'Shakespeare, the Man who Pays the Rent' by Judi Dench

Summary: For the very first time, Judi opens up about every Shakespearean role she has played throughout her seven-decade career, from Lady Macbeth and Titania to Ophelia and Cleopatra. In a series of intimate conversations with actor & director Brendan O'Hea, she guides us through Shakespeare's plays with incisive clarity, revealing the secrets of her rehearsal process and inviting us to share in her triumphs, disasters, and backstage shenanigans.

MY THOUGHTS:  

I requested this library book for the trip down memory lane, as I studied a fair bit of Shakespeare throughout High School and Uni English for my undergraduate degree, then read a bit more in recent years as part of my Graduate Diploma in Creative Writing. Plus, I'm an admirer of Dame Judi Dench, especially for her starring role in As Time Goes By. 

The book is a fascinating compilation of Brendan O'Hea's discussions with Dame Judi about every Shakespearean role she has ever played. Since we're talking about an actor with a phenomenal memory who has been at the top of her game for nearly seven decades and is now in her nineties, Dench has plenty to draw from. The interviews themselves took four years to compile, so they're worth savoring slowly, which is just what I did. 

The pair of them reminisce about the unfolding plots, the characters and their motivations, stagecraft, films, other actors, the energy they derive from the audience, and noteworthy incidents. They address interesting topics such the onus she feels upon herself to live up to what the general public believe about historical characters. Or the fact that most of Shakespeare's comedies tend to start off with displacement and strife while his tragedies, ironically open with celebration and optimism. Nothing is too sacrosanct to be mentioned. And if Dame Judi decides that Brendan is talking a load of codswallop, she'll tell him so. It's often very funny.

As for the book's title, Shakespeare was the man who paid her rent because Dench and her husband, Michael Williams, lived in Stratford-upon-Avon throughout the 1970s where they made their living as Shakespearean actors. 

Here is one of many remarks that tickled my fancy. 

'When I was in Macbeth, I said to Ian McKellan, "I know who I'm doing it for tonight. I'm going to pretend that God the Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost have bought three seats in the stalls." And Ian said, "Yes, that's fine, Jude, but they'll only need one ticket."'

Dench's first role was Ophelia, straight out of drama school, and although she had a ton of rough reviews for it, her ball kept rolling. I love that when she outgrew the roles of younger heroines, she aced the senior women. Dench played Daniel Day-Lewis's mother, Gertrude, when he was Hamlet. She played Benedict Cumberbatch's mother, Cecily the Duchess of York, when he was Richard III. She played both mother and daughter, Hermione and Perdita, in the same production of The Winter's Tale, because they were in different time frames. She played Queen Katherine opposite both Robert Hardy's and Donald Houston's Henry V when the two productions ran simultaneously. In 2010, she played an elderly version of Titania the fairy queen based on the vibe of Queen Elizabeth I.  

This book reminds me why I fell foul of Shakespeare though. As a young student, I found his trademarks getting old. All those plot-device driven shipwrecks, the corny identity mix-ups, and any number of girls disguising themselves as guys without anyone ever once twigging. Come on! Worst of all, I hated the pathologically jealous jerks (usually rulers) whose hissy fits had the power to thoroughly decimate the lives of others. 

Yet somehow, despite all that, Dame Judi inspires me to give the Bard another try. After all, we unwittingly quote many words which he coined. As a writer, if he couldn't find a word he was looking for, this genius would simply make one up, which he did over 1700 times. She calls his body of work, 'an international language, a beacon for humanity, and a bridge across cultures.' She reminds me that his clowns and jesters, who are old souls with sixth sense, are well worth reading for their insightful lines. She goes so far as to claim that the lines Shakespeare wrote are so good for her brain that she gets endorphin rushes.  

Wow, along with reading more Shakespeare inspired material, I may even, heaven forbid, crack open a play or two after all this time.    

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'Lydia' by Paula Gooder

Summary: The New Testament tells us very little about Lydia, a seller of purple cloth who was living in Philippi when she met the apostle Paul on his second missionary journey. And yet she is considered the first recorded convert to Christianity in Europe.
In her second work of fiction, Biblical scholar and popular author and speaker Paula Gooder tells Lydia's story - who she was, the life she lived and her first-century faith - and in doing so opens up Paul's letter to the Philippians, giving a sense of the cultural and historical pressures that shaped Paul's thinking, and the faith of the early church.

MY THOUGHTS:

This is a factual novel about Lydia of Thyatira, the 'seller of purple' whose elite business was based in Philippi, making her a first century version of an entrepreneur dealing in designer labels. Back in that time and place, purple dyed fabrics were considered tokens of their owners' wealth, opulence, prestige, and fine taste. 

A deeper delve down the Google rabbit hole informs me that the coveted color was truly rare and fiddly to attain, deriving from thousands of tiny sea snails named 'murex.' This is why anyone lavish enough to wear it as clothing or decorate their homes with purple curtains or upholstery were people who could clearly afford it, and therefore seen by the snobby as worth knowing and admiring. 

Lydia is mentioned specifically as being one of the Apostle Paul's very first Christian converts in Macedonia (Acts 16: 11-15). She offered the apostle and his team heartfelt hospitality, and her connection to the city's elite opened Paul's message to a far wider audience. Lydia's home church was one of Paul's favorites, addressed lovingly in his letter to the Philippians, which he sent from prison in Rome. 

This re-imagining of Lydia's tale blends many people mentioned in Scripture with other totally made-up characters. In this version, Lydia has adopted the little girl with the python spirit who Paul healed, to her owners' distress. That child is now a grown-up young woman named Ruth. And working as a cook for Lydia's household is a young woman named Artemis, whose brother, Epaphroditus, travelled to see Paul in prison. They've received word that Epaphroditus is seriously ill, but nothing since. At least not at the start of the story. 

The large, sometimes unruly cast certainly highlights the awkwardness of trying to operate a fledgling faith movement. There is so much potential for egg on people's faces. The story shows quite clearly that nasty splits may begin by the magnification of small disagreements. I appreciate some of the finer details when Paul's letter is read aloud to this disparate bunch. Jonathan and Akiva, proud custodians of Jewish customs, are deeply hurt when Paul blasts those 'evildoers, those mutilators of the flesh', prompting Epaphroditus, who brought the letter, to tell them, 'If you know a description of yourself to be untrue, you don't have to accept it.'  

Lydia herself, moves into an unexpected and hard-won application of Philippians 4: 6-7 (Do not worry about a thing). Her thread in the story contains shocking moments.

There is a villainess named Aurelia, who is exceedingly dangerous because she wields so much power and carries such a long hit list. This lady is said to be the niece of Seneca the stoic, an interesting detail considering how he and his peers are enjoying plenty of time in the sun in our own era. 

We are told the story is rigorously researched. Dr Gooder is first and foremost a noteworthy Bible scholar. Her hard work shows, as the actual story comprises a mere two thirds of the book. The remaining third is a wedge of extensive notes, explaining details in each chapter. I'm glad this lengthy exposition is placed discretely at the back, rather than crammed into footnotes or even chapter endings. As a lover of fiction as an art form, I believe the flow of stories shouldn't be handicapped in any way. Any attempt to combine a story with didactic teaching always seems like a cheap trick to make history lessons more palatable, and as far as I've seen, nobody who positions it more in our faces ever manages to pull it off. (Check out this book as a prime example of what I mean.) 

I think including a hefty appendix is the only wise choice, even though it comes with the risk that some readers won't bother to read it at all. Yet the sort of reader who would skip it might also ignore footnotes or additions to chapter endings anyway. So three cheers to this novel for honoring the whole point of being a novel! The details are there if we want them, yet we don't get bogged down in minutiae, whether we like it or not.

There is no romance element. It is, rather, a love story about a whole dynamic community. The character Lydia is lovely, and I'm glad that her new Christian faith doesn't see her close down her lucrative business out of any zealous conviction that catering to clients' status and vanity might be a poor use of her time. The world is big enough for both conviction and craftsmanship.

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'The Daughter of Time' by Josephine Tey

Summary: Scotland Yard Inspector Alan Grant is intrigued by a portrait of Richard III. Could such a sensitive face actually belong to a heinous villain — a king who killed his brother's children to secure his crown? Grant seeks what kind of man Richard was and who in fact killed the princes in the tower.

 MY THOUGHTS:

This vintage book was first published in 1951. I've seen it praised as fascinating and remarkable so it seemed a good investment for $3 at one my favorite coastal secondhand bookshops.  

It all takes place from one hospital bed. Police Detective Alan Grant is convalescing from a broken leg. He's feeling restless and irritable, so his friend, Marta, brings him a packet full of assorted historical portraits from the National Gallery. She knows that Alan is fascinated by the nuances of faces and hopes to cheer him up for a few hours.

What nobody expects, least of all Grant himself, is that he'll end up applying modern criminology methods to 500-year-old evidence, to prove to his own satisfaction that Richard III, the final king of the Plantagenet dynasty, couldn't have possibly committed the appalling crime he is renowned for. 

The portrait of Richard by an anonymous artist first triggers Grant's consuming quest. He perceives no traces of villainy one might expect, even given the brutal fifteenth century when royalty often seemed to lash out at their relatives, letting political ambition turn them vicious. Instead, he senses a young man of sensitivity, mildness, even kindness. 

Yet the annals of history, including every school text book, seems crystal clear. Richard is conceived of as the wizened, hunch-backed younger brother of the handsome, heroic, and athletic Edward IV. As the legend goes, after Edward's death, Richard arranged to have Edward's young kids, his own two nephews, discreetly smothered to death in the Tower of London. That is certainly what I'd always heard. As Alan Grant puts it, 'The faithful and patient small brother had turned into a monster.' 

Yet the deeper Grant delves, the more overwhelmingly this appears to be false. Since this is not the sort of novel to suffer from revealing plot spoilers, I'll outline his threefold conclusions in a nutshell. 

Firstly the two little boys had been declared illegitimate offspring, so Richard had no motive to go to the trouble of organizing, then covering up their murder. Since he was already crowned king at the time, their existence posed absolutely no threat to his reign. This in itself contradicts what is in the history book on my shelf, that Richard was merely 'Protector' until his eldest nephew came of age to rule.

Secondly no evidence of the princes' absence or murder were ever recorded during Richard's actual reign. The nasty rumors circulated after he was killed and unable to defend himself. In fact, all of Richard's recorded history concerning his brother, Edward, reveals an extremely loyal and devoted supporter.

Thirdly and perhaps most chilling, all of the subsequent evidence about Richard that we regard as gospel truth originated from Tudor sources, who aimed to discredit Richard. As well they might! Throughout this story Alan Grant dredges up enough condemning evidence that they, in the person of Henry VII at the time, might have been the real villains. 

Sir Thomas More's definitive account of Richard's reign was commissioned by the Tudors. Therefore Alan Grant rejects it as not merely biased propaganda but a dirty smear campaign brimful with outright lies. And subsequently other authors, including Holinshed and Shakespeare, believed its veracity and unknowingly added to the heinous and untrue character assassination of an innocent man. 

(Not to mention their own biases. I discovered a quote from Geoffrey Doran of the Royal Shakespeare Company who says, 'You have to remember Shakespeare was writing under Elizabeth I and her granddad bumped off Richard III.' Hence, his 'histories' may be taken with a grain of salt anyway.)

Here is what sends shivers down my spine. Has Josephine Tey, in writing this novel, proven Richard's innocence beyond a doubt? Probably not, although she's definitely made the waters murky. But what she has done, as far as I'm concerned, is whispered the disquieting suggestion that even classic texts we consider watertight may be full of pernicious, misleading holes. Might this apply to generations of school text books? Sure, why not.

Conspiracy theorist or principled whistle-blower? You read it and make up your own minds. I'm keeping neutral, for Grant, and his creator Tey, are equally biased on Richard's side, of course. But I do find myself getting a bit hot under the collar since reading this, whenever I consider how generations of students are taught that Richard III was proven beyond a doubt to be a murderous crook. 

On the whole, The Daughter of Time is history-heavy, reasonably slow moving, dry in spots, and probably aimed at far nerdier history buffs than myself, but I found it well worth a read. It does my head in, because I love certainty, but perhaps we need the occasional wake-up call not to be herd-like readers.     

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'Lila' by Marilynne Robinson

Summary: Marilynne Robinson, one of the greatest novelists of our time, returns to the town of Gilead in an unforgettable story of a girlhood lived on the fringes of society in fear, awe, and wonder.

Lila, homeless and alone after years of roaming the countryside, steps inside a small-town Iowa church - the only available shelter from the rain - and ignites a romance and a debate that will reshape her life. She becomes the wife of a minister, John Ames, and begins a new existence while trying to make sense of the life that preceded her newfound security.

MY THOUGHTS:  

This third novel in the Gilead Quartet plumbs the background of Lila, the enigmatic mother of John Ames' precious young son, born to him in his old age. As a tiny girl, Lila was kindly kidnapped from her kin by a tough lady named Doll, who evidently thought they were a bad lot. Yet life for Lila is rough notwithstanding, including a nomadic, hard-working lifestyle on the road, some very undesirable jobs, and the unsolved mystery about her real family's identity. Life deals her some trust-shattering blows, so when she meets her future husband, she has plenty of emotional baggage to sort through, with his loving support.  

Marriage to a Protestant minister has emotional perils of its own though. Lila picks up some very concerning details from listening to the silver-haired, theological Dream Team, (her husband and old Boughton). She quietly deduces that loved ones from her past, especially Doll, her surrogate mother, might not be among the 'elect'. In other words, since considering Christian ways was never remotely on their radar, their souls are bound straight for hell. In turn, this notion had never occurred to Lila either. She understandably tends to stew over it. Lila's own sense of justice chafes at the idea of 'souls just out of their graves having to answer for lives most of them never understood in the first place.' 

I love the comforting words Marilynne Robinson (a self-proclaimed 'hopeful universalist' herself) places in John Ames' mouth at this point.  

'Thinking about hell doesn't help me live the way I should. And thinking that other people might go to hell just feels evil to me, like a very grave sin. So I don't want to encourage anyone else to think that way. Even if you don't assume that you can know in individual cases, it's still a problem to think about people in general as if they might go to hell. You can't see the world the way you ought to if you let yourself do that. Any judgment of the kind is a great presumption. And presumption is a very grave sin. I believe this is sound theology in its way.'

(Whew, heady stuff for certain. I'm sure many of us have come across other ministers and pastors who don't share Ames' scruples, and would, in fact, think he's talking heresy. What a thought-provoking novel, prompting us to consider two sides of a question. We get no definitive answers, of course. 'The old man always said we should attend to the things we have some hope of understanding, and eternity isn't one of them.') 

There is a fair bit to shock in this book. The main couple's courtship and marriage strike some members of the congregation as unconventional bordering on scandalous. If I was among them, I'd probably agree. It is such an unlikely romance, and the age gap merely scratches the surface. John Ames instantly accepts Lila's sudden marriage proposal, when she's only ever behaved in a prickly, brusque, and secretive manner toward him. What a reckless impulse from a long-time shepherd of men and women. No wonder he can't relax in their early months of marriage, anxiously worrying that she might abscond with their child (when it's born), leaving no trace.

 As for Lila, referring to her husband, in her own thoughts, continuously as 'the old man' strikes me as odd. Granted, she also thinks he's 'beautiful', but it's still strangely generic and impersonal. Although Robinson makes it work for these two, I'd never recommend any readers to follow suit. So if you're an elderly minister and a wild child who are contemplating marriage, please think carefully before going ahead.  

What makes Lila, the character, so special and memorable, though, is the boldness of her contemplative, Mary-style heart. Lila knows full well that she's a tabula rasa, a blank slate, but delves into her study of Scripture anyway. Grappling with theology is brand new to her, but instead of growing intimidated and overwhelmed, she simply resolves to understand what she can. I honor her for that. Lila is resistant to the discouragement that comes from knowing she'll never grasp it all. And perhaps approaching study with an open heart, free from biases picked up after years of well-meant indoctrination, is a great springboard.  

She is definitely a character to remember, and draw from her mojo, for those moments when we think, 'This is too hard to bother trying to understand.' The snarls and mysteries of theology are particularly thorny, but if Lila can attempt to hack through them, so might we. (I now have a Post Grad Diploma in Divinity and this holds true more than ever!) 

Check out my reviews of Gilead and Home. And now stay tuned for my upcoming review of the fourth and final novel in the quartet, Jack. 

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'The Penderwicks at Last' by Jeanne Birdsall

Summary: Nine years, five older siblings, a few beloved dogs, and an endless array of adventures--these are the things that have shaped Lydia's journey since readers first met her in The Penderwicks in Spring. Bursting with heart and brimming with charm, this is a joyful, hilarious ode to the family we love best. And oh my MOPS - Meeting of Penderwick Siblings - does Jeanne Birdsall's The Penderwicks at Last crescendo to one perfect Penderwick finale.

MY THOUGHTS:

To me this finale is the strongest and finest of all. The wonder of classic kids' series is how they transform simple and ordinary pleasures and events into something fun and magical. I found the first two books in the series lacked that elusive quality and relied more on unlikely sensationalism. But this one gets it right. I was smiling almost all the way through. 

Sadly, however, several other reviewers claim that in their opinion, the Penderwick series grows weaker and this was the worst. It makes me wonder whether our era of being constantly switched-on erodes people's tolerance for gentle, meandering tales. It's a slippery slope I always aim to avoid.

The remainder of my review will be a defence of this book. Then under the red line of plot spoilers, I'll add my two cents worth about how the elder sisters' romances pan out, for that seems to be what pressed several angry reviewers' buttons.   

In a nutshell, Rosalind is finally going to tie the knot with Tommy Geiger. The wedding venue of her choice is Arundel, now under complete management of their honorary bro, Jeffrey Tifton, who gives the green light. So the Penderwicks converge on the majestic place where their adventures all started. Jeffrey promises that his formidable mother usually stays away in New York City these days... but uh-oh, this is one time she doesn't. And Skye seems immune to pressure to make it a double wedding with her boyfriend, Duŝek, but will she hold out?   

Lydia, the youngest Penderwick of the blended family, takes centre stage. The only offspring of both their father and mother, she's a joyful spirit who loves impromptu dance. She also likes everyone she meets, except for rare occasions. It doesn't surprise me that Mrs Tifton considers Lydia to be the least abrasive of all the Penderwick kids, since Lydia demonstrates more tact and diplomacy than her sisters did at the same age. Her sensitivity to the feelings of others (including Mrs Tifton!) makes her my favorite Penderwick. 

Cagney Pelletier (remember Rosalind's crush from Book 1) is now a family man with a wife and two kids. Lydia strikes up a firm friendship with the ebullient Alice who is forever trying to best her older brother, Jack. These two turn everything into sibling rivalry. Even though he's away visiting other relatives for most of the story, Jack's input is still significant, thanks to modern technology. The humorous plot thread with the competitive Pelletier kids makes me understand, what other readers mean when they call this series modern YA classics. 

The same point applies to members of Lydia's own family. Ben, now aged 16, is a budding arthouse movie director, and Jane, now 25, is waitressing to enable her to devote the best of her energy to writing her time travel novel. 19-year-old Batty is a singer studying music, and as random as it seems, her ex-boyfriend Wesley, along with his three-legged Great Dane, Hitch, shows up and makes friends wherever they go.  

So we readers get caught up in the rush of wedding preparations which we don't need to lift a finger for; my favorite type. I love the incidents, including one in which Mrs Tifton comes sailing in with a stern warning for Jane. I'll leave you to discover the subject of their altercation for yourself.  

I really applaud the final scene. It not only concludes this book itself, but is an extremely clever wrap-up of the entire series. Jeanne Birdsall bring us full circle to the very starting point, but there's even more to it than that. I'll bet it's a subtle prophetic hint. I believe that, after pondering the theme several times prior to this point, Lydia collides with her destiny! 

So although the Penderwicks took a while to grow on me, the alchemy finally set in.

Note: Before you arrive at this point, check out The Penderwicks, The Penderwicks on Gardam Street, The Penderwicks at Point Mouette, and The Penderwicks in Spring. 

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Extra: My thoughts regarding the older sisters' romances!

Whoa, Jeanne Birdsall has singlehandedly recreated an inflammatory scenario from the nineteenth century. She echoes Louisa May Alcott's Little Women series plot progression back in 1869, and the resulting uproar is equally raucous.

Here is how the two situations converge. We have a strong-minded and outspoken heroine who is the second of four sisters (Jo March/Skye Penderwick). She gains the romantic attention of a lovable, 'boy-next-door' style character (Theodore 'Laurie' Laurence/Jeffrey Tifton). Unfortunately for him, our powerful girl simply can't force herself to muster the same feelings for him. She ends up marrying a total newcomer with a foreign name and background (Professor Friedrich Bhaer/Duŝek). This poor guy gets thoroughly hissed down by irate fans. And to add insult to injury, everyone's favorite boy, after suffering the sting of unrequited love, quite happily settles for the strong heroine's little sister (Amy/Batty).  

There we have it. After the flak that Alcott received from a huge contingent of former fans, I wonder that Birdsall had the nerve to make the very same move. But she did! And the repercussions are just as resounding. I spent some time reading Goodreads reviews of this book which prove that nineteenth century and twenty-first century fans throw equally big tantrums. 

Thankyou to all the aggressive 'Skyeffrey' shippers who may stumble upon this, for giving me a good laugh and proving that history repeats itself. I have to say that in both cases, I didn't really mind. I was quite happy with Batty for Jeffrey, just as I was with Amy for Laurie. Come on dudes, if Jeffrey himself ends up chill with the idea of Skye marrying Duŝek, why should we not be?

Poor Duŝek is the most unpopular guy in the Penderwick series, hated by fans who find his very inoffensiveness totally offensive. I tend to think these irate readers might have been more pacified if Skye, in the style of Nan Harding from Jo's Boys, decided not to get married at all. Duŝek is booed for even existing.

I guess if you're an author who considers writing a triangle of this nature, you ought to think very carefully, unless getting readers' knickers in a knot is your aim. In which case, this appears to be a very sound formula, so go right ahead.   

'The Other Bennet Sister' by Janice Hadlow

MY THOUGHTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You might also like to visit my fanfic page.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

'The Screwtape Letters' by C. S. Lewis

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

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

MY THOUGHTS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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