'Digital Minimalism' by Cal Newport

Summary: Minimalism is the art of knowing how much is just enough. Digital minimalism applies this idea to our personal technology. It's the key to living a focused life in an increasingly noisy world.

In this timely and enlightening book, the bestselling author of Deep Work introduces a philosophy for technology use that has already improved countless lives.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Cal Newport's voice is widely known for speaking dire warnings about the consequences of our twenty-first century online habits. He strikes me as someone standing in an Old Testament prophet sort of role, with one crucial difference. While those biblical prophets were brushed off as melancholic loonies during their own era, I think we all know in our deepest hearts that Newport speaks wisdom and common sense. As a race, we often simply prefer to drift along, spending passive hours on social media platforms anyway, driven by FOMO and the possible hope of positive reinforcement. 

This is why I feel books such as this one give me the indignant drive to actually see what's going on and do something about it. Here comes a brief summary of how Newport's research and study helps pull the wool away from my eyes.     

The smart entrepreneurs at Silicon Valley who set up our social media platforms play on our weaknesses. They know all about the power of intermittent reinforcement and quick dopamine fixes. But the problem for us as individuals is that any form of addiction is no good for us. These surges of dopamine play havoc with our overall contentment and wellbeing, yet we still fall for it. And when reinforcement in the form of likes, hearts, taps, and comments is not as frequent as we'd hope, the resulting sadness can cast a pall over our days. But it's a lose-lose situation, for even when it is forthcoming, we then set our bars higher and aim for even more. 

When I was about 19 years old, studying undergraduate Psychology, part of the mandatory course material was an experiment with poor rats down in the laboratory. We had to test their willingness to press a bar that distributed a handful of food pellets, and examine the power of intermittent reinforcement. I've never forgotten that, and feel certain that whistle blowers like Cal Newport are quite correct in pointing out that we ourselves are being played for rats, all so that some corporate giants can keep lining their own pockets. For if we regard ourselves as the consumers of social media platforms, he turns it upside down in pointing out that we are, in fact, the product. Big monopolies and advertisers are the 'consumers' who count on our taps and engagement in this attention economy. 

Newport also examines Henry David Thoreau's theory of 'new economics.' In a nutshell, for each small gain any activity might confer, Thoreau would examine the extreme cost on the other side of the scales. In Thoreau's nineteenth century example, a fine house with the best quality curtains, wallpaper and furnishings was paid for with the time, toil, maybe even blood, of hard work. In the case of our modern, digital era, Newport suggests that for our regular social media engagement and scrolling, we're sacrificing huge chunks of time, valuable solitude, quality of mood, shredding our attention spans and possibly straining our relationships. In a nutshell, we are paying for it with our lives.

Solitude Deprivation is a serious repercussion of our online era because many of us are spending zero minutes of time solely with our own thoughts, away from the non-stop input from other minds. The way Newport puts it is that, 'prioritizing communication over reflection is a source of serious concern.' Hence, he advises us to consistently create our own metaphorical cabins away, similar to Thoreau's actual cabin by Walden Pond. Possible ways of doing this may be taking long walks with our phones tucked away, journaling our reflections, and choosing high quality leisure, such as demanding arts and crafts. 

What I like about this book is that Newport isn't advising to quit our online lives completely. He advises us to take a month-long detox, then honestly assess whether each social media platform directly supports something we deeply value (for the fact that it offers some value is irrelevant). And oh man, after reading all of this, I feel seriously inclined to pare back even more than I already have.

I'm not giving five stars because some of Newport's counsel strikes me as somewhat extreme. Since he believes that nothing can beat real time spent with friends, either face-to-face or over the phone, he recommends never clicking likes or hearts on social media at all as a general rule. In Newport's opinion, these multiple 'on-line' friendships give us the mere illusion of 'real' relationships. Perhaps he's right to some extent, but as a shy introvert, I treasure my on-line friendships as more genuine than he gives them credit for. As for sending PMs or text messages instead of picking up the phone, having these wonderful options at my fingertips has been a game-changer for me. Making actual phonecalls was always something I dreaded, for when you think about it, you're surely interrupting people, whether it's welcome or not.     

I don't review or outline all of the non-fic books I read, but make an exception for potentially life-changing ones with valuable content. Newport's suggestions of 'high quality leisure' to replace this mindless scrolling is cool to read (like creating blog content like this). He sets us pondering whether or not we'd still voraciously use Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, X, and all the others if we had to pay for it. As for me, I'll certainly think carefully before I obey any impulse to check my stats on the sites I do value, namely this blog and Archive of Our Own. Do I really need to know right this second?

If you've ever been remotely anxious about digital well-being, then this is one of the books I'd recommend. 

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'Nemesis' by Agatha Christie

Summary: In utter disbelief, Jane Marple read the letter addressed to her from the recently deceased Mr Rafiel - an acquaintance she had met briefly while on vacation in St. Honore, as recounted in "A Caribbean Mystery."

Rafiel had left instructions for her to investigate a crime after his death. The only problem was, he had failed to tell her who was involved or where and when the crime had been committed. It was most intriguing. Soon she is faced with a new crime - the ultimate crime - murder. It seems someone is adamant that past evils remain buried.

MY THOUGHTS:

Miss Marple notices the name of an old acquaintance, Mr Rafiel, in the death column. It turns out he's bequeathed her ￡20 000, provided she solves a mystery with details he's very sketchy about. Rafiel has booked her a place, seemingly from beyond the grave, on a bus tour of famous houses and gardens of Great Britain. Miss Marple has no idea what she's meant to do but await further instructions from the dead man. It seems Mr Rafiel was determined not to influence her mindset, yet Miss Marple feels that going in blind is ridiculous. 

She discovers that Rafiel's only son is in jail, convicted of murdering his own fiance long ago. Young Michael Rafiel was generally regarded as a 'bad lot.' His father considered him 'morally sick' and beyond the hope of reform, yet believed him innocent of this heinous crime. His dying wish was to have it proved. The question is, who was the real murderer? Should Miss Marple consider any of the other passengers on the tour, or maybe one of three sisters who lives in the vicinity of their first stop?

The need for resolution becomes more urgent when another coach passenger, (I won't divulge who), is killed by a falling boulder. The fact that this person also seemed on the trail of young Verity's murderer convinces Miss Marple that this was no freak accident. Especially since two other young passengers are certain they saw an unidentified figure rolling the huge rock. Now there is at least one other murder involved, Miss Marple desperately doesn't want to fail. 

Some of her own beliefs make this story quite interesting. Throughout her long life, Miss Marple has noticed that, 'curious connections of incidents with special subjects seem to happen to people in life,' and in her own case, murders have a way of happening in her vicinity. (If Miss Marple happens to walk into your cafe, get out quick smart.) But her 'fine sense of evil' helps her get to the bottom of them. 

Regarding evil itself, she remarks:

'I don't like that sort of thing. If you expect me to feel sympathy, regret, urge an unhappy childhood, blame bad environment; if you expect me, in fact, to weep over him, this young murderer of yours, I do not feel inclined to do so. I do not like evil beings who do evil things.' 

And her new friend, Professor Wanstead, expert on the criminal brain, replies:

'I'm delighted to hear it... If people knew the bad environments that people have had, the unkindness, the difficulties of their lives and the fact that nevertheless they can come through unscathed, I don't think they would so often take the opposite point of view.'  

I figured out the murderer. This person was on my radar for similar reasons to those which occurred to Miss Marple. Since every fellow passenger had suspect potential, this should have been way harder to figure out than it was. I consider it a middling Marple mystery, so perhaps it's a good thing it was the last. 

Finally, the fact that the coach tour carried on after a passenger's tragic accident dates this 1971 publication! Holy Moley, my daughter who works in the travel industry confirms that if it happened in the 21st century, the rest of the tour would be cancelled as a matter of course and all the passengers refunded. 

🌟🌟🌟   

More Gifts from the Sea

Currently, our beautiful South Australian coastline is being devastated by a widespread algal bloom named karenia mikimotoi. I can almost type that straight off without checking the spelling, since it's been in our news headlines so frequently. Its effect on the sea in which it spreads is pernicious, since it's toxic to hundreds of different forms of marine life. That's ravaged our seafood industry, and I've personally seen dead fish and stringrays washed up along my favourite beaches. You can see from my photo above that this not normal foam, but more like a horrific, marshmallow ooze. Its cause is attributed to converging factors. Drawn-out summer heat caused unusually warm ocean temperatures, which were exacerbated by the lingering effects of some serious river flooding a couple of years ago. Since I moved to the coast with my family around seven years ago, I've never taken this soothing setting for granted, and to see it like this makes me long for the end of the scourge even more.

From the sound of the scientific reports we've been following, it's a matter of waiting it out, since the situation is dynamic, responding to daily conditions. 

In the meantime, since my mind has been on the ocean, I thought I'd compile more sea-themed literary excerpts and quotes, to follow on from this one, which included words from Laura Ingalls Wilder, Anne Bronte, and Walt Whitman, among others. As I keep reading, I come across increasingly more incidents in which fictional characters are awed by their glimpses of the ocean.  

1) In her novel Longbourn, Jo Baker's young character, James Smith, is amazed by his first sight of the ocean, as a roving soldier in the British army. 'Glimpsing it for the first time, he was astonished by the silver brilliance of the sea, the way it just kept moving, but never shifting from its place. It seemed at once beautiful and monstrous.' 

2) In Emil and the Three Twins, a wonderful German kids' classic from the 1930s, Frau Heimbold and her two grandkids, Emil and Pony, share a surreal moment when they view the sea for the first time. 'At the edge of the shore began the sea. Whichever way they looked, there was no end to it. It seemed to be made of liquid mercury. Far off on the horizon a ship was sailing into the falling night... The two children and their grandmother were overwhelmed. They stood there in silence, feeling as if they would never speak again in their lives... Eventually Emil's grandmother said softly, 'At last I know why I've lived to be such an old woman.' 

And the next day, 'Sometimes a succession of waves ran across the surface of the water, and Pony remarked: 'It looks as if an invisible shop assistant was unrolling bright silk on an endless counter.'

3) In Barbara Kingsolver's epic Demon Copperhead, all the young hero's attempts to visit ocean have been thwarted until the very final chapter. He's on the cusp of viewing it at last, with his love interest Angus (aka Agnes) Winfield.

Angus: I'm serious, I'm giving you the ocean.

Demon: It's winter.

Angus: You know what. They don't roll it up and put it away. It's just sitting there. Take it or leave it, home skillet. One goddamn Atlantic Ocean on offer.

4) Salesian priest Flor McCarthy's wonderful reflection. This treasure is found in secondhand book I picked up long ago entitled, 'Windows on the Gospel.' Here, he is addressing the sea as a perfect destination to get away to. 

'It would be hard to find a more suitable place. Here one experiences greatness and grandeur. Everything speaks of permanence and timelessness, the ceaseless ebb and flow of the tide, the sound of the surf that is never stilled, the infinity of sand grains beneath my feet, the horizon which seems so near yet can never be reached, the immensity of the star-strewn sky above me. There is a little bit of eternity of every seashore. Yet nowhere does one experience one's own finiteness so acutely. I look at the clear footprints I leave behind me in the soft sand and realize they won't survive even one tide. Suspended between time and eternity, I am at once humbled and elevated.' 

5) Finally, I'd like to include this excerpt from the fanfic, based on Louisa May Alcott's Little Men, which I've recently completed. In this scene, Uncle John tries to understand why Emil, his sea-mad teenage nephew, can't shake off an all-consuming desire to go to sea. 

'His uncle filtered some cool earth between his fingers. ‘You probably wouldn’t remember, but Uncle Laurie and I once took you and Franz for a boat ride. It was soon after your Uncle Fritz married your Aunt Jo. Your brother was content to sit still, but we kept having to pluck you back by your shirttails, because you were so obsessed with the thought of glimpsing a mermaid or hydra.’

‘I do remember that day,’ Emil said. ‘I thought I saw a giant kraken and leaned over so far I got my nose wet.’

‘Well, now that you’re fourteen, you do realize those beings are mythical, don’t you?’ Uncle John cleared his throat and twisted his fingers together. ‘Uh, they don’t really exist.’

‘I know what the word mythical means, Uncle John.’ Emil took care not to sound irritated.

His uncle turned a shade of red. ‘Of course you do. So now since the magical element is gone…’ he cut his hand through the air, ‘you still want to go, even though you know the prosaic truth?’

Emil began shaping a dirt tower with his hands. ‘Sure, I probably won’t see mermaids, sirens, or hydras. But there’s still a good chance I’ll see whales, porpoises, octopuses and dolphins. Maybe even a shark or two. So what you call the prosaic truth is still magical enough for me, sir.’

And up above is another shot I took very recently of our sick sea, this time behind Granite Island. You can see that crusty ick that floats on the surface. It's heartbreaking to simply wait this natural disaster out, but if you're the sort of person who prays, please keep our situation in mind. 

'The Ladies of Missalonghi' by Colleen McCullough

After decades of not giving this book a thought, it popped into my head out of the blue, and I thought I might like to read it, although I had reservations in my teens when it was published for reasons which you'll read below. Just a few weeks later, I discovered a copy in a Little Free Library in a small Yorke Peninsula town named Warooka. I assumed reading it was meant to be, so I'm including it for the Romance category of my 2025 Aussie Reading Challenge. The back cover blurb calls it a 'magical romance' and tale of dreams come true.   

MY THOUGHTS:

The time period is early twentieth century, leading into WW1. The setting is a fictional town named Byron in the stunning Blue Mountains not far from Sydney. Missy Wright, a drab 33-year-old spinster, ekes out a spartan existence with her widowed mother, Drusilla, and invalid aunt, Octavia. They are bottom in the pecking order of their wealthy relatives, the Hurlingfords, who virtually control the whole town.

But something is stirring in Missy's stagnant, routine world. A possible diagnosis of terminal heart disease looms over her, leading her to question the inhibited way she's always done things. Driven by a rebellious instinct to have a little fun before she dies, Missy feels a scandalous attraction to John Smith, an auburn-haired 'cloud of energy' who has just purchased an extensive section of valley land which her own clan hadn't even realized was for sale. His sole purpose is to live alone, answerable to nobody. (Even Missy's wealthy Aunt Aurelia considers his generic name hard to believe. 'One is forever reading about John Smiths, but have you ever actually met one?' It is easy to wonder if he has something to hide.)

If you think all this sounds strikingly similar to Lucy Maud Montgomery's The Blue Castle, you'd be absolutely right. I never read TLOM back in 1987 when it was first published, but I remember the literary furore as McCullough was called out for plagiarism of ideas, and denied the accusation, claiming that she must've read TBC in her youth, and then subliminal memories evidently bubbled to the surface. Back then, as a loyal teenage Montgomery fan, I declined reading TLOM out of principle. The case was eventually dropped as nobody could dispute McCullough's word. 

Fast forward to now. Fan fiction is an extremely popular twenty-first century concept and I love re-imaginings of excellent plots in different settings. Having ripped through this, I consider TLOM to be a great Aussie replica of TBC. Missy's truly gorgeous, but flat-voiced and calculating cousin Alicia is an awesome counterpart to Valancy Stirling's perfect cousin Olive. In fact as a whole, the Hurlingford connection is even easier to hiss and boo than Valancy's Stirling clan, for rather than being merely pompous and annoying, they are corrupt and callous crooks who prey on widows and orphans. 

All these years later, I'd urge anyone to go ahead and read it. Our distinctive Aussie cheekiness along with a few risque innuendoes adds some spice. Although the two plots share the same foundation they don't play out identically in every respect. The twists are quite different but equally surprising. After willingly swallowing the unlikelihood that both Missy Wright and John Smith would choose to step so far out of character as we see here, it becomes easier to suspend disbelief all the way through. I just grinned at the shock supernatural machinations, as it's all in good fun. 

This book has the added appeal of lovely illustrations by Peter Chapman. The wonderful setting along with Missy's eventual triumph in living a simple life on her own terms, free of pecuniary stress, certainly made me feel happy, so grab refreshments of your choice and put your feet up. Morning tea for the Missalonghi ladies has an authentic national vibe, including pikelets with jam and cream, a sponge, some little butterfly cakes, and sour apple tart with cloves. That might be a good place to start.

And just for the record, I was probably wise to wait until now, for I'm not sure this would have been to my liking at the age of 17. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟 

Note: The more I think about this, the sadder I feel that the controversy ever happened, for even if McCullough's critics were correct in accusing her (which wouldn't surprise me since the similarities were spot-on in so many respects), she's done no different than what Barbara Kingsolver did far more recently with Demon Copperhead, which won a Pulitzer Prize.

 I guess the key difference is that while Kingsolver was quite open and aboveboard about her recycling of David Copperfield, McCullough's example was more sneaky and underhanded, if indeed it was intentional at all. And while The Blue Castle is soon to celebrate its publication centenary in 2026, it had just tipped its 60th anniversary back in 1987, which was nowhere close to becoming public domain. I guess it's a lesson to anyone who might take it into their heads to rip off Canada's national treasure with no acknowledgement whatsoever. If the whole thing really was planned, did McCullough honestly think nobody would ever notice?!

Even though it was never hailed as such, I'm going to include The Ladies of Missalonghi in my fan fiction page, because it ticks all the right boxes anyway. (If you're still with me, see my overview here.)

'Before Green Gables' by Budge Wilson

Summary: This is the story of Anne Shirley's very young life before the Green Gables years. 

MY THOUGHTS:

I found this novel in a local secondhand shop. Although I had misgivings about stirring up this part of Anne's life, fanfics of old classics are one of my passions, so of course it came home with me. It turns out this prequel was authorized by the heirs of L.M. Montgomery, and it's instantly clear that Canadian kids' author Budge Wilson took the honor seriously. The events play out according to canon. Wilson draws specifically from what Anne tells Marilla in Chapter Five of Anne of Green Gables, entitled Anne's History, along with Chapter 21 in Anne of the Island, entitled Roses of Yesterday, when Anne, as a college student, visits her parents' little yellow house and their gravesites.

Wilson also attempts to fill in the characters of Anne's earliest guardians, the Thomases and the Hammonds. But the novel begins with poor Bertha and Walter Shirley, who never realized how short their days were numbered, and ends with Anne on her appointment with destiny, where she's soon to meet Matthew Cuthbert at Bright River Station. It took confidence on Budge Wilson's part, to imagine she could replicate the magic of the original, and sadly I don't think she's pulled it off. There are four main reasons why. 

1) The genre is said to be children's fiction, but I consider it too bleak for kids. The starting point, with Bertha and Walter, is heartrending. Who was Wilson's ideal reader? Lots of little girls I know, (including my old self), would have found the subject matter far too harrowing. And I'd bet minutiae about housekeeping gets tedious for young readers. Yet it surely isn't an adult or YA novel either, crammed as it is with Anne's streams of consciousness at the ages of five and six, including long soliloquies to 'Katie Maurice' in the glass. (Dare I admit these get very boring!) 

2) An omniscient narrator frequently pops up to embellish Montgomery's details, shovelling on more injustices. Wilson adds extra layers of rejection and unfairness to Anne's very early life that we never imagined. I can't help making my objections in capitals. SINCE  ANNE'S  BACKSTORY  WAS  ALREADY  SO  BAD,  WHY  MAKE  IT  EVEN  WORSE? And just so nobody misses any injustice, the narrator often ends chapters with remarks that state the obvious, such as, 'Anne had no idea what she (Mrs Thomas) meant, nor would she ever find out.'

3) Anne herself, although lovable and poignant, isn't the same Anne we bond with throughout the rest of the series. Within these pages, tiny Anne Shirley is depicted as preternaturally wise with an uncanny knack of reading into others' deepest motivations. Yet Montgomery's Anne retains a certain vivacious sparkle, whimsy, and innocence that Wilson's Anne lacks. That being the case, this unintentionally misses the goal of staying true to the original character's voice.  

And when it comes to unlikelihoods such as drunken Mr Thomas taking advice from 5-year-old Anne, it loses credibility fast.

4) This story also lacks Montgomery's trademark sense of humor. I'm not claiming Budge Wilson had no sense of humor at all. It's just not the same style, or as refreshing as Montgomery's. Perhaps finding glimmers of humour in Anne's tragic backstory is simply too big an ask.

Overall, I wouldn't recommend this to fellow Anne fans. Although I could see that Wilson tried very hard, the canvas she starts with swings between too horrific or too mundane. I'm sure Montgomery intended it as mere backstory for an excellent reason.

🌟½

'Small Bomb at Dimperley' by Lissa Evans

This is a British novel by an author I'd never heard of, but I saw it highly recommended by another book blogger. When I checked it out, I decided to take my chance on a kindle copy, because it sounded right up my alley. Crumbling country manor house compiled of patchwork sections from different eras, post WW2 tale that's hailed as a joyful historical novel, sly digs at Britain's landed gentry, and heartwarming romance. What's not to love?

MY THOUGHTS:

It's 1945, the wake of WW2. As her hodgepodge ancestral home, Dimperley Manor, deteriorates around her ears, snooty elitist, Lady Irene Vere-Thissett mourns the diminishing adulation she considers her due, along with the death of her eldest son, Felix, who was everything a young baronet should be; handsome, polished, and suitably imperious.

 Lady Irene's second son, Cedric, can't possibly inherit the family title in Felix's stead, for a childhood bout of encephalitis arrested his mental development. The successor will have to be Valentine, the plain and inept baby of the family, who she's always brushed aside as an embarrassment and disappointment. Most galling of all for her is the fact that despite his aristocratic birth, he considers himself no better than anyone else (shock horror)!

Twenty-three-year-old Corporal Valentine Vere-Thissett baulks at the sudden inevitability of assuming the title of 'Sir.' As third in line, it'd always seemed a safe bet that he'd never have to step up, but now he's inherited the nightmare of a property in dire financial straits, with its dilapidated hazards and skeleton staff. His own estimate of his capability is rock bottom. All written documents have a rebellious habit of spinning and blurring whenever he tries to focus. (We readers recognise undiagnosed dyslexia, but he still believes his school teachers, who simply labelled him a dunce.)  

Meanwhile, others under Dimperley's roof try to move on with their disrupted lives. Felix's disheveled widow, Barbara, chafes under the control of her overbearing mother-in-law, while her teenage daughters, who'd been evacuated to America are now home dealing with tremendous culture shock. Pedantic Uncle Alaric is writing a drawn-out volume of family history which nobody has the heart to tell him is excruciatingly boring. But Alaric's capable secretary, Zena Baxter, turns out to be an unexpected ally for Sir Valentine. 

Zena is a working class girl with a history of being shunted from one foster home to the next. She's the struggling single mother of a precocious three-year-old, and depends on her efficient organizational skills to make ends meet. While the Vere-Thissetts are all too close to the situation to think creatively, Zena just might have an unexpected idea to help save the property. She's fallen under the spell of Dimperley Manor, but her feelings for the young baronet take a surprising turn as well.

Shout out to Zena's daughter, Allison, who deserves a special mention as an authentic, large-as-life three-year-old-character. Such youngsters are notoriously difficult to write authentically, but Evans has a brilliant way of weaving Allison's interruptions and non sequiturs into each scene so they become an integral part of the action.

I'm so glad I took the chance on this book. There are some hilarious laugh-out-loud moments. At it's core is a lovely romance between two great protagonists whose social backgrounds are poles apart, and who have both been emotionally damaged in different ways, yet who complement each other perfectly. The shocking turn of events is exciting too. I wonder if there will be a sequel to this. I guess it's no spoiler to surmise that Zena will be in for some serious mother-in-law friction. 

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Note: It puts me in mind of this novel, which is also a post-WW2 comic family tale of picking up the pieces, starring a young hero with scars and challenges, whose humor sees him through. This must be a 5-star combo for me. 

'Dark Quartet' by Lynne Reid Banks

I discovered this in one of my favorite secondhand bookshops which was sadly soon to close down, and it renewed my interest in all things Bronte related. As this date happens to be Emily Bronte's birthday, now is a good time to review and discuss it. 

MY THOUGHTS: 

This biographical novel from 1973 about the brilliant siblings from Haworth is an intense and mind-blowing read. Lynne Reid Banks thoroughly did her homework. Her forays into the inner lives of these four seem (mostly) consistent with what has been confirmed about them from the reams of correspondence they've left behind. Leaving room for poetic license, the book is sensitively written, with threshed out trajectories all round. Its title is well chosen, for their true lives were surely as Gothic and harrowing as anything they ever wrote. 

It's hard to decide where to jump in and discuss something with so broad and deep a canvas, so I'll tackle each of the four main subjects according to birth order.    

 The book delves into Charlotte's intense, private guilt, for feeling more passionate about her own secret world than she does about the conventional Anglican Christianity that is preached all around her. Yet she cannot change a thing, spurred on by the physical excitement she generates inside herself by her characters' elicit passions. (Whoa!) Even the poet laureate, Robert Southey, writes Charlotte a stern warning, to the effect that young ladies shouldn't let their imaginations run away with them. But any resolutions to guard her thoughts are feeble, since the fantasy world she's created is all-consuming. According to her aunt's and father's Calvinistic tinged strictures, Charlotte can't help fearing she must be damned.

Branwell comes across as witty, highly-strung, ever on the verge of breakdown, and in all likelihood a pain in the neck. He's not a fraction as confident as he tries to appear. Rather, he's a tortured soul who fears he'll always be a fall-short, unable to muster what it must take to satisfy the high hopes his family have pinned on him. He's undisciplined and reactive, allowing himself to be tossed about by any wind blowing. His petit mal seizures, commonly known as absence seizures today, alarm his family. (I know other biographers throughout the years conjecture that it was epilepsy.) And he seems to be allergic to actually finishing anything. 

I find Banks' dour dramatic version of Emily hard to like but easy to admire. Blunt and reclusive, she's also a nature mystic, but specifically for one spot; her beloved Yorkshire Moors. This goes hand in hand with a weird astral travel ability. (Did she really experience these out-of-body journeys? I can't find any factual backup.) A great admirer of strength and determination, she scorns herself as a weakling for retreating from Roe Head school with intense homesickness, but directs her self-criticism into shaping her writing to be the finest it possibly can. 

Anne, perhaps the least 'dark' of the quartet, takes upon herself the earnest anxiety of a youngest child to see everyone happy and content around her; an impossible task with her complex siblings and vulnerable father. (I still think she should have quit her position with the Ingham family, rather than gritting her teeth and toughing it out because she had something to prove. Hence she ends up being fired, which I can't help thinking was partly her own fault. See my review of Agnes Grey, her biographical novel.) 

It's all such interesting fodder, including Emily's hero worship of her employer, Miss Elizabeth Patchett, who resembles a favorite heroine Emily has created; and the formally written marriage proposal Charlotte receives from Henry Nussey, which may have influenced that abysmal proposal made by St. John Rivers to Jane Eyre. We meet the sunny natured curate, Willy Weightman, such a contrast to the dark quartet that all four can't help basking under his refreshing influence. There's a plausible reason why Branwell, in a fit of gloom, scrubs himself out of the famous pillar painting. And I love Charlotte's brush with the Catholic priest who tells her, 'Those who suffer as you are suffering often have a vocation to ease the anguish of others.' 

Of course Banks introduces the two married people who Charlotte and Branwell fall for. Monsieur Heger is depicted as a principled and decent (albeit overbearing) guy whose powerful sway over Charlotte occurs despite himself, but Mrs Lydia Robinson is portrayed as a heartless and duplicitous cougar.  

I seem to remember reading somewhere that when Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her 1857 biography of Charlotte, Mrs Robinson attempted to sue her for defamation over claims that she seduced Charlotte's younger brother. However, Dark Quartet was written well into the twentieth century so Banks didn't have the same problem. She paints Branwell's temptress with a thoroughly black brush. I wonder if Mrs Robinson's descendants remember her as the villain who ruined his life, and if so, whether the passage of time has made it more of a cool detail to include in their lineage than a source of shame. 

I took my time over this book. It wasn't one I could possibly rush through, and it wasn't easy to take all the harsh blows on board, but the effort was well worth it. However, the heavy emotion lingers. The world was robbed of whatever novel Emily was working on at the time of her death, and it might've been astounding, coming on the heels of Wuthering Heights. And I find the rift between Charlotte and Branwell, lasting until the day of his death, is heart-rending. Close to the end, Banks has him say, 'Charlotte, who was once closer to my heart than my own left lung, now withholds herself from me as if she fears to become a drunkard and wastrel herself just by looking at me.'  

And I won't even get started on the early chapters which dealt with the deaths of Maria and Elizabeth. They were almost too much for me at the outset.

My fascination for the Brontes has been well and truly re-ignited by this book. I visited Haworth Parsonage once, aged 20, and I'd swear you really could feel their creative, brooding energy still caught between those walls. 

I guess I'd better warn you to expect more Bronte posts down the track.

🌟🌟🌟🌟½