'Miss Buncle's Book' by D.E. Stevenson

Barbara Buncle is in a bind. Times are harsh, and Barbara's bank account has seen better days. Stumped for ideas, Barbara draws inspiration from fellow residents of her quaint English village, writing a revealing novel that features the townsfolk as characters. The smashing bestseller is published under the pseudonym John Smith, which is a good thing because villagers recognise the truth. But what really turns her world around is when events in real life start mimicking events in the book. Funny, charming, and insightful, this novel reveals what happens when people see themselves through someone else's eyes.

MY THOUGHTS:
This is a good recommendation for those who enjoy books about village folk in small, country communities. (Think Avonlea, Middlemarch, Cranford.) It would have been a good choice for the the Comedy Classic category of the upcoming  Back to the Classics Challenge 2019, but I've just missed out by finishing it in December. If you're brainstorming good classic comedy titles though, this one fits the bill.

Miss Barbara Buncle has found herself struggling to make ends meet, and thinks she might have a go at writing a novel. To her relief, Mr Abbott from the publishing firm Abbott and Spicer loves it, and agrees to publish it under the pseudonym John Smith. But the real drama starts when Barbara's village neighbours of Silverstream begin to recognise themselves in the thinly veiled characters of Copperfield. Some think it's hilarious, while others are outraged and make it their personal mission to discover John Smith's true identity, so they can pay him out as he deserves.

But whenever anyone tries to figure out who he is, Miss Buncle's name never crosses their mind. She's the sort of person who doesn't slide onto anyone's radar because they perceive her as a meek, frumpy spinster. She's automatically eliminated from lists of townsfolk. Little do they know she's an expert people-observer with plenty of practice.

It's a simple story with fairly standard characters we recognise from sitcoms, although D. E. Stevenson might have been among the first to use them, since she wrote this in 1934. At the forefront of the crusade to unmask John Smith are Mrs Featherstone-Hogg, the snooty social climber, and Vivian Greensleeves, the heartless gold digger. There are great contradictory reflections such as, 'Mrs Horsley-Downs was a horrible character not the least like her, but it was obviously intended for her because it was exactly like her.'

It's clear that the novel becomes a wake-up allegory for the whole town, as folk see their real selves mirrored in the pages of Disturber of the Peace. On one hand, nobody knows us as well as we know ourselves, so we could take the book's portrayal with a grain of salt. But on the other, our closeness to our own self might create multiple blind spots, since we overlook and reason away a myriad of quirks and character defects. The sharp perception of someone else is like a slap in the face. If you're like me, the story might make you wonder how others perceive you, if you were to appear in a novel.

Miss Buncle's young neighbour Sally considers John Smith a heroic crusader, because he exposes humbugs and frauds for who they really are. Barbara Buncle is flattered by this image of herself as a public benefactor, since her only goal had been to earn a bit of money. She's a straightforward, childlike person, which is meant to make it funnier, since someone with more depth might have reconsidered showing everyone they know with warts and all. And a wiser author might have anticipated their indignation more, since their biggest and most secret faults are being revealed to the whole world. It's easy to understand why there was an uproar, and Barbara's never-ending naivety got a bit on my nerves. 

After all sorts of awkward situations, the story ends in a very rom-com worthy way. The canny reader can see it coming a mile away, but it's still fun. For anyone who just wants to put their feet up and relax, it's a light, fluffy read with a bit of an edge. Good escapism for us, although not for the poor people of Silverstream.

One other gripe I had is a technicality. I don't usually get hung up over international spelling differences, but since this is clearly such an English story, why don't we have British spelling, instead of bumping up against words like parlor maid and characterization? Forcing something into an American shape sometimes feels wrong, and this is one of those times. Since American readers are enjoying the British place and characters, I'm sure they wouldn't mind dealing with parlour maid and characterisation just for a little while? That's my Australian opinion.

Anyway, it's a quick, cheery read and held my interest all through. It even taught me a bit about how far authors can go, when it comes to representing living people in novels. I think my favourite sub-plot was the story of young Sally and Ernest, the vicar.

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The litmus test of humility

What's the real indication of whether or not a person has humility? Recently I had a bit of help trying to tackle that question from C.S. Lewis and a horde of sneaky demons he created.

It's not that Catch 22 we may instantly think of.

Does this seem familiar? You're graciously blowing off praise, and it suddenly occurs to you, 'I'm being very humble right now.' Then the whole illusion bursts into nothing. Humility is a bit like a shining soap bubble and pride is a sharp pin. Now you have to crank up the next attempt to convince yourself that you're humble all over again.

In Lewis' classic, the demon Screwtape instructs his protege Wormwood how to work on destroying humility in his human assignment. 'He's truly getting humble, so draw it to his attention. And if he tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of his attempt and so on, for as many stages as you please.' He does add, 'Don't try it for too long though, for fear you awaken his sense of humour and proportion, in which case he'll merely laugh at you and go to bed.'

Perhaps we do reach a stage where we roll our eyes and stop buying into that spiral anymore.

Screwtape goes on to spell out for his nephew what true humility really is. He needs Wormwood to be on the lookout for it. It's getting your attention turned away from yourself and fixed on others. He advises Wormwood to work with special care, to convince his human to believe the lie that humility is actually having a low opinion of himself. This just makes us feel bad and keeps our minds riveted on ourselves, where those nasty demons want them to be.


Here's the real litmus test

I'll quote Screwtape directly. 'The enemy (God) wants to bring the man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world and know it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it were done by another. The enemy wants him to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbour's.'

Wow, if that's it, I know in my own heart I've fallen way short of this many, many times since childhood. I've always wanted to write well, and my tremendous love and admiration for books I've read has been tinged with a wistful envy, and the thought, 'I wish I could've written that.'

Have you ever caught yourself saying the same? 'I wish I could write such an epic mission adventure that brings a time and place so vividly to life.' Or, 'Wow, imagine coming up with such convoluted twists to bring racial prejudice to the public so powerfully. I wish I could manage world-building of that magnitude.' Or, 'If only I had the skill to draw from centuries of folklore and tradition to create such a complex universe.'

When we think about it, that's such a miserable and limited way to think. Instead of picturing ourselves as separate beings working on our own projects, how about expanding our vision to see ourselves as small creative cogs, sharing a collective assignment to bring heaven closer to earth? A great achievement for one person is an achievement for all. That goes for writing as much as anything else. The goal of the accomplished author, and the appreciative fan who keeps the momentum alive should be synonymous. That's real humility, and I'm sure it taps into what the Bible means when it calls us members of one body.

But it sounds so hard to pull off, especially in our world where talented mouthpieces and catalysts get valued so highly. However, if we don't embrace the humble way of thinking, the price may be too high and sad to pay. I remember watching the movie Amadeus back in my teens, which was based on fact. The composer Antonio Salieri kept fuming at God for not giving him Mozart's genius. In his jealous mind, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a shallow, flippant, spoiled brat who didn't deserve his talent, while he, the dedicated and hard-working Salieri, did. How tragic that he was so wrapped up in himself, he missed the whole point of what creativity is all about. Salieri couldn't rejoice with the world that powerful compositions were flowing forth from somebody. A truly humble person would be delighted, regardless of the source. Whenever we have our own ego dripping into anything, it instantly makes the pool murky.

So I encourage us all not to forget that the truly humble and generous spirit is worth far more than merely writing well. Only then can we be part of something as big as what we originally dreamed of. Humility makes our own lives far happier too. Because when we can set our minds to truly rejoice in any great success, regardless of the source, we can enjoy millions of victories instead just a few, if any. I'll let Screwtape have the last word. 'When they have really learned to love their neighbours as themselves, they will be allowed to love themselves as their neighbours.'

'Mistress Pat' by L.M. Montgomery

When she was twenty, nearly everyone thought Patricia Gardiner ought to be having beaus  - except of course, Pat herself. For Pat, Silver Bush was both home and heaven. All she could ever ask of life was bound in the magic of the lovely old house on Prince Edward Island, "where good things never change." And now there was more than ever to do, what with planning for the Christmas family reunion, entertaining a countess, playing matchmaker, and preparing for the arrival of the new hired man. Yet as those she loved so dearly started to move away, Pat began to question the wisdom of her choice of Silver Bush over romance. Was it possible to be lonely at Silver Bush?

MY THOUGHTS:
Pat of Silver Bush is back for a sequel. If you imagine nobody could possibly eke out an interesting story about a young woman who simply keeps house and enjoys simple things, then think again. But your feelings about the book might hinge on how you feel about sitting in cosy rooms, having jokes, chats and nibbles with close family members. If you're a domestic introvert like me, it'll tick all your boxes. But if you always prefer more of a complex action plot, then consider yourself duly warned, a huge percentage is jokes, chats and nibbles.

I'd better just warn you, there are plot spoilers in this review (despite some readers considering Mistress Pat doesn't have much plot.) It's the sort of book where any decent thoughts for a review must directly address what happens, or else there's nothing much to say. Occasional ones are like that, so proceed with caution. But I will warn you when we get to really dangerous waters. 

It picks up soon after the spot where the first book leaves off. Mother is a semi-invalid, having undergone a tricky heart operation. Even though Pat calls her the 'life and soul of the house,' the ongoing story still seems to function without her playing much of a role. I think Judy is the real heart and soul. Pat has opted to give up the chance to teach school so Winnie is free to marry Frank, but the decision was a no-brainer for her. Dad and Sid still work hard, and hire a great new hand named Tillytuck. Baby sister Cuddles is now a bright young teenager who prefers to be called Rae (short for Rachel). And Jingle/Hilary is off learning to be a terrific architect.

The story quietly taps into the topic of time, which always fascinates me. A distant relative who pays a visit thinks, 'What a quiet, beautiful place where there is time to live.' That's part of the charming Silver Bush atmosphere Pat loves to foster, but even with the illusion of time meandering slowly, the changes she tries to ward off keep coming. I was in the perfect mood for them. Not long ago, my Dad passed away and soon after that it became necessary for my family to move house. Both were out of the blue. And our little nine-year-old guinea pig crossed the rainbow bridge too. I sense LMM wrote this book in a later stage of her career, as her similar reaction to being knocked around by life's sudden turns. One sentence I highlighted was this one. 'How life grew around changes until they became a part of it and were changes no more.' Pat has to experience this and so do we.

BIG PLOT SPOILERS AHEAD

The end for good old Judy gives us one of the best perspectives about death I've come across in a story. She faces it with composure and contentment rather than any sense of fear or dread. Judy's simply relieved that her final days will not be a nuisance to the family she loves so well. 'I've had a happy life here Patsy, and now death seems real friendly.' Pat reflects as we all do that many people might not consider Judy's life happy from their outside observation, since she was just a servant working on a small farm. Yet Judy controlled the one thing anybody can; her attitude. What a brilliant old role model she is, and I shed a few tears over her.

The tragedy that befalls Silver Bush seems so cruel! As I reached that part, I thought, 'Whoa, can LMM really be mean enough to take it there?' knowing instantly that she does. How will Pat cope without the love of the family home she's built her whole identity around? Maybe no worse than me, since I was crushed just reading about it. The more you dwell on it, the huger the loss looms. It's not just the precious walls but all the story fodder they contain. The cookbooks with the ancient clan recipes, and the old love letters reduced to ashes.

Was the burning totally necessary as a plot device? Wouldn't it have been nice for Hilary to have Pat choose him over Silver Bush while it was still standing? Surely the way it is might give the impression that she took him as a last resort, regarding him as second best? I'm sure her wider community would think so.Yet on the other hand, he has the pleasure of knowing he'll be the only one who can possibly make up for her crushing loss, which I think is how LMM would want us to see it. There was far too little of Hilary in this story. Too many passing mentions, and not enough personal appearances, which is why I didn't give the book quite full marks. Also, I wish Montgomery hadn't dragged it out to eleven years, when all of the events could have been just as easily compressed into three or four.

OK, THE WORST SPOILERS ARE OVER NOW.

Since life's messages can dawn on us in simple insights from the blue, that's how a lot of the book is structured, so I'll finish with a few very brief observations.

* Courtships can take as short as Rae's (three days) or as long as Pat and Hilary's (20+ years). Most are more normal, and fall anywhere in between.

* Hilary Gordon deserves more of a high profile in readers' list of wonderful romantic heroes than he often gets. The way he stays true to Pat while she fobs him off for year after year is astounding. And this extract from the letter he sent her works its magic on me. 'Don't feel badly because I love you and you can't love me. If the choice had been mine I would have still have chosen to love you. There are people who try to forget a hopeless love. I'm not one of them, Pat... My love for you has enriched my whole existence and given me the gift of clear vision for the things that matter. It has been a lamp held before my feet whereby I have avoided many pitfalls of baser passions and unworthy dreams.'

* David Kirk is one of my favourite characters in this story. Rather than coming across as 'the other guy', he's such a cool, kind person.

* Perhaps different families are neither superior nor inferior to others. Do the Binnies really have bad taste in every aspect of their lives, or are they just different from the Gardiners? I wouldn't be surprised if some readers concur more with their decorating styles and methods of communication.

* Pat hates inter-family quarrels but I'm wondering how they'll avoid future friction between her offspring and Sid's, since he went and married May. With such different mothers, I can't imagine these sets of cousins ever seeing eye to eye.

* Pat and Hilary's kids had better steel themselves to hear lots of stories about Silver Bush!

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'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens

Dickens' story of solitary miser Ebenezer Scrooge, who is taught the true meaning of Christmas by a series of ghostly visitors, has proved one of his most well-loved works. Ever since it was published in 1843 it has had an enduring influence on the way we think about the traditions of Christmas. 

MY THOUGHTS:
I wanted to include a classic Christmas story this December, and the plot of this one is a legend, of course. Scrooge's old business partner, Jacob Marley, used to be just as mean and tight-fisted as Scrooge, but he's belonged to the next world for long enough to grasp what's really important. Marley's ghost decides to pay Scrooge a visit to give him some tough love, with the help of three supernatural buddies who represent the three tenses of Christmas: past, present and future.

Some readers have mentioned one-dimensional characterisation. Can anyone really be as cranky as Scrooge, or as hearty as his nephew Fred, or as good-natured as Bob Cratchit, or as holy and angelic as Tiny Tim? I have no problems with it, because the season of Christmas is like a main character in its own right, which brings out the best and worst in everyone. We're getting a glimpse of these characters for a specific two days in the calendar, when they always put on their most extreme behaviour. (Anyway, I've come across real people who strike me as close matches. Sometimes people we meet in true life are more like caricatures than others might imagine.)

But wherever you stand, you've got to admit Charles Dickens succeeded in what must surely be just a distant dream for most authors. The name of his main character has now become a noun for a specific type of person. 'Don't be such a Scrooge.'

Ebenezer Scrooge considers himself a careful realist, but it progresses to stinginess. The narrator says, 'The heaviest rain and snow could boast the advantage of him in only one respect. They often come down handsomely and Scrooge never did.' His downfall was all in the name of looking out for himself, and I understand his reasoning, especially since he belonged in the Victorian era. When you make adequate provision for your welfare, you needn't worry about being destitute and alone in the future, right? But outcomes sometimes turn out to be the opposite of our aim. He's alienated everyone by his ungenerous spirit, and is headed for a very lonely death.

Dickens descriptions of London coldness add loads to the atmosphere. 'The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole... Candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air.' The Victorian winter would have been no fun to live through, but was certainly fun to read about.

You have to really read the book to get the impact of the different personalities of the ghosts themselves. Christmas Past is like a wise child-cum-old man, who can be snuffed like a candle. Christmas Present is a jolly giant, living it up and scattering cheer wherever he steps. And Christmas Future is like the silent and spooky Grim Reaper type we've all come across. Some reviewers think it's inconceivable that Scrooge could experience a total personality reversal in one night, but again I disagree. When the catalysts are as dramatic as this trio, wouldn't you?

I'll just summarise some of my favourite parts of what they show him.

One of my most loved themes pops up, the comfort of reading books. Lonely young Ebenezer, who was left behind at school over the holidays, reminds me of David Copperfield, another of Dickens' boys, as he sits quietly by the window reading stories. The way the scene plays out here is  so impressive from a nineteenth century author like Dickens. As the boy sits reading, a procession of his favourite characters pace past the window as if they're real, including Ali Baba and Robinson Crusoe. To think that was imagined straight from Dickens' head onto the page with no knowledge of on-screen entertainment is astounding. So is Scrooge's glimpse into the supernatural world of ghosts and spirits, who fill the outside world, often lamenting bitterly because they can no longer perform the good actions they'd like to. If only they'd done it while they were alive, hey?

There's good old Fezziwig, Scrooge's employer as a young apprentice, and the awesome staff party he threw. Fezziwig demonstrates the unequal effect of the mathematics of kindness. The ripple effect of one kind action can far exceed the effort it took in the first place. It was all over in one evening, but remained fondly in people's memories for decades. Even fleeting moments are valid, and Scrooge says so. 'His power was in words and looks, in things so slight and insignificant that it is impossible to count 'em up. The happiness given is as great as if it had cost a fortune.' I love that idea, because some of us can't afford to make grand, sweeping gestures, but it doesn't mean our impact will be any less when we do what we can.

It's no wonder this story has left several generations of readers with the idea that our own acts of kindness can be worthwhile, even if the scope isn't as huge as Scrooge's. Tiny Tim's whole life seems to rest on the treatment his father receives from his employer. It's easy to see why this novella took off and sold out its first printing, because it has touches of so much of the great stuff Victorians loved. Plenty of sentimental moralism, loads of Gothic chills and thrills, some hard-hitting lessons, and lovely feels for the Christmas season itself. It's just as easy to see why so many contemporary readers of the twenty-first century keep re-reading it each year too.

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'West From Home' by Laura Ingalls Wilder

In 1915, Laura Ingalls Wilder traveled by train from her home in Missouri to San Francisco. Laura's westward journey to visit her daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, coincided with a spectacular event taking place in that city-the Panama Pacific International Exposition. 

       This was a great world's fair celebrating the completion of the Panama Canal, and Laura was amazed by the attractions that had been gathered there. Her husband, Almanzo, was unable to leave their Missouri farm, and it was Laura's letters that gave him the chance to see what she saw during her visit to California. 

       These letters, gathered together here, allow the reader to experience Laura's adventures and her intimate thoughts as she shared with her husband the events of her exciting sojourn.

MY THOUGHTS:
It's a real life epistolary story, and not a fictional one.This book is a great historical document that fascinated me from start to finish. In 1915, Laura's daughter Rose was a well-known journalist in San Francisco, and invited her parents to visit. The Panama-Pacific International Exposition was being hosted there at the same time, which highlighted the best goods and produce many nations had to offer. The descriptions of it remind me a bit of the Great Exhibition in Victorian London, but this one had the benefit of far more developed technology, being about 65 years further advanced.

Of course one of them had to stay home to look after the farm, so Laura set off and promised to keep Almanzo updated. She wrote him long, descriptive letters almost every day, and we get to read them all in this book. Nowadays we'd send quick snaps from our phone, but back then, her words were the picture. She took care to keep them extra detailed, and those of us separated by space and time get the benefit. Laura herself wasn't always happy with them. 'I am disgusted with this letter. I have not done halfway justice to anything I've described.' Although I loved the book, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was snooping at somebody else's letters, or reading over his shoulder.

The evidence of their devotion to each other is beautiful. Laura wasn't the type to write lovey-dovey letters, and they'd been married for over 30 years at this point anyway. Yet the whole structure of the letters emphasises their unity. Especially lines like, 'Half the fun I lose because I am all the time wishing for you.' I love their mutual partnership. It seems they had lots on their mind, such as how to save and invest their money, and whether to move closer to Rose. Laura always writes something like, 'I've gathered all the literature to show you, so when I get home we'll discuss it.' It's a great picture of a good, stable marriage. Her lifelong frugalism comes through too, as she was always counting her pennies.

The world fair sounds amazing. 1915, with its electricity and tram cars and moving picture theatres, must have seemed ultra modern for people born in the late 1860's and early 70's, like Laura and her sisters. Progress had been super speedy during those forty odd years, and it reminds me of a similar scenario for those of us born about 100 years later, who can remember life before the computerised, digital world as we know it. Perhaps these last two centuries really match each other for their acceleration of progress around the turn of the century.


Laura sees enough of Rose's working schedule to put her off that intense, deadline driven style of writing. 'The more I see of how Rose works, the better satisfied I am to raise chickens. I do not see how she can stand it.' It's interesting to remember this was all the before the Little House books had been started. She eventually hand-crafted a project that suited her better. And somehow with their differing styles, the mother and daughter worked on it as a team.

At one stage, Rose writes a secret letter to her father, to tell him that his wife is getting fat! She seemed anxious to convince him that it wasn't her fault if her mother wanted to gobble up all the seafood and Scottish scones she set her eyes on. It seems Laura was an advocate of the 'see food' diet, if Rose is to be believed. 'See food and eat it.' The letter starts, 'Something is happening which I think you should know, although it is a painful subject to contemplate.' I thought, 'Come on, seriously?' Would Almanzo really be bothered by such a thing, and was he in the position to do anything about it if he was?

Overall, I felt like cheering because Laura achieved a lifelong dream to make it to the far west coast, even if it was just for a couple of months. I'm sure it would have crossed her mind how much her father would have loved the opportunity too, had he been alive. I love how she describes her first sight of the ocean, when she talked Rose into wading with her. 'The water is such a deep, wonderful blue, and the sound of the waves breaking on the beach, and their whisper as they flow back, is to dream about.' What a great reminder for coastal dwellers like me to never take for granted what we have all year round.

Although she loved her time away, Laura's final verdict was satisfaction at the thought of getting home. 'The more I see here, the more I think I will come home and put all my attention on the chickens.'

I'll finish off with a few of her comments which have good historical significance.

'We stopped at a moving picture show and saw Charlie Chaplin, who is horrid.'

'The foghorn of Alcatraz is the most lonesome sound I ever heard, and I don't see how the prisoners on the island stand it.'

'The threat of prohibition is ruining the grape industry in California, and it is only a question of a little time when the grape grower will go out of business, except of course those who furnish fresh grapes for eating.'

Next up will be a book of reminiscences from others entitled I Remember Laura

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Back to the Classics 2018 - Wrap Up Post

I've completed the Back to the Classics challenge, hosted by Books and Chocolate, for another year, and it never fails to stretch me out of my comfort zone. I read some beauties this year, although it kept my total number of books completed lower than normal since some of them are so massively thick. (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Anna Karenina, David Copperfield and Moby Dick.) Once again, I've ticked off all 12 categories, and here they are.


A Nineteenth Century Classic - David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

A Twentieth Century Classic - Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote

A Classic by a Woman - Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell

A Classic in Translation - Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

A Children's Classic - Pat of Silver Bush by L.M. Montgomery

A Classic Crime Story - Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky

A Classic Travel or Journey Narrative - The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

A Classic with a single-word title - Emma by Jane Austen

A Classic with a colour in the title - Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy

A Classic by an Author that's new to you - The Napoleon of Notting Hillby G.K Chesterton

A Classic that scares you - Moby Dick by Herman Melville

A re-read of a favourite Classic - The Children of the New Forest by Captain Frederick Marryat


Last year I awarded medals to my best three picks from the list, and thought I'd do the same again, with the only three 5-star reads on the list.

Bronze Medal - Pat of Silver Bush
I adore this story because it's so full of everyday magic and the beauty of living a quiet, simple life. It's a perfect cure for the sort of depression that comes from thinking your life doesn't measure up to some arbitrary standard. It also has one of my favourite young L.M. Montgomery heroes, Jingle Gordon.

Silver Medal - Anna Karenina
Leo Tolstoy kept the characters' personal epiphanies coming thick and fast enough for me to keep turning pages, and they're the sorts of insights we can adopt for our own lives too. I think Konstantin Levin was the character who nudged this up among the best reads of the year for me.

Gold Medal - Wives and Daughters
This has got to be up top, because it holds so much of what makes the Victorian era a joy to look back on for those of us who never lived through it (and that's all of us, of course). It's perfect in its balance of subtle, nuanced characterisation and the buzz of what was going on, such as scientific discoveries by the likes of Charles Darwin. No Victorian novel has made me feel I might have been there as much as this one.

Looking over this list, I think my three stand-outs might all share the simple satisfaction of enjoying ordinary lives, and that probably reveals a fair bit about me, the reader, too. Now, bring on next year! 

A Great Reason to Re-Read Novels

I'm a big fan of re-reading excellent books, although it seems counter-intuitive to my sudden urge to just get through as many as possible. I've finally reached an age in which I realise I'm not ever going to be able to finish as many books as I'd like to. When I was younger (and not even that much younger), I had the illusion that there would always be ample time to read every book that sparked my interest. Not anymore. I'm now aware that my remaining days on earth will be too short to squeeze them all in.

A small part of the change might be knowing I've reached what people consider middle age, and balancing that awareness against the size of some of the books on my to-read list, and also the steady stream of recommendations I see every day from bloggers and instagrammers. But the large part is because my dear Dad died not so long ago, and I can still clearly remember those days when I was young and he was my age. It brings the idea of mortality far closer to home. Even though I hope there will still be decades to read books, my reading time is definitely limited.

But instead of letting that put me in a hurry to buzz from book to book, I'm going to keep making time to re-read at least sections of really good ones. Re-reading books has never failed to impress me with extra insights I always missed the first time through. I believe a normal person just can't take away all the good stuff in just one read. So if you're going to bother reading a good book at all, you owe it to yourself to read it at least once more.

Here's my recent example of how it works. Last month I read A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for the first time, and soaked in every moment, including the time the Nolan kids lost their beloved father Johnny. In one poignant scene, the new widow Katie sends her two children out for some fresh air at night, and they see several reminders of their dad. Francie and Neeley end up sitting together by the roadside and crying until their tears are spent. I shared their pain on a personal level, although Johnny Nolan was much younger than my dad, and I'm a lot older than Francie and Neeley were.

They recover, as we do, and in the last few pages of the novel is a seemingly random incident. Francie Nolan is 17 years old and soon to leave home for college. One evening her brother Neeley runs cheerfully upstairs looking for a clean shirt because he's in a hurry. Francie says there's one washed but not ironed, so she sets up the board to help him out. After a bit of banter with her handsome brother, she watches him dash outside again. It's a sweet way to end the book, but I thought nothing of it.

Okay, so when I was planning a review, I thought I'd leaf back to the start to get some fresh ideas. And in the first few pages is another incident I'd forgotten by the time I reached the end. Francie is 11, and her bright and dashing father Johnny runs upstairs looking for his waiter's apron, because he has an unexpected job. She tells him there's one clean but not ironed, and sets up the board to be a good helper. After some hurried, affectionate chatter, she watches him leave and waves goodbye.

Wow, there were such obvious parallels between those two scenes, including how careful Francie was to press around their union badges. The author, Betty Smith, was giving us a really subtle way of seeing one of her best themes. (Well, I admit it's not so subtle in retrospect, or for anyone more on the ball than I was.) She's surely suggesting that although the thread that connects all things may seem tenuous, weak or completely snapped, it's really extremely strong. Having the bulk of the story sandwiched between those two incidents is probably her way of suggesting that there are always traces of our departed loved ones to be found when we search with open eyes; whether it's in the form of memories, belongings, or the DNA of other family members. When Francie thinks, 'Neeley is just like Papa,' she probably remembered that earlier incident which I forgot, even though it was seven years of real time for Francie and just a week or two for me.

That was so meaningful to me I shed a tear or two, and started looking for similar parallels from the life of my dad in the presence of my children. It's a really comforting thought, and one which I wouldn't have got if I hadn't flipped back to the beginning of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn to read the first few chapters. I won't stop re-reading books, because I want to always pick up on other great reinforcing moments.