'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.

🌟🌟🌟🌟 

'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 series 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.  

'Six weeks by the Sea' by Paula Byrne

Here is one of my summer beach reads. I spotted this one on the library shelf and its beautiful cover inspired me to pick it up. 

MY THOUGHTS:

Austen scholar Paula Byrne writes a hypothetical novel in which Jane falls in love with Samuel Rose, the young lawyer who defended poet/artist William Blake from a charge of sedition, and got him acquitted. Rose was suffering from consumption and died shortly after his successful court case, breaking the hearts of all who knew him.  

It's a known fact that Jane Austen became briefly attached to a mysterious stranger who she met on holiday at Sidmouth during the summer of 1801 when she was 25. Byrne overlaps Austen's personal history with Rose's, suggesting him as a possible contender. Even though the time frame doesn't quite fit, it's an interesting concept. 

Meanwhile, Jane's brother, Captain Frank Austen, is keen to orchestrate a match between Jane and Peter Parker, a sailor buddy of his. But Parker harbors a couple of unsavory secrets. His sympathy for slave traders is just one of them.

Reverend John Swete (another character borrowed from true life) has a small Creole granddaughter who he's eager to provide for, and Jane lends a helping hand. It's also the days of rudimentary inoculations, which comes into play. 

Even though this book covers only six weeks in 250 pages, I found it fairly slow paced. Jane takes an unreasonable dislike to Samuel Rose from the get-go, for the flimsy reason that he's a lawyer like her old flame, Tom Lefroy. She tells her sister, Cassandra, 'He's worse than the plagues of Egypt.' Come on, really! Such strong words for a guy who has done nothing wrong. I can't help feeling the story is written this way to go through the motions of a hate-to-love trope, but it ought to be more convincing to ring true.

Another thing Byrne does is to give her own characters shades of Jane Austen's. Reverend Swete has moments of Mr Collins style pomposity, although in her afterword, Byrne mentions that her research proves he really was inclined that way. His wife embodies all the worst parts of Jane's villainesses. She's an intolerant hypochondriac with no redeeming features whatsoever. 

Samuel Rose himself pulls off some very unsubtle George Knightley moves straight from the pages of Emma. These help Jane see that he's a good guy after all, but it seems a bit contrived. And I don't really like the inevitable implication that years later, Austen simply translated some speeches and actions from an old boyfriend straight into her manuscript. She was surely more creative than that!

I do like Mrs Austen and Cassandra, who is nursing her own heartache. I like the doggerel verses and the excerpts from William Cowper's poetry. I like Peter Parker's dilemma, which took longer than it should have to dawn on me. And I like well-meaning Frank Austen, who doesn't read between the lines. But in all honesty, we live in a glut of Jane Austen inspired, Regency historical fiction, and this one isn't a standout.

As for Jane Austen's real mystery man, I'd be willing to bet he was probably a humble no-name, not a brilliant man of his time whose professional impact lasted down the annals of history for over 200 years. 

🌟🌟½ 

'The Parasites' by Daphne du Maurier

 This obscure title from 1949 was a library book. For one of Dame Daphne's lesser known titles, I found it surprisingly engrossing. Her background knowledge about the world of performing makes this quite hard-hitting at times.  

MY THOUGHTS:

One rainy day, a country squire named Charles Wyndham accuses his wife and her two siblings of being parasites. Taken by surprise, the trio spends the rest of the day assessing the justice of his claim and delving back through their pasts, collectively and individually. The fascinating flashbacks really inform what is currently happening (or not happening) in their lives.

They are the Delaneys, Maria, Niall, and Celia, all nudging 40. Their parents were famous entertainers and crowd magnets considered among the truly great. 'Pappy' was a powerful singer along the lines of Pavarotti, and 'Mama' was a breathtaking solo dancer. Offstage, they were both demanding divas. 

The three kids trailed around on tour with them for as long as they could remember. They were brats who were tolerated by venue managers and fobbed off by their lofty parents. Maria is Pappy's daughter, Niall is Mama's son, and Celia is the child of both parents, therefore half-sister to each of the others. 

Maria is now a stage actress who hardly has an identity of her own. She's a piecemeal person made up of all the roles she's ever played. Nepotism gave her a foot in the door, and now the identity she does hold together is extremely entitled and self-centered. 

Niall is a popular composer who gets accolades for dance tunes which he churns out with the minimum of creative effort. He's lazy, indifferent to praise, and devoid of ambition, but fame has pursued him instead of vice versa.

Celia is an interesting case. On the surface, it appears unfair to consider her a parasite at all, since she's incredibly giving and self-sacrificing, forever putting the needs of family members before her own. But she admits the aptness of Charles' accusation herself. Living vicariously through others means never having to risk personal failure. As the demands of family members forever shields Celia from any need to put herself out there, she's in effect preying on them. (To be honest, I find this a bit of a stretch, but I get where she's coming from.)

Du Maurier uses a weirdly effective stylistic method throughout the story. The parasites frequently address the reader collectively (along the lines of, 'we came in and sat down') yet it is never Maria, Niall, or Celia speaking in first person. Whenever they are focused on as individuals, the story switches to third person. I would never have imagined attempting anything like this, or seeing any other writer successfully pull it off, but the result is strangely impactful.

Another thing worth mentioning is the extremely close relationship between Maria and Niall, with shades of sensual or erotic. Does the fact that they are not, in fact, sister and brother by blood, even though they were brought up as such, excuse any incestuous vibes? Du Maurier leaves this for readers to decide for ourselves. As I read other reviews, I saw some liken their relationship to that of Heathcliff and Catherine in Wuthering Heights. I know du Maurier was a great Bronte fan, so it wouldn't surprise me at all if there is substance to this claim.  

It's a fascinating psychological study, well worth reading. We're rewarded with some excellent comedy. My favorite is an incident in which the dysfunctional Delaney family, including overbearing 'Pappy' and Niall's way older girlfriend Freada, are invited to stay at Coldhammer, the stuffy country home of Maria's new in-laws. Of course, the conventional Wyndhams can't be blamed for making assumptions that turn out to be way off the mark. It's hilarious. 

For one of du Maurier's more obscure titles, I think it deserves far more limelight. Since she and her sisters were the real life progeny of their famous actor father, Gerald du Maurier, I'm guessing that this is largely autobiographical, close to Dame Daphne's heart, and possibly cathartic. I'm taking off half a star solely because the final scene, although heavy with poetic justice, is not to my liking. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½