A blog for 'normies'

I recently finished Dubliners; James Joyce's collection of stories set in that city around the turn of the twentieth century. It finishes on a highly charged emotional note in the final story, The Dead, which I've seen called the Grand Finale. So I was lying in bed, wondering if I'd managed to squeeze all the juice out of the main character Gabriel Conroy's profound epiphany. It intrigued me enough to start an internet search, hoping for an extra boost of enlightenment and clarity. I only had to begin typing, 'The Dead - Gabriel's epiphany' for Google to finish the line for me. So far so good. 

But before long, I found myself in a Joycean rabbit warren of confusion, mystification and head spinning. The writers of these articles have far sharper and shinier intellects than mine, and more appreciation for the arty aspects of the story. Their brilliant fingers are obviously on the pulse of psychoanalysis, symbolism, this-ism and that-ism I'd never even considered. I ended my search feeling more bewildered rather than less.

Sometimes this sort of thing is enough to make me feel a bit deflated if I dwell on it. Perhaps my reviews and book chats are more like swimming pools rather than the vast ocean of literary significance we'd all like to dive into. Don't get me wrong, I do try to dive deep. That's why I've set myself the challenge of a regular book blog, which I may add I thoroughly enjoy. It's just that my depth falls short of Professor Smartfella's. It sometimes seems reasonable to ask the question, 'Is it even worth putting all my stuff out there, when I'm not picking up on all this, and can't even wrap my head around half of it?' 

I've written this reflection partly to remind myself of the reason I started. I want to give books the sort of straightforward appraisal that anybody whose grey matter falls short of Mensa level may appreciate. I want to present the bare bones of the themes as far as I can tell, to help others on my wavelength form an idea of whether or not it's something they might dare to invest time in. I want to provide sense of humour alerts which clever enthusiasts too invested in a book might accidentally overlook. And I want to help burst those scary bubbles which too much awe or reputation can blow way out of proportion. It's always a shame when anybody avoids a book they'd probably love, just because our well-meaning arty friends have made them appear too big and too shiny. By the same token, I'm willing to be that little boy who announces that as far as I can tell, the emperor is naked. When a book strikes me as too high-falutin' or OTT for us mere mortals, I'll say so. 

I've actually come across a similar train of thought in some of the novels I've reviewed here. In The Fountain Overflows for example, Mrs Clare Aubrey considers all her kids musical virtuosos, except for her eldest daughter Cordelia, who doesn't realise she falls short. She's out giving violin concerts which crowds enjoy, while her more brilliant sisters Mary and Rose sit home labouring over their more complex pieces, (because there's no way they're going out if their delivery is short of perfect), and talk about what a clueless embarrassment she is. Cordelia is the stand-out character for me, because she doesn't let the sky-high standards of those supposedly superior beings stop her from pursuing her passion and having fun. 

That's one of the things I'm all about here. Life is always too short to leave fun pursuits solely to those who are brilliant at them. 

Satisfaction is in the journey. 

And a less elaborate way of looking at a subject is not necessarily less valid.

I'll sign off with this fun link to a site my eldest son put onto, called artybollocks. Have a go at this generator. If you've been stumped for inspiration as often I have over the years, you'll find it lots of fun.    

'Kristin Lavransdatter' by Sigrid Undset

In her great historical epic Kristin Lavransdatter, set in fourteenth-century Norway, Nobel laureate Sigrid Undset tells the life story of one passionate and headstrong woman. Painting a richly detailed backdrop, Undset immerses readers in the day-to-day life, social conventions, and political and religious undercurrents of the period. Now in one volume, Tiina Nunnally's award-winning definitive translation brings this remarkable work to life with clarity and lyrical beauty.

MY THOUGHTS:

This review is only of the first installment in the trilogy; The Wreath. It will also be my choice for Classic in Translation in this year's Back to the Classics Challenge. Early twentieth century Scandinavian author Sigrid Undset was translated by Tiina Nunnally in this celebrated version.  

Until quite recently, I'd never heard of this classic. But suddenly I saw it recommended by several highly respected reviewers all at once. It has an average 5 star rating on Goodreads, and just to clinch it, it won the 1928 Nobel Literature Prize. With such high indicators of excellence, I was certain a brilliant novel awaited me, and it seemed to be so popular, I was on the library waiting list for several months. You can bet I cheered when I saw the message on my phone that it had arrived for me at last.  

Boy oh boy! I turn out to be one of those reviewers in the minority to speak up for the other side. I'm bound to step on a few toes, but here we have it in a nutshell. Girl falls for a young dude with a questionable reputation just because he's hot, and her concerned dad withholds his consent for as long as he can before rolling his eyes and letting them have their way. That's basically it, but I'll thresh it out a little.

I'm guessing the authenticity and detailed description of rural life in medieval Norway is what earned this book's reputation. Indeed Sigrid Undset did impeccable research and seemed to nail the minutest details of lifestyles in this time and place. (As far as we can tell, since we weren't there.) The contrast between people's staunch Catholic faith and the lingering pull of pagan folk tales and legends comes through loud and clear. I was impressed by her scope too, but not so much that it excused the over-the-top characters and plot. Nobel Literature Prize! What the heck? It's like a soap opera of the most melodramatic type. 

Our title character is the sort of girl all men love and all women tolerate. Kristin is the eldest of three daughters. She's very holy, obedient to her parents and embraces the ancient ways things have always been done. When her affectionate dad betroths her to a steady young man named Simon, she's willing to roll with it and decides that Simon is quite likable. Kristin spends some time in a convent in the lead-up to their marriage date, partly to help her recover from some other drama, and partly for a bit of character formation. While she's there, a chance encounter sends everything she's ever stood for flying out of her head. Kristin meets a guy named Erlend and decides he's definitely the love of her life. Her father and Simon can just pull their heads in! It's now, 'I'd rather sleep with Erlend on bare straw than with any other man on a silk bed.'

 This about-face occurs the second time she ever sets eyes on Erlend. Kristin is totally ready for him to have his amorous way with her on the spot, and her only reason appears to be that he's good looking. She knows nothing about his character, except for rumours that portray him as a seducer, marriage breaker and father of two illegitimate kids. If it ever occurs to her that a guy who would make a move on a young girl in a convent who is promised to another man could be a bit dodgy, it doesn't matter a bit, because he has bright eyes and a charming smile. In turn, Kristin's stunning blonde beauty is enough for Erlend to add more friction with yet another family to his track record. 

You can bet there is plenty of drama in the pages following. Stabbings, poisonings, sudden appearances of unexpected foes and enough shrill screaming to make my ears ring through the pages. The moral seems to be spoken by Erlend's Aunt Aashild, who is a bit of an outcast with a reputation of being a witch. She says, 'Good days are granted to sensible people, but the grandest of days are enjoyed by those who dare to act unwisely.'  

Another thing the story is short on is a sense of humour. That's the vital ingredient that makes everything without it as flat and insipid as such high drama can possibly be. Characters rarely tease each other. The dialogue is all totally serious and to the point. Or if there are any jokes, they're along the lines of, 'A slut must have made the porridge for us today. Overly bedded cooks make overly boiled porridge.' 

I've decided to pass on reading the rest of the trilogy. Predictors of what's coming are already flashing in this one. I'm certain that now she's got her own way, Kristin will get all repentant, morbidly religious, and super miserable. Come on girl, pull yourself together. Since you've gone to such lengths to have him, at least enjoy him! 

🌟½    

Anne and Gilbert's bookshelves

When Anne Blythe entertains her troubled and book-deprived new friend Leslie Moore, she invites her to borrow any book from their bookshelf any time. Anne and Gilbert have only recently set up house, and Anne explains, 'Our library isn't very extensive, but every book in it is a friend. We've picked our books up through the years here and there, never buying one until we've first read it and know that it belongs to the Race that knows Joseph.' (This conversation takes place in Anne's House of Dreams.)

Wow, that must be a great bookshelf indeed. Anne learned about the Race that knows Joseph a little earlier, from Captain Jim and Miss Cornelia Bryant. 'If a person sees eye to eye with you and has pretty much the same idea about things and the same taste in jokes, then he or she belongs to the Race that knows Joseph.' 

Their method of organising their shelf turns out to be similar to mine. No book is given place by size, age, thickness, genre or colour but simply by love. I can only hope the Blythes would find mine a good, congenial Joseph-Racy sort of shelf too. 

But I do wish we'd been given a list of those on Anne and Gilbert's, so that we may track them down if we wish. That's one shelf I'd dearly love to browse. However, perhaps Lucy Maud Montgomery left us enough leads so we needn't make random guesses. A careful read of the series reveals books sanctioned by either Anne, Gilbert or any of their kids. (Mostly Walter, since he was the budding poet.) I'm pretty sure that at least a section of Anne and Gilbert's bookshelves would contain the following.

1) Tennyson's Poems. Anne and her three best friends were clearly enthralled with the tale of the Lady of Shalott when they decided to re-enact it on Barry's Pond, and Gilbert saved Anne from near disaster.

2) Ben Hur. Anne was busted in class by Miss Stacy, sneakily reading this epic instead of studying. Anne reasons that she hadn't thought she was being very bad, since it's a good, religious story and no mere novel.

3) Pickwick Papers. Anne was treating herself to this tale of Dickens on the day of Gilbert's regretful first marriage proposal, which she refused. Anne's friend Phil Gordon remarked that reading Pickwick always makes her hungry, because it contains such delicious food descriptions. 

4) Martin Chuzzlewit. Anne assures Diana that she'll be a perfectly amiable guest whenever she comes to stay with her and Fred; just like Mark Tapley would be. 

5) Vanity Fair. When Anne is the principal teacher of Summerside High, the rebellious Jen Pringle reminds her very much of a young Becky Sharp.

6) Foxe's Book of Martyrs. Anne lends this to Jen Pringle once they became good friends. She treasures it not because she enjoys reading about martyrs, but because her beloved Mrs Allan gave it to her as a Sunday School prize. 

7) Homer's The Odyssey. Anne enthuses about Ulysses' adventures to Captain Jim, who relates to the mythical hero's adventurous spirit.

8) Natural Law in the Spiritual World. Whew, this complex text book about science and religion by Henry Drummond seems to be a pretty random choice, lent to Miss Cornelia by Gilbert. She returns it to him without making it all the way through, because she found it 'sort of heretical.' 

9) Lewis Carroll's Alice and Through the Looking Glass. Gilbert alludes to this when he tells his family. 'The walrus said, "It's time to get a dog.'" The announcement goes over well with all his kids, and Jem is especially delighted with the idea. 

10) Rudyard Kipling's Poems. LMM refers to these when Jem's first little dog, Gyp, passes away. She suggests that if Susan was familiar with Kipling's wise words about beloved dogs, she would say that a poet had said something sensible for once.

11) The Pied Piper. This folk tale by Robert Browning affects Walter enough to spur a stunning vision in Rainbow Valley which he never forgets, and later inspires his own celebrated War poem. 

12) Bishop Hatto by Robert Southey.

13) The Wandering Jew by Percy Byssche Shelley. (Both 12 and 13 were loved by Walter Blythe.)

14) Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poems. Even though young Mary Vance was in awe of Walter, she revelled in his book talk when the gang was all down in Rainbow Valley together. 

15) Marmion by Sir Walter Scott. Teenage Walter Blythe was secretly hard at work on an epic of his own resembling this masterpiece.

16) Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Walter was reading this classic when he decided to bestow the name on Ingleside's diabolical, two-faced cat, formerly known as Goldie.

17) Robinson Crusoe. Walter was reading it when Jem's beloved and devoted spotted dog joined the family, and suggested Dog Monday as a suitable name, because the pup joined the family on a Monday.

18) Baroness Nairne's Jacobite Songs. On the night of the lighthouse dance when war was declared between England and Germany, a devastated Walter briefly converses with a hyped-up Jem, who was whistling, 'Wi a hundred pipers an' a' and a' (I actually downloaded The Hundred Pipers on Spotify. It's quite a catchy marching tune.) 

19) Several gardening books. Gilbert suggested that if any book contained the word 'garden' in its title, Anne would be sucker for it. 

20) Gilbert's medical journals. Although he presumably had a separate shelf for these in his office, they round this list up to twenty.   

'Dubliners' by James Joyce

Or 'Lessons from a disgruntled Irish lad.' 

This work of art reflects life in Ireland at the turn of the last century, and by rejecting euphemism, reveals to the Irish their unromantic realities. Each of the 15 stories offers glimpses into the lives of ordinary Dubliners, and collectively they paint a portrait of a nation.

MY THOUGHTS:

I first read this collection years ago for an English unit at Uni which focused solely on James Joyce and T. S. Eliot. Big mistake right off for a teenager unfamiliar with either author, who thought it sounded like an easy cruise. But compared to Portrait of the Artist and Ulysses, I remember finding this slim volume of short stories Joyce's easiest offering to wrap my head around. I don't remember much else, and thought I'd like a refresher.

So first off, these stories are not what spring to my mind when I hear 'the luck of the Irish.' They are quite gloomy, not with full-on catastrophe or tragedy, but with soul eroding disappointments that wear away hope and anticipation. I'm talking about those callous, everyday let-downs that seem to testify to the aloofness of a world which won't deliver our fondest dreams. In other words, the stories are all small tip-offs that we're not the centre of the world. 

I've seen them called 'linked stories', which made me expect recurring characters, but it's more to do with that predictable vein of disillusionment running through each incident, all taking place in the same time period and setting, which is of course Dublin around the turn into the twentieth century. They're definitely linked by feelings of being trapped or thwarted, which tend to be common. 

Key characters get progressively older with each new story, if this helps link the collection. In early chapters they are mere boys who grapple with discoveries that life won't conform to their idealistic expectations. The next batch are young adults with similar cosmic slaps in the face, followed by disillusioned young parents, then gruff middle aged mums and dads who have been hardened by now. Finally there are a few elderly characters too. To be honest, I was getting sick and tired of the 'Life Sucks' refrain very early on, and paced my reading of these stories to no more than one per day.

My intro tells me that Joyce was doing the round of publishers with version #1 of Dubliners in 1905, which I quickly figured would have made him 23 years old. Aha, call me ageist, but I wondered if his tender years might help explain the cynicism and pessimism permeating his work. Perhaps he hadn't yet reached a stage himself when it dawns on many of us that despite the sucking quality of life, the little things have always been the big things. Satisfaction is out there when we have the grace to lower our standards and find joy in a delicious cup of hot chocolate or a peachy sunset. Some might call this defeatist resignation, but I choose to regard it as wisdom. 

I kept reading because James Joyce has a truly beautiful way with words.

'My body was like a harp, and her words and gestures were like fingers running upon the wires.' 

'Mr Duffy lived at a little distance from his body, regarding his own acts with doubtful side glances. His eyes gave the impression of a man ever alert to greet a redeeming instinct in others, but often disappointed.' 

'Her companionship was like warm soil around an exotic.' (How's that for a superb simile!) 

'The first touch of her body, musical and strange and perfumed, sent through him a keen pang of lust.'

Wow, J.J. if only you'd used that stirring, descriptive talent on more encouraging and affirming plots than anything this grumbling mob of fall-shorts ever deliver!  (Having said that, I'm aware this is a matter of taste. Those who thrive on bleak and melancholic stories might well give Dubliners 5 stars.)

The final chapter, The Dead, did enthrall me, along with the main character Gabriel Conroy's musing on the concept of 'shades' or people who were once vividly present, but with us no longer. But at this stage, even this highly acclaimed tale falls victim to the general tone of the whole collection for me. I loved the part after the dance, where Gabriel and his wife Gretta walk off in the snow to their hotel room, while he's occupied with sweet, unexpected anticipation of the physical intimacy they may enjoy, since their young kids aren't present. But being Dubliners, I was thinking, 'Nope, you won't get it.' 

Of course I was right. 

🌟🌟🌟