peers a shout-out as well as depicting herself as someone who would be gracious enough to sign a young boy's autograph album. 

🌟🌟🌟