What to expect from this blog next year

Another year has sped past, and my commitment to this blog is still burning strong. I'll be studying for a Master in Creative Writing and Communication at Tabor College here in Adelaide next year, which I'm quite excited about, although completing course assignments will have to take priority over blog posts. But I'm pretty confident I can still deliver one post per week all through 2022, especially if I get a run-on during holiday time. At the moment that day fluctuates between Fridays and Mondays. If you've stuck around with me so far, I hope you'll continue, and to give you some of idea of what to expect, I've made these five points for next year. 

1) I feel as if I'm on a roll with childhood and young adult classics. They present wisdom in optimistic and encouraging ways, so you can expect to see many more of them. I'm sure we take on board far more in subsequent readings, and that applies especially to kids' lit. If we've read them before, we get to compare our current opinions with those of our junior selves, to gauge how far we've come. As C.S. Lewis said, 'No book is worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally - and often far more - worth reading at the age of fifty and beyond.' 

2) I might try to squeeze in one or two more doorstop sized books, or tomes. I always feel proud whenever I get through an 800+ page novel. These are perhaps the book nerd's version of extreme sports such as mountain climbing. Ticking off a behemoth like War & Peace or The Brothers Karamazov or Middlemarch or David Copperfield (all of which I've done) is our equivalent of reaching the Everest summit. 

3) There'll be more book lists, although I don't know what they'll be about yet. It's one of the fun things about reading widely. I enjoy those sudden links in my mind which send me running for a pen to figure out whether or not I've identified something that should be a 'thing' rather than far fetched waffle. And many times I still publish the list, for even if it is far fetched waffle, it's still fun. 

4) I've recently created separate pages for favourite authors I've read a lot of, and you'll see them high in the right hand toolbar. I figured that since these guys have given me hours of enjoyment and reflection, they deserve pages of their own. So far, these include Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, Lucy Maud Montgomery, Laura Ingalls Wilder, the Bronte sisters and C.S. Lewis. I may add Louisa May Alcott and others down the track. 

5) I'll keep adding occasional discussion posts too. They may include reflections about theology and the Christian faith. It's what I've been studying over the past year or two, and it's very interesting.

I shared the photo above on Instagram just before Christmas, with this quote to go with it. 'Of course anyone who truly loves books buys more of them than he or she can hope to read in one fleeting lifetime. A book, resting unopened in its slot on the shelf, full of majestic potential, is the most comforting sort of intellectual wallpaper.' David Quammen. 

Although most of those you see on my shelves have been read and loved to have earned their spot, I do buy into his sentiment. 

Happy New Year. As always, I hope I can provide many recommendations for books you might never have considered reading, which are destined to become favourites. 

'The Professor' by Charlotte Bronte

The Professor (1857) is English writer Charlotte Brontë's first novel. Rejected by several publishing houses, Brontë shelved the novel in order to write her masterpiece Jane Eyre (1847). After her death, The Professor was edited by Brontë's widower, Arthur Bell Nichols, who saw that the novel was published posthumously. Based on Brontë's experience as a student and teacher in Brussels--which similarly inspired her novel Villette--The Professor is an underappreciated early work from one of English literature's most important writers.

MY THOUGHTS: 

This was the first book Charlotte Bronte ever wrote, although it was published posthumously, when her other masterpieces were already well known. Some critics think it might never have been regarded as fit to publish at all, except that she had made such a name for herself. I see their point, because although her writing is beautiful as ever, the plot and characterisation lack the great heart of Jane Eyre and Villette. The main character, William Crimsworth is a supercilious upstart if ever there was one, and my biggest problem with this book is that Charlotte intended him to be a conscientious, exemplary young hero who deserves our total love and support.

An orphan from babyhood, William shrugs off help from his snooty uncles on his mother's side of the family, instead seeking employment with his brother Edward, who is ten years his senior. At the age of 30, Edward is a wealthy manufacturer who identifies totally with their father's self-made, working class background and ethic. He grudgingly offers William a job as his clerk, all the while despising him because their aristocratic relatives had financed William's education through Eton, and also just because William gets on his nerves. Edward treats William with such atrocious unfairness that William eventually has a gutful and decides that heading across the channel to try his luck in Brussels would surely be no worse than working for his brother. So far, there's nothing not to love, right?

Charlotte Bronte has set our boy up in the perfect lone-underdog position to retain our sympathy all through, but then she unravels her good work with his attitude. Perhaps her big mistake is to write from William's first person perspective, because whenever he reveals his candid impressions, I groan out loud. He gains a teaching position in a boys' school (where they were all called 'professors') and also acquires a few teaching slots at the girls' school next door. From then on we get William's critique of staff and students alike, and nobody stands up to his scrutiny, sometimes for the nitpickiest of reasons. 

He's racist, xenophobic, chauvinistic and ageist, dishing out harsh judgment on people's intelligence and physical features. And his outrageous reflections just keep coming. He assesses the figures of his female pupils as if they're cows at a market. Then this 21-year-old newcomer labels others as 'vulgar', 'inferior-looking', 'commonplace' and 'insignificant.' He makes snap negative judgments based on the shape of a girl's head or the cleanliness of her neck. And he is derogatory about their national Catholic faith, often with an eye-rolling, 'well, what would you expect?' sort of attitude. Or else, he struts about giving himself mental pats on the back because Mademoiselle Zoraide Reuter, the director of the girls' school, has found the weak spot of every other member of staff, but can get nothing on him! 

I could never excuse his brother for his horrible treatment of William, but it gets to the point where I almost understand why Edward was so irritated with William's mannerisms, accent and way of carrying himself. For if William comes across as a smug little prat to me, it stands to reason that his gruff, no-frills brother probably got the same vibe. And I'm sure that's a conclusion Charlotte Bronte never intended readers to make.  

There are a couple of aspects of the book I didn't mind. My favourite character is Yorke Hunsden, the sarcastic Yorkshire neighbour who is always paying William out, but proves himself to be a genuine friend. Hunsden criticises William to his face, yet looks out for his best interests in many very effective ways behind his back. That's refreshing, when so many so-called friends get it the other way around. 

The romance element is sort of sweet. William falls for a young lady named Frances Henri who joins his English class, hoping to get a bit more experience with the language, although she's actually a fellow teacher, who instructs the girls in lace mending. I do like the way Frances comes to appreciate the subtle compliment behind William's demanding standards for her bookwork to the extent that he becomes the subject of some of her best pieces.  

But plotwise - meh. William finds Mademoiselle Reuter attractive, then overhears her flirting with Monsieur Pelet, with whom she appears to have some understanding. It's hardly even two-timing, since Mademoiselle Reuter had never committed herself to William in any way. But he turns on his chilliest, most disdainful behaviour until she gets the message, then he falls for somebody else who agrees with him that he's absolutely perfect in every way. If William wasn't obnoxious he'd be boring, for who cares to read about a guy in his early twenties whose innate frugality, sound judgment and work ethic never once let him down? I'd be interested to know if any modern readers do, in fact, love this guy. Are there truly any William Crimsworth fans out there? Speak up, because I'd be interested to know.  

Overall, these Crimsworth boys are not all that dissimilar really. One is meant to be always on his high horse but the other always looks down his nose too. The two stars are for Charlotte Bronte's beautiful writing style. It's refreshing in a way, to see that even undoubted geniuses have the occasional misses.  

🌟🌟    

The Placebo Effect in Fiction

I love a good story that highlights the power of the placebo effect. Here is an internet definition of what takes place. 'The placebo effect occurs when a person's physical or mental health appears to improve after taking a dummy treatment.' In other words, our own brilliant brains are effective enough to implement change for the better when we think a positive development has occurred, even if we are totally mistaken. 

Here's a personal anecdote that proved it true to me beyond a doubt. At the MOD Museum in Adelaide, there was once an apparent pain threshold test that sent zaps of electricity through a handle to the palms of our hands. I'm no fan of pain, but challenged by my kids, I thought I'd give it a try. 'Ouch!' The first surge made me yell out and shake my tingling hand.

Then the same handle administered a soothing massage, complete with comforting, smiley emojis on the screen. The accompanying text informed us this was a special numbing effect to reduce the impact of the next zap. That promise was all that convinced me to keep holding on, and sure enough, the next electric shock was milder and easier to take in my stride. I indicated that in my feedback. And finally, more text scrolled down to tell us the supposed numbing effect was all a hoax, and the second electric shock was the exact same magnitude as the first. I, along with many other respondents experienced what they were really testing; the placebo effect. 

Well, that cemented my conviction that we should approach this phenomenon with a lot of respect. Whenever I hear stories of spontaneous healing or confidence building after some placebo effect, I'm not a bit surprised. The fascinating placebo effect has made its way into several stories, old and beloved alike. Since fiction is a mirror of the strange truth of reality, the following incidents are deeply encouraging as well as hugely entertaining. 

Here are a few I love.

1) Mister Meddle

I appreciate how Enid Blyton indirectly teaches her very youngest fans about the placebo effect. Mister Meddle is staying overnight at a guesthouse with his good friend. (His name escapes me, but it could well have been Jinks.) Meddle thinks the bedroom is horribly stuffy but Jinks feels chilly and argues against opening a window. The pair of them tussle in the darkness and accidentally smash a pane of glass. Meddle is gleeful that the sore point has been resolved in his favour. Jinks can't un-break that window, so Meddle jumps back into bed enjoying refreshing blasts of cool air. It takes the early morning light to reveal what really happened. The window is still closed, but the glass front of a bookcase is splintered. And the grinning Jinks realised that all along. (Next they'll have to argue about who pays the repair bill.)

2) Bless Me, Father series by Neil Boyd

I've barely given these great books a thought since I read them in my teens. Neil Boyd is a young Catholic curate who assists the senior Father Duddleswell. In one incident, they help cure a man who believes he's dying from a witch doctor's curse, and lies languishing in hospital. (The holy duo believe this guy is suffering from the negative counterpart of the placebo effect, which happens to be the nocebo effect. He will indeed die without intervention.) The patient already knows Father Duddleswell, so they dress young Father Neil up as vastly superior spiritual guru than the paltry witch doctor who inflicted the curse. He chants a string of supposed incantations to reverse the curse, and after plenty of solid improvisation, the stunt works. The patient gets out of bed believing himself to be fully cured, and resumes his former active lifestyle.

3) Harry Potter series

One of my favourite incidents takes place in The Half-Blood Prince. Ron Weasley has joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Everyone knows he occasionally shares his siblings' talent for the game, but suffers from crippling nerves and often crumples mid-match. Until the day he believes his best friend, Harry, added a few drops of felix felicis, or liquid luck, to his morning pumpkin juice. Ron scorches the court, leaves his Slytherin opponents gasping, and almost single-handedly wins a crucial match for his team. Only then does Harry admit he used no felix felicis at all. Ron's blistering performance was based solely on a wink and a flash of the bottle. 

4) The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

L. Frank Baum gives us the all-time perfect incident here. The Scarecrow, Tin Man and Lion long for brains, a kind heart and courage respectively. The little wizard is a complete fake, but he's clever and understands the power of suggestion. All it takes is a hastily scribbled Diploma, a testimonial of great altruism and a medal of bravery to satisfy the cravings of our awesome trio. These physical objects give the dormant traits permission to blossom. In fact, each member of the trio has been using these attributes all along, but only now do they give themselves permission to really own them. (I've reviewed it here.)

 

If you can think of any more, please let us know in the comments. Several years ago, I wrote this review of a fascinating book called You are the Placebo. It seems that knowing the placebo effect may come into play doesn't stop it working, and may even assist it, if that's what we expect to happen. Perhaps the belief that settling down with a good book, hot drink and purring cat is an excellent antidote to a stressful day may well be a placebo effect, but it's one I'm happy to keep buying into. 

Have you any examples of your own?  

'A Gentleman in Moscow' by Amor Towles

A Gentleman in Moscow immerses us in another elegantly drawn era with the story of Count Alexander Rostov. When, in 1922, he is deemed an unrepentant aristocrat by a Bolshevik tribunal, the count is sentenced to house arrest in the Metropol, a grand hotel across the street from the Kremlin. Rostov, an indomitable man of erudition and wit, has never worked a day in his life, and must now live in an attic room while some of the most tumultuous decades in Russian history are unfolding outside the hotel’s doors. Unexpectedly, his reduced circumstances provide him a doorway into a much larger world of emotional discovery.

Brimming with humour, a glittering cast of characters, and one beautifully rendered scene after another, this singular novel casts a spell as it relates the count’s endeavour to gain a deeper understanding of what it means to be a man of purpose.

MY THOUGHTS: 

One person whose horror about the sudden visitation of Covid 19 on the world may have been mixed with a smidgen of timeliness is Amor Towles. I was late on board to read his excellent novel, and surprised to see the publication date as far back as 2016. It's about a man consigned to house arrest for the remainder of his natural life, who immediately sets about tweaking his attitude to grin and bear the loss of freedom. If that's not an ideal story to ponder in time for general global lockdown, I don't know what is.

In 1922, 32-year-old Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov is arrested by the Bolshevik regime for the crime of being born an aristocrat. They would have executed him outright, but he escapes with his life because a poem attributed to him expresses sympathy to the populace. Even so, the Count is warned that if he so much as pokes his nose out of the Grand Metropol Hotel in Moscow, where he currently lives, he'll be shot. A posh hotel becomes a prison in the blink of an eye.

Alexander has no choice but to make the best of the harsh verdict, even when he's evicted from his luxury apartment and assigned a poky room high in the attic. He starts by deciding this might be the ideal chance to read all the volumes from his father's extensive library, which he's been putting off because he hasn't had time. For the young man is already wise enough to realise that if you don't master your own circumstances, they'll master you. 

Anything that might possibly help him eke out the days is woven into his new outlook. He always aims to transform mere coping skills to genuine joy and contentment. He studies and appreciates the mastery of the artisans, chefs, waiters and other professionals in his vicinity more than ever before. And his courteousness to pigeons and cats naturally extends to children. Nine-year-old Nina, the daughter of a foreign ambassador, considers the Count a great friend, and he learns to cherish her friendship in return. For Alexander, the next three decades bring proof that unexpected surprises may still occur in confinement, and that sometimes the most humble appearing people or events may prove to be the most meaningful.

The Christmas chapter at the end of Part One is now among my favourite festive reads. Count Rostov gives young Nina a present from his own family belongings, helps a young man and his girlfriend through the perils of wine and food pairing, then treats one of his other best friends to a bowl of quality vanilla ice-cream which he curiously allows to melt first. The recipient turns out to be none other than the one-eyed cat. It's awesome enough to read each December, packed with excellent, implicit lessons. For example, it's more blessed to give than receive. A small gesture on your behalf may have disproportionately great results. And you never know when an apparently frivolous talent may be just what's required in any given moment. Now I even want to sample the amazing Latvian stew that gets featured here. 

The further we read, the more the title gains greater significance. For only a true gentleman could probably go the distance, and that quality penetrates way deeper than the veneer of compliance and blameless behaviour. Great character has everything to do with generosity, never missing a humorous beat, and recognising all that's truly good. Alexander is a legend. He's able to take on wise snippets he reads in books for his own personal formation. Indeed, the fact that he doesn't crack at the seams is owing to many of his favourite fictional characters. He's unflappable, penetrating and discerning. He never fobs off even the most mundane question. Any conversation he takes part in is well worth dropping in on. And he knows how to draw on memories to lighten not only his own heavy moments, but those of others, including us readers. 

I bought Amor Towles next book, The Lincoln Highway, sight unseen, because based on this novel, I have great faith in the uplifting quality of anything he may write. 

Here's one of Count Alexander Ilyich Rostov's well earned lessons to finish off with.

'When all was said and done, the endeavors that most modern men saw as urgent (such as appointments with bankers and catching of trains) probably could have waited while those they deemed highly frivolous (such as cups of tea and friendly chats) had deserved their immediate attention.'

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟     

 

Hey, Slow Down for Setting

Once long ago, I attended a writing workshop which gave me a negative impression about Charles Dickens' style that took years to change back again. The presenter said that 21st century authors should shun Dickens' setting descriptions, or skim them only as an example of what no longer works. For since the great man existed long before the advent of the screen, he assumed his readers could intuit next to nothing about his story settings. Therefore he walloped them with slabs of tedious information dumps we don't need.

 I deduced that modern readers, and especially young ones, appreciate racy, pacy writing that scatters setting descriptions so lightly, they're more like fairy dust. Readers should hardly register that they're even falling at all. It's a compliment to readers' good sense, this presenter thought, to assume we can use our own imaginations to sense what a place must look like. I left that session thinking it all sounded very reasonable, and resolved to keep my own settings as brief and light as possible. 

It took re-reading several old classics for this blog to show me what a lot of excellent material we sacrifice with such a ruthless attitude. By sneering at every long, descriptive passage we come across, we are knocking back two great invitations. One is to slow down for the time being to a pleasant, leisurely pace. The frenetic speed at which we are urged to whiz through our days robs that from us. And the other invitation is to indulge our inner five senses in some of the finest works of written art. For I now believe that taking time to enter right into the heart of the setting is akin to gazing at some of the most breathtaking masterpieces on art gallery walls.   

 Here's an invitation right now, for you to join me for a few selected moments from  Dickens' Martin Chuzzlewit. I read a disturbing article recently that in our current era, the average sentence length in fiction is gradually getting shorter to match social media trends. But if anyone can renew our affection for semi-colons, multiple commas and single sentences stretched out for as long as entire paragraphs, Dickens is surely our man. Let's give him a chance, because our attention spans and ability to exercise our minds' eyes are at stake. Here goes. 

MACRO VIEW: The Never-ending Swamp

Background: Two young men have alighted from a paddle steamer to their new home with utter dismay. Martin Chuzzlewit and Mark Tapley expected a thriving new township, but instead, this is what they get. 

'A flat morass, bestrewn with fallen timber; a marsh on which the good growth of the earth seemed to have been wrecked and cast away, that from its decomposing ashes vile and ugly things might rise, where the very trees that took the aspect of huge weeds, begotten of the slime from which they sprung, by the hot sun that burned them up; where fatal maladies seeking whom they might infect came forth at night in misty shapes, and creeping out upon the water hunted them like spectres until day; where even the blessed sun, shining down on festering elements of corruption and disease, became a horror. This was the realm of Hope through which they moved.' 

But hold on, there's more when the boys step outside to gauge what they have to work with.

'Their own land was mere forest. The trees had grown so thick and close that they shouldered one another out of their places, and the weakest, forced into shapes of strange distortion, languished like cripples. The best were stunted from the pressure and the want of room; and high about the stems of all grew long, rank grass, dank weeds and frowsy underwood: not divisible into their separate kinds but tangled all together in a heap; a deep jungle and dark with neither earth nor water at its roots, but putrid matter, formed of the pulpy offal of the two, and of their own corruption.' 

Not a pretty sight, but can't you just picture it?

SEMI-MACRO VIEW: The London Neighbourhood

Background: Mr Pecksniff and his daughters are heading for his favourite boarding house, run by Mrs Todgers, in her rather seamy section of the city. But at each visit, he forgets how difficult it is to navigate his way there. 

'You couldn't walk about Todgers' neighbourhood as you could in any other neighbourhood. You groped your way for an hour through lanes and bye-ways and courtyards and passages; and you never once emerged upon anything that might reasonably be called a street. A kind of resigned distraction came over the stranger as he trod these devious mazes, and giving himself up for lost went in and out and round about, and quietly turned back again when he came to a dead wall or was stopped by an iron railing, and felt that the means of escape might possibly present themselves in their own good time, but that to anticipate them was hopeless. Instances were known of people who being asked to dine at Todgers', had travelled round for a weary time with its very chimney pots in view, and finding it at last impossible of attainment, had gone home again with a gentle melancholy on their spirits, tranquil and uncomplaining. Nobody had ever found Todgers' on a verbal direction, though given within a few minutes walk of it. Cautious emigrants from Scotland or the North of England had been known to reach it safely by impressing a charity boy, town-bred, and bringing him along with them; or by clinging tenaciously to the postman; but these were rare exceptions and only went to prove the rule that Todgers' was in a labyrinth whereof the mystery was known but to a chosen few.' 

There's a few pages more of this. I admit to being initially impatient to move on with the actual plot, then realised that my restlessness made me just such another hapless wanderer, as frustrated with the written description as these characters were in time and space. So I made up my mind to slow down and enjoy the hopeless meandering, and it became a really fun read. 

SEMI-MICRO VIEW: Mrs Gamp's Bedroom

Background: The boozy, chatty hired nurse, Mrs Sarah Gamp, rents a room in the house of Mr Sweedlepipe the barber, and here is what you'll find between her four walls.  

'The bed itself was decorated with a patchwork quilt of great antiquity, and at the upper end upon the side nearest the door hung a scanty curtain of blue check, which prevented the Zephyrs which were abroad in Kingsgate Square from visiting Mrs Gamp's head too roughly. Some rusty gowns and other articles of that lady's wardrobe depended from the posts; and these had so adapted themselves by long usage to her figure, that more than one impatient husband coming in precipitately at about the time of twilight had been for an instant stricken dumb by the supposed discovery that Mrs Gamp had hanged herself.'

'The chest of drawers having been originally made to stand upon the top of another chest, had a dwarfish, elfin look alone; but in regard of its security it had a great advantage of the bandboxes, for as all the handles had been long ago pulled off, it was very difficult to get at its contents. This indeed was only to be done by one or two devices; either by tilting the whole structure forward until all the drawers fell out together, or by opening them singly with knives like oysters.' 

Once again, although nothing to do with the actual story, slowing down for setting offers benefits of its own.

MICRO VIEW: Mrs Betsey Prig's Pocket

Background: Mrs Gamp's fellow nurse, the large and gruff Mrs Prig, is expected for morning tea. Here is what she brings. 

'Mrs Prig, looking steadfastly at her friend, put her hand in her pocket and with an air of surly triumph drew forth either the oldest of lettuces or youngest of cabbages, but at any rate a green vegetable of an expensive nature, and of such magnificent proportions that she was obliged to shut it up like an umbrella before she could pull it out. She also produced a handful of mustard and cress, a trifle of the herb called dandelion, three bunches of radishes, an onion rather larger than an average turnip, three substantial slices of beetroot, and a short prong or antler of celery; the whole of this garden stuff having been publicly exhibited but a short time before as a twopenny salad, and purchased by Mrs Prig on condition that the vendor could get it all into her pocket. Which had been happily accomplished, in High Holborn, to the breathless interest of a Hackney-coach stand. And she laid so little stress on this surprising forethought that she did not even smile, but returning her pocket into its accustomed sphere, merely recommended that these products of nature should be sliced up, for immediate consumption, in plenty of vinegar.' 

So what do you think, having come out the other side? In over 800 pages, Dickens just keeps the scenes rolling, but those I chose represent his skill in highlighting macro and micro views alike. He can paint verbal brush strokes of sweeping panoramas and also home in on tiny details. And having convinced myself to slow down for the duration, I'm keen to continue with the occasional reflective, labyrinthine book, for they offer both rest and stimulation. And few things provide us with both at once.

PS, in case you wonder about the photo up the top, I took it down on the beach at Port Willunga, south of Adelaide. It's the wreck of an old jetty which may have been in its heyday while Dickens still wielded his pen. 

 

'Martin Chuzzlewit' by Charles Dickens

While writing Martin Chuzzlewit - his sixth novel - Dickens declared it 'immeasurably the best of my stories.' He was already famous as the author of The Pickwick Papers and Oliver Twist.

Set partly in America, which Dickens had visited in 1842, the novel includes a searing satire on the United States. Martin Chuzzlewit is the story of two Chuzzlewits, Martin and Jonas, who have inherited the characteristic Chuzzlewit selfishness. It contrasts their diverse fates of moral redemption and worldly success for one, with increasingly desperate crime for the other. This powerful black comedy involves hypocrisy, greed and blackmail, as well as the most famous of Dickens's grotesques, Mrs Gamp.

MY THOUGHTS: 

I was on the look-out for my next Dickens novel, and chose Martin Chuzzlewit because of its claims of comic genius and well-beloved characters. It didn't let me down. 

Old Martin Chuzzlewit is a grouchy and cynical rich man who's convinced that most people in his life are solely after his money. He adopts a young orphan girl named Mary Graham, and tells her outright that although she'll inherit nothing, he'll provide her financial needs for as long as he's alive, in return for her looking after him. This is his orchestration to ensure that it will be in at least one person's best interests to keep him alive. But when his grandson, also named Martin, falls in love with Mary, family harmony gets rocky. It culminates in young Martin leaving home in a huff, to make his own way without his grandfather's help. 

Young Martin claims he's lucky to have dodged the Chuzzlewit traits of stubbornness and selfishness, while his attitude and behaviour prove that he's inherited generous doses of both. Martin has been brought up as an entitled brat, but at 21, he's young enough to change, and we anticipate that this story will rip the scales from his eyes. Indeed, I was thinking early on, 'Hooray, this boy will get character development!' 

He's so full of himself near the start that when his new friend Tom Pinch gives him a generous handout, young Martin reflects what a great guy he must be to have made such a positive impression on Tom! I still find him easy to like, even at this stage. Mary gives Martin credit for trying to be resourceful and independent although he's been stripped of everything, and so should we. He has plenty of get-up-and-go, and although he's self-centered, he isn't cruel and manipulative like the story's villain, his cousin Jonas (or second cousin, if we're splitting hairs). And best of all, unlike this story's shadier characters, he is teachable!

Martin makes an impulsive decision to head across the ocean to seek his fortune in America. He's accompanied by the merry Mark Tapley, a long-term optimist who brushes off all compliments that he's an uplifting guy to have around. Mark believe he's never been put to the test, and is always seeking an opportunity horrendous enough to deserve the praise. Seriously, this guy leaves Pollyanna far behind. Needless to say, America delivers what he's looking for.

It seems Martin Chuzzlewit was a controversial book of its time, as well as being Dickens' only novel with part of the action taking place on foreign soil. (With the exception of the French action in A Tale of Two Cities.) Some Americans resented him for showing them in a really bad light. But considering their current history at his time of writing, I think they provided the sort of story fodder he liked to jump on. He saw a nation that regarded individual freedom so highly they broke away from Britain in an intense war to achieve it, calling the Motherland a despot and tyrant, then without blinking committed the atrocity of keeping slaves. How could a satirist and hater of hypocrisy like Dickens possibly resist? 

I love it when the migrating duo invests in a land package, sight unseen, in the inaptly named town of Eden, then arrive to discover a foetid, pestilential swamp which has killed several people. So while Mark gets the opportunity to put his jollity to the ultimate test, the place becomes a stunning eucatastrophe for Martin, revealing his personal shortcomings in a way nothing else ever has. There is always plenty happening plotwise in the story, but this pause for a reflective payoff between setting and character is my favourite part.

Other characters are brilliantly executed too, such as the pious-speaking Mr Pecksniff, whose audacious hypocrisy has no limits. This tubby fraud aims to come across in a kindly, paternal style similar to Mr Pickwick from The Pickwick Papers, but he's a real wolf in sheep's clothing. For a start, he claims to teach students architecture, but plagiarises their designs and dodges discovery like a pro. 

I think my second favourite part of the story is when archetypal good guy, Tom Pinch, accidentally discovers the true colours of the man he has idolised from boyhood. Understanding the real Pecksniff should be liberating but it's a huge blow for Tom to face the fact that a lifetime of admiration has been entirely misplaced. As the narrator puts it, 'The star of his whole life from boyhood had become in a moment putrid vapour. The man he venerated had never existed. Pecksniff had gone out of the world. Never been in it.' Wow, Tom's experience begs the question, what do we do under such circumstances? Do we consider years of delusion a sad write-off, or somehow manage to weave them into our life review as a valuable lesson learned?  

I find the trajectory of the cruel and heartless villain, Jonas Chuzzlewit, intriguing. His downfall doesn't have to be as rough as he makes it, until he feels the need to keep endlessly covering up his cover-ups. Scarily enough, he reminded me of some of the boys I knew at school. Is a nasty, brutal nature one of destiny's tools? In other words, although it's obvious on the surface he didn't have to make the choices we read, did his vicious streak actually drive him to do it? It all started with greed, of course. 

On the whole, Martin Chuzzlewit was really enjoyable and interesting, but I've now read enough Dickens to sense straight off that it probably won't be in my Top 5. I think I would have liked the threads of young Martin and the villainous Jonas to converge even more than they did. And although I loved young Martin, I was never a fan of old Martin. Just because a guy has money gives him no right to play God with other people's lives, throwing tantrums if they came up with ideas before he does. His autocratic attitude could have easily resulted  in the death of his grandson, who he treats like dirt just to prove a point. That's taking tough love to a sick extreme! I can't imagine how Mary could have stayed devoted to the old codger, since he started playing messy games with the guy she loved. (Whenever old Martin hobbles onto a scene, I imagine him looking like Mr Burns from The Simpsons, and wonder if it's just me, for Dickens doesn't describe him as such.)

Romance is quite low key. I like the Mary/Martin relationship, but we don't really get enough of it. Instead, we get the super-sentimental John Westlock/Ruth Pinch match up, which verges on sickly sweet, plus the two Pecksniff girls vying with each other for that horrible Jonas Chuzzlewit, which is just off this planet. I mean, of all the men out there... why?!!  

But hey, it's given me lots of food for thought. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟 

'Clover' by Susan Coolidge

NOTE: At one time, I wouldn't have reviewed such an old volume on my blog, since it would have been difficult for the average reader to get their hands on. But in recent years, great strides have been made by generous sites such as Project Gutenberg and even Amazon to bring these old treasures back to life as free e-books. So if you're inspired to carry on with these charming tales of Katy Carr's siblings, they are easy to find and cost nothing!

MY THOUGHTS:

Some readers think this series is a trilogy that ends with What Katy Did Next, but in fact there are two more to round it off. I always knew about Clover, because there was an old copy owned by my mother in the bookshelf when I was little. But I remembered few details from my last read, which was way back in my childhood, and enjoyed this re-read more than ever. It's a simple story, but quite compelling.

It's refreshing to have the attention turned to another member of the Carr family, especially when it's loyal and generous Clover, who always rejoiced in Katy's good fortune without a twinge of envy, even when that meant missing out on long trips to Europe herself. After Katy's startlingly simple wedding, Clover's story begins. The youngest Carr sibling, Phil, takes on a significant role too.

Seventeen-year-old Phil has a worrisome cough which bothers his dad, because tuberculosis is rife in their time and place. So Dr Carr decides to send Phil to St. Helen's, a small town in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, to regain his health. And because he can't pack up his medical practice and go too, Clover is appointed as Phil's guardian. Settling down in a faraway state which has a uncivilised reputation and trying to convince a stubborn teenage male to take it easy are equally daunting prospects for Clover, but she resolves to tackle them by taking one day at a time.

Then there's the Mrs Watson factor. Anxious Dr Carr unintentionally complicates things further by connecting the pair of them with an elderly lady who he hopes may be able to lend a wise helping hand from time to time. But Mrs Watson turns out to be a helpless, talkative airhead who makes Clover's job far harder. She provides some excellent comic relief, and making Clover exasperated with her meddling father is just the start.  

Guess who else has settled down on a nearby ranch sixteen miles out of town? It's cheeky, henpecked cousin Clarence Page from What Katy Did at School, who has now grown up and become very good looking. He's living with a British friend, the equally attractive but more refined Geoff Templestowe. And there's also a third guy in the wings named Thurber Wade, a rich young local. These are regarded by new friends as three 'Clover leaves', any of whom she might pluck if she pleases.

I loved the descriptions of the setting and environment. Colorado has never been on my bucket list of places to visit before, but now I want to go there to experience that bracing, restorative air, stunning mountain views and bright flowers. One of the book's main themes is how travellers from the eastern states are usually overwhelmed by the stunning beauty, and surprised by the mod cons in the cities and towns, as they all expect something wild and untamed. Clover and Phil are no exception. It's always a pleasure for me to slow down with a pastoral novel, so I'd rate this book high just for its beautiful sense of place.

There are spoilers below this line, as I want to discuss Clover's three romantic options. So if you want to be totally surprised as the story unfolds, read no further.  

Poor Clarence shows up really well. In a way, it would have been sweet if Clover had fallen for the scrappy young cousin who took her good influence on board so long ago, but Susan Coolidge had other plans for both of them. I'm glad in retrospect that his proposal was rejected, because this gives Clarence's character a chance to shine. He leaves Laurie from Little Women far behind when it comes to taking no for an answer with dignity and thoughtfulness. I liked this boy all along, and respect him even more now. I applaud Clarence's mature decision to make no ripples for the new lovebirds Clover and Geoff, because they're his closest friends, and jeopardising his relationships with them would be plain stupid. Way to go, Clarence!

Thurber Wade is not a main character, and seems to serve three purposes. He brings the feelings of the other two rivals to the surface. He enables some lovely expeditions to explore more of the beauty of Colorado, which the other two guys simply couldn't afford. And he makes the 3-leaf Clover analogy possible. But Thurber Wade never had a chance. We all knew that.

No surprise really, it's Geoff Templestowe! Coolidge has given us a delicately written romance here, but it was always clear that he was going to be the guy. And on the whole, Clover's attraction to him is based on his character rather than his looks, which is what we'd expect from her. One of my favourite reflections of hers is this. 'I wonder what makes him so different from other people. He never says fine flourishing things like Thurber Wade, or abrupt, rather rude things like Clarence, or inconsiderate things like Phil, or satirical, funny things like the doctor. But he's always doing something kind.' 

Well, potential spouses do have a way of being on their best behaviour. And they usually follow up by letting a few annoyances slip through the cracks once they become actual husbands. 

We'll see what comes to light in In the High Valley.

🌟🌟🌟🌟

 

'The Murder of Roger Ackroyd' by Agatha Christie

Considered to be one of Agatha Christie's most controversial mysteries, The Murder Of Roger Ackroyd breaks the rules of traditional mystery.

The peaceful English village of King’s Abbot is stunned. The widow Ferrars dies from an overdose of veronal. Not twenty-four hours later, Roger Ackroyd—the man she had planned to marry—is murdered. It is a baffling case involving blackmail and death, that taxes Hercule Poirot’s “grey cells” before he reaches one of the most startling conclusions of his career.

MY THOUGHTS:  

My mum was always a great fan of the queen of crime when I was little, and collected many of her books. I never read them all but do appreciate knowing they're always on hand at Mum's place, just in case I want to grab hold of one for a vintage mystery fix if I feel like it. I've seen this crime classic mentioned frequently lately, as one of Christie's most brilliant and celebrated for its impeccable execution. One site even said that if you're only ever going to read one Agatha Christie, let this be the one. I promise I went into it with no idea what to expect, to see if it would blow me away as it has many others.

It was first published in 1926, and set in a tiny village named King's Abbot. The story's narrator is Dr James Sheppard, the friendly local GP. His patient Mrs Ferrars has just committed suicide by taking a lethal overdose of tablets. It turns out a ruthless blackmailer who knew she'd poisoned her husband has been extorting money from her ever since his death, and she's finally had enough of the stress. Mrs Ferrars leaves a letter to her fiance, Roger Ackroyd, revealing the identity of her blackmailer, but he's murdered in his study before he finishes reading the letter. Ackroyd is stabbed in the neck from behind with a sharp, ornamental weapon from one of his own drawers. 

The weird thing is that the killer makes a late night phone call to let the doctor know that another patient of his has bitten the dust. One of the biggest questions in this story is why on earth the anonymous murderer would preempt discovery, rather than wait for it to unfold naturally the following morning. It's so unusual, detective Hercule Poirot is certain that once the answer comes to light, they'll have their killer. 

The suspect who most evidence seems to indicate is Ackroyd's handsome stepson, Captain Ralph Paton, who disappeared after the murder. But almost everyone present beneath Ackroyd's roof that evening have personal secrets of their own, mostly fueled by being short of money. There's his widowed sister-in-law, Mrs Cecil Ackroyd, and her beautiful daughter Flora, along with a game shooter named Hector Blunt, and Ackroyd's vigilant personal secretary, Geoffrey Raymond. And the staff members include Parker the butler, Mrs Russell the housekeeper, and Ursula Bourne the parlour maid. Everyone is hiding something which they fear may cast them in a suspicious light. 

There are some interesting musings, including Poirot's theory about women's intuition (females take heaps of detail on board in their subconscious minds, and later assume there's something psychic about it) and the mind of a blackmailer (it's easy for any ordinary man to acquire a substantial income by doing nothing more difficult than keeping quiet about something). His sidekick Dr Sheppard comments that as each new revelation comes to light, the whole case is like the shake of a kaleidoscope. The thing changes its aspect entirely. 

I think the big revelation is rightfully considered controversial. Some readers think Dame Agatha was playing silly games with us, while others believe she was boldly treading ground traversed by no mystery author before her. I'll say no more, except that the murderer was so cocksure they got away with it, I'm glad Poirot was called on the case to prove them wrong! 

Did I figure it out myself? No, in all honesty, but nor was I totally floored by the announcement. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟     

Famous literary black birds

 We are on the verge of another Halloween, when black birds of all types tend to get a bit more of the spotlight. Anything furtively spooky which hangs over people's lives has been likened to these Gothic beauties, whether it be an addiction, a prognosis, a genuine ghostly visitation, bad news or a bleak future. So I thought they could make an interesting list. (And since my gorgeous model let me come so close to him, from my outdoor bakery table, I didn't want to waste his trust or this photo.)  

These anecdotes are a mixture of truth and fiction. Please do keep in mind, as always, that they may contain spoilers. 

Sing a Song of Sixpence

This cryptic nursery rhyme has collected a variety of interpretations over the years. Perhaps the four and twenty blackbirds represent the frittering hours of the day, while the king and queen are the sun and moon. Or they might stand for 24 choirs of monasteries during Henry VIII's Dissolution, who wanted to curry his favour by baking pies. What if the whole thing was a coded recruiting message by Blackbeard; the blackbirds being his crew of pirates and the pie being his ship? One of the most straightforward theories is that the rhyme may refer to an actual Italian cookbook's recipe in which live birds were placed beneath pastry, to create a sensation. Whatever your choice, we probably all agree that pecking off the maid's nose while she's hanging up clothes seems to be a vicious gesture on the part of the rogue blackbird.

Grip

He was the cherished pet raven of Charles Dickens, who wrote him as a character in the story of Barnaby Rudge. Barnaby was a simple fellow and Grip was his wiser and more savvy sidekick. The original Grip sadly passed away in his prime, not to the regret of the Dickens kids who were tired of having their ankles pecked. But their grieving father hired a taxidermist to stuff Grip, then perched him above his desk as a sort of dark muse. It doesn't sound like a comforting idea to me, but hey, writing beneath the shadow of Grip's lifeless gaze must have worked, when you consider Dickens' astounding literary career.

Edgar Allan Poe's Raven

 This tragic American author's most famous poem tells the tale of a persistent raven's visitation to a man who subsequently descends into madness. The bird knocks his beak on the window to be admitted, then sits gloating as the frantic narrator tries to shoo it away, but it keeps croaking the same word, 'Nevermore!' The freaked-out narrator eventually decides the bird is an omen of evil. And it's easy to understand why generations of grief sufferers and substance addicts of all sorts have appropriated Poe's raven as their very own. Incidentally, Poe had visited Charles Dickens and met Grip, who was an inspiration for his own work of genius. 

Little Town on the Prairie

In the chapter entitled 'Blackbirds' these pests become yet another real life obstacle threatening the hopes and dreams of the Ingalls family. They are rapidly gobbling up the oats and corn crops which Pa depends on to raise money to send Mary to college. Ma gets back at a few of them by pulling off a real life 'Sing a Song of Sixpence.' Yep, she bakes them in a pie and declares there is no great loss without some small gain.

Harry Potter series

The creepy black bird of the wizarding world is the augurey, whose hoarse cry is said to foretell death. Understandably, this repels magical folk from seeking it. The formidable Delphi Diggory adopts it as her symbol to take over the world in honour of her birth father, Lord Voldemort. In an alternative universe she succeeds, referring to herself as 'The Augurey.' She flaunts a tattoo of the bird on the back of her neck which alerts schoolboy duo Scorpius Malfoy and Albus Potter to regard her as a serious threat in The Cursed Child. 

Paul Gaugin's 'Nevermore' painting

This celebrated work of art depicts a raven overlooking a grieving mother, and is claimed to be 'a bird of the devil who watches.' Incidentally, Gaugin clearly got his idea from Poe's poem, and we already know Poe was inspired by Dickens' pet. So the original real life Grip set off a chain reaction of creativity. What a guy!

The Tower of London ravens

Generations of these sooty croakers have witnessed their fair share of death and bloodshed at this gruesome venue. Superstition has it that the walls of the Tower will tumble down, followed soon after by the collapse of the nation itself, if ever there are no ravens on the grounds. To this day it's never been put to the test. Why tempt fate, when it's easy enough to clip the wings of a core group of seven ravens; half a dozen plus one for luck. The Tower seems to make a suitably grim and atmospheric backdrop for these birds who never realise the onus that's on them. Or do they? 

And last but absolutely not least... 

The Biblical ravens that fed Elijah

We can read all about it in 1Kings 17: 2-6. The depressed and destitute prophet is lying in the desert of Kirith, totally dependent on divine provision. These life-saving ravens are sent twice daily to nourish Elijah with bread and meat. I believe this is one of several instances when God has used something known to be dodgy for a great and unexpected purpose, just to prove that he's Lord of all creation. For let's face it, these other anecdotes indicate that ravens certainly aren't known for their comfort and compassion. They'd just as soon join the vultures waiting for Elijah to expire before swooping down to make a meal off him, rather than bringing meals to him. If you're a person of faith, the sight of one of these beautiful birds could be a great reminder that intervention on your behalf may come from strange places. 

I think they are wonderful birds, intelligent and oh so healthy looking. I invite you to take a moment to look up the collective noun for ravens, and tell me if you agree that the appellation does them a great unkindness? I count myself among those who choose to emphasise perseverance, intelligence and hope whenever I see them, rather than doom and gloom. Please tell me if any of these stand out to you, and suggest other blackbirds, ravens, crows or black birds of any kind I've missed.

And enjoy Halloween, if that is your thing.    

 

'What Katy Did Next' by Susan Coolidge

Katy Carr can hardly believe it when she is invited to spend a whole year in Europe with Mrs Ashe and Amy. Although a year seems like a long time away from her beloved family, living in the small American town of Burnet, Katy embarks enthusiastically on her greatest adventure. This charming story, first published in 1886, is the third of Susan Coolidge's hugely popular Katy books.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Even some people who aren't really familiar with this one recognise it as the one where she gets a marriage proposal on a gondola in Venice. And cover designers understandably make the most of that.  

 Katy Carr is now 21 years old, and gets a chance to visit Europe. Mrs Ashe is a slightly older widow friend with a little girl named Amy, and she asks Katy to be their travel companion. Of course Katy jumps at the opportunity. Mrs Ashe has a younger brother named Ned Worthington; a dishy naval lieutenant she hopes to touch base with over there. (Are your romance antennae twitching?)

At first I took no great shine to Mrs Ashe. She struck me as a fairly bland character, and a bit of a wilting daisy, who tells Dr Carr at the outset, 'If you can't spare Katy to come with me, I just won't go.' That was intended to come across as the generous gesture of a timid personality, but also carries emotional manipulation. I guess she grew on me as the story progressed, especially by the time she becomes, 'Dear Polly.'  

A personal digression here. I went on two English/European holidays with my parents when I was slightly younger than Katy, and it was almost exactly a century after she went, so reading Katy's impressions of the landmarks and sights brought back great memories. 

I had a similar approach to sightseeing as hers. Katy drew from her rich background of reading to help form their itinerary. We're told her memory was 'stuffed with all manner of little scraps of information and literary illusions, which now came into use.' That's identical to the way I went about with my parents, who took on the role of Mrs Ashe, and were impressed with all the details about stories and authors I was able to tell them. 

A highlight for both Katy and me were our encounters with George Eliot. Hers was an accidental glimpse of the great author paying a taxi driver. Katy made the most of her fleeting gaze at the 'unbeautiful, interesting, remarkable face.' For me, George Eliot's was among the graves I sought at the famous Highgate cemetery. We paid a visit especially to track it down. Time keeps ticking away.  

Anyway, back on track. I hoped the story wasn't going to digress into a mere travelogue, but it is saved by the arrival of Cousin Olivia and Lilly Page, who happen to be staying at the same place in Nice. These two selfish, snobby, social-climbing shopoholics have their eye on Ned Worthington for Lilly, and they're determined their hick relative isn't going to cramp their style. How can Cousin Philip Carr even afford to send one of his daughters to Europe? What a waste! The fact that Ned is Polly Ashe's brother helps it dawn on the mother/daughter duo that perhaps they shouldn't shun Katy's company altogether. 

A famous romantic trope unashamedly comes into play. Shallow, pretty girl versus generous plain cousin. I wonder if you can predict what will happen. Seriously though, Lilly lives to gain attention and Katy lives to give hers to others. Susan Coolidge has a fresh and endearing way of playing the pair of them off against each other. 

The behaviour of young Amy Ashe shows why European holiday treats are sometimes thrown away on small kids. She grumbles her way through the story with a, 'That don't impress me much,' attitude. Amy is a girl of quick and dismissive summaries. 'Nope, I hated that place. It was raining too much... This street had some scary men, so I never want to go back there again... Yeah, we had a good dinner in a restaurant there, so that place is okay.' She's judgmental and condescending toward those she doesn't understand. Even the narrator explains that Amy grew bored with, 'scenery she had no association with and grown-up raptures she did not comprehend.' Perhaps nobody is quite as big a racial snob as a person under the age of ten who's homesick.  

If I just picked up this book first, without the background of the first two in the series, I'm sure I wouldn't have enjoyed it as much as I did. But we who start from the beginning have the benefit of knowing Katy. Mrs Ashe says, 'She's nice all through. So true and sweet and satisfactory.' And since we agree with her, it's a good addition to the series. 

Now, some people assume this is the third and final book about the Carr family, but nope, there are two more. I look forward to getting stuck into Clover, which focuses on another member of the family, Katy's sister. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟

'My Brother Michael' by Mary Stewart

Camilla Haven is on holiday alone, and wishes for some excitement. She had been sitting quietly in a crowded Athens cafe writing to her friend Elizabeth in England, "Nothing ever happens to me..."

Then, without warning, a stranger approached, thrust a set of car keys at her and pointed to a huge black touring car parked at the curb. "The car for Delphi, mademoiselle... A matter of life and death," he whispered and disappeared.

From that moment Camilla's life suddenly begins to take off when she sets out on a mysterious car journey to Delphi in the company of a charming but quietly determined Englishman named Simon Lester. Simon told Camilla he had come to the ancient Greek ruins to "appease the shade” of his brother Michael, killed some fourteen years earlier on Parnassus. From a curious letter Michael had written, Simon believed his brother had stumbled upon something of great importance hidden in the craggy reaches of the mountainside. And then Simon and Camilla learned that they were not alone in their search...

The ride was Camilla's first mistake... or perhaps she had unintentionally invoked the gods. She finds herself in the midst of an exciting, intriguing, yet dangerous adventure. An extraordinary train of events turned on a nightmare of intrigue and terror beyond her wildest daydreams.

MY THOUGHTS:

I won this book from an Instagram competition. I'd never heard of Mary Stewart at the time, and it came as a great surprise to learn what a beloved and prolific twentieth century author she was, famous for using a wide range of exciting travel destinations for her settings. I've seen many of her covers on Instagram since then. Bookworms, don't ever assume you've seen it all.

This one is set in Greece. Camilla Haven is a tourist in a cafe in Athens where she's mistaken for another young woman. The delivery driver of a hire car assumes she's the person who booked it on behalf of a guy named Simon, and Camilla lacks the language skill to explain the mistake. On the spur of the moment, she decides to drive the car from Athens to its destination in Delphi to find Simon.

 Camilla locates a stranger named Simon Lester, but he isn't expecting a car (as far as he knows). However, he divulges that he's in Greece on a personal pilgrimage. His brother Michael was killed during the War and Simon wishes to visit his final resting place for a bit of closure. But being right on the spot suggests that foul play was involved in Michael's death, and possible hidden treasure. The pair of them hit it off and decide to investigate the matter further together.

I wanted to love this book but didn't. Now I'll venture into what I'm sure will be unpopular territory, since this book seems to be widely loved.   

I learned that Mary Stewart is widely regarded as a master of fast-paced, romantic suspense. But I never really held my breath once. To bust the romance, Camilla and Simon had only just met each other, so never moved beyond a sort of courteous mutual attraction. As for fast-paced, I'm guessing people call it that because Stewart's plots often play out within a brief space of time. (It seems that's one of her hallmarks.) But although this story takes place within three days, it took me waaaaay longer than that to read in real time. Stewart is an extremely descriptive author. Sure, a character's passing observation may take a matter of seconds, but anyone reading about each contour of rock, shimmer of colour, waft of fragrance or puff of breeze can expect to multiply that at least fivefold. And it all adds up.   

Near the end were some nasty shocks that upset me. I won't skirt into the minefield of plot spoilers, but they were the sort of discoveries that made me think, 'Whoa, I really didn't think she'd let that happen.' Or cause it to happen more accurately, since she's the author.   

Another thing that stands out is all the smoking! Together these characters must smoke a tonne of cigarettes within the span of the few days this story covers. They smoke to conceal uneasiness, express friendship, fill in time, and fiddle with; in other words, any reason will do. Ironically, some of the biggest chain smokers are described as having white teeth. Go figure that one out. The book was published in 1959 and I guess it's a leap back in time when cigarettes were clearly part of the staple budget, and everyone seemed oblivious of any health hazards. 

Although negatives stand out for me, I'd hate to give the impression there was nothing good about the book. Mary Stewart's descriptions of her setting are her strong point and she clearly adored Greece. She writes in a way that puts us straight in the picture, if we're prepared to enter her flow and imagine it all playing out as a painting instead of jumping ahead. She knew a lot about the Grecian Classics and ancient history, and reveals some of it naturally in dialogue.

For example, I appreciate it when Camilla tries to explain why the environment makes such a deep impression on her, and Simon replies that in a way, it really does belong to every English speaking or European traveller, since its ancient roots in western thought are part of our deep heritage. He puts it like this. 

'We've learned to think in its terms, and to live in its laws. It's given us almost everything that our world has that is worth while. Truth, straight thinking, freedom, beauty. It's our second language, our second line of thought, our second country. We all have our own country - and Greece.' That's the quote of the book for me. 

Okay, because of her reputation, enthusiasm and hard work, I'm willing to give Mary Stewart more of a chance. Just not for a while maybe.

🌟🌟½    

My Definitive Ranking of the Narnia Chronicles

First off, I never expected to be writing this list at all, because I'm not a big fan of choosing favourites. A series is like one lovely chocolate bar you can eat in seven or so bite sized pieces. Therefore if it's an A+ series altogether, why bother splitting it up to rank each bite? 

My decision came as a result of doing something else I rarely do, that is checking my phone while out having dinner. On my husband's last birthday while we were waiting for our meals, I thought I'd spy on the kids and see if they were online. Instead, I stumbled on an article in which someone else had ranked the Narnia Chronicles. I felt myself growing hot under the collar because I disagreed with the author's placements nearly every step of the way. 

It made for an interesting dinner conversation, because I said, 'I just don't know what this person is thinking!' and kept adding, 'Nope... no way... they just don't get the point.' My husband enjoys playing devil's advocate when I'm that mad, and the upshot is that I'm writing my own ranking list just to offset the balance. I'll start backwards with the bottom, leaving the best until last.  

There may be spoilers in these reflections, but I'm sure most readers will be familiar with Narnia anyway. You can also read my individual thoughts on the entire series.

The Bottom Trio

7th place - The Last Battle

It's not the Problem of Susan alone that makes me set the grand finale down so low, although she's always been a lovable and relatable character. Susan's story surely isn't finished yet, but it is as far as the series is concerned, which disappoints me. The startling death revelations always get me down too, and the dysfunctional friendship of Shift and Puzzle just makes me see red. 

6th place - The Magician's Nephew

I had to ask myself why I'm placing this second last, since I couldn't really fault it. Negative characters such as Uncle Andrew and Queen Jadis get more than their fair share of airplay, but that's not my reason. I think it's simply that it's been elevated to first place in reading order just because it belongs there chronologically. Back in the 1950s it was published sixth out of seven, so if C.S. Lewis hadn't insisted that this newcomer take first place, I possibly wouldn't rank it so low. I do appreciate that he intended it as a prequel and extra treat, but tend to agree with friends who claim that this tale shouldn't be first in the series. Reading the Narnian genesis story of the lamp post, wardrobe and landscape surely makes a huger impact in retrospect than to start off with. Yet I also understand that if we do read it in retrospect, it may be somewhat anticlimactic. That tension turns this book into a bit of an odd-bod.

Of course if I'm really being honest, I just like most of the others better. 

5th place - Prince Caspian

Hmm, there's just such a lot of exposition and backstory that the Pevensie kids must sit through before they're really in a position to help. And that does hinder the action considerably, as much as I love Lucy's faithful consternation when it seems she's the only person who can see Aslan, and her attempts to sway the others, including stubborn Susan. As for Prince Caspian himself, how long does that poor boy have to wait for help after he blows his horn? He could've died at any moment while his rescuers were listening to his life story and munching apples. 

The Middle Pivot

4th place - The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

I know, I know, it's the most iconic book of the series, yet I'm placing it in such a modest spot! Well, let me argue that it's in the perfect place because middle ranking is the heart of the series. It's the core around which all the others revolve. It tells Narnia's gospel tale of Edmund's treachery, Aslan's great sacrifice on his behalf, and the defeat of the Witch. The fact that I prefer three others even more than this one is the cool coincidence that allows me to say, 'Yep, this beautiful book is central to the whole series.' Now without further ado, let's get on to them.

The Top Trio

3rd place - The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

This slides into my upper tier because of Eustace's transformation from dragon back to boy. It brilliantly reveals our vulnerable position in the world and the limitations of the self-help movement. Plus, it has incredible descriptive narrative when the ship's crew finally reach their destination as far east as they can sail. Lewis is master when it comes to heavenly speculation, making us wonder if he'd actually paid a visit somehow during the writing of this book. Placing this in my top three is a, 'Well written, Jack,' vote from me. 

2nd place - The Horse and his Boy

What a tough choice, as I really wanted to place this one first. In fact, maybe if I'd been in a different reflective mood another time, I'd have done a swap and made it Number One. It was a great move by Lewis to set this story-within-a-story during the era when the Pevensies rule as monarchs. The four main characters have so many relatable and problematic attitude adjustments to make before moving on. They are earthy and genuine. They aim to be furtive and discreet, yet their quest becomes urgent and vital. And the relationship between Shasta and Aravis is highly charged with tense undercurrents. Mostly I adore the divine appointments which resemble disasters on the surface, but turn out not to be as devastatingly random as they appear. Indeed, most are totally orchestrated by Aslan for everyone's greater good. It's such cool stuff. 

I'd better move on before I really do change my mind and re-shuffle. 

1st place - The Silver Chair 

Woohoo!! I think it has a few faults which I wasn't backward about discussing, but all the events that take place underground nudge it to top spot for me. We have fierce psychological manipulation and ample opportunities for Jill, Eustace and Puddleglum to reason their way out of the quest without anyone thinking any the worst of them. The impact of discouragement on the heels of honest mistakes mirrors life so accurately. And the undercurrents between Jill and Eustace aren't too different from Shasta and Aravis. (Though they don't live long enough to get married, thanks to that shocking twist in The Last Battle.) Overall, the sombre physical pressure of the inescapable setting coupled with the intense mental pressure of the mind games they're subjected to makes it the ultimate winner. 

Whew, so that's my list, and I know yours will very likely be different. There are countless variations of seven, after all. I'd be very interested to hear your rankings, with or without the reasons.   

'What Katy Did at School' by Susan Coolidge

Dr. Carr's mind is firmly made up. Katy and her little sister Clover are to spend a year away at boarding school. A strange place, far from home, but on arrival the girls have an inkling that it might turn out to be rather different from their expectations. One thing is for sure, it certainly isn't going to be dull with Rose Red as an ally.

MY THOUGHTS

 Here's another enjoyable read, with more of the charming life observations we get in the first book.

It begins with a visit from the fashionable and disapproving Cousin Olivia Page. She convinces Papa Carr that it would do Katy and Clover a world of good to go to boarding school for a year, before they're set in their ways with provincial adult responsibilities, making them staid before their time with limited outlooks. Dr Carr thinks she has a point, so before they know it, the two girls are heading off to a distant town called Hillsover, where there's a girls' boarding school known as 'The Nunnery' which Aunt Olivia's, Lilly, daughter attends. 

It's a strict institution run by the majestic Mrs Florence, along with her deputy Mrs Nipson, and the prim and crabby Miss Jane. There are other staff members too, of course. It appears a prerequisite for working there must be no sense of humour, for it would never do to crack a smile or allow yourself to be the butt of girlish pranks or teasing. 

Luckily for us, the girls themselves have spades of bright humour, especially Clover and Katy's good friend Rosamond Redding, aka Rose Red. This girl is a legend who's often regarded by the adults as an 'evil influence' just because she's figured out a great secret to life is not taking herself, or others, too seriously.  

The crux of the story occurs when Katy, and by extension Clover, are severely punished for something they didn't do. The teachers discover some circumstantial evidence and instantly go off their sanctimonious nuts! Katy handles the situation beautifully, expressing her indignation but drawing on her inner Cousin Helen to help her move forward. And the culmination of this incident is perfect. 

I also like this book for the interesting finer details. The brutally cold winter term when Katy's toothbrush turns to ice and every drop of water in pitchers and washbowls is frozen solid each morning. The autograph albums, which were the girls' form of social media (as in Little Town on the Prairie). Their very clever club meetings, when the girls play some great literary games. The school soiree which Clover gets to attend for good conduct, but turns out to be a bit of a letdown with cream of tartar water being fobbed off as lemonade (Yuck!) 

There are plenty of updates in the form of newsy family letters to keep us in touch with what's happening at home with Elsie, Dorry, Johnnie and Phil. And now we have extended family to add to the mix, with Cousin Olivia and her kids; Lilly, who looks out solely for her own interests, and Clarence, a sulky rebel who's so over being scolded and corrected for every little thing he does. 

I'll continue soon with What Katy Did Next. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟

Blogging and Patience

I was thinking about the crazy tangle of string our lives resemble. They're not the clean, arrow-straight trajectories from place to place, or event to event, we like to imagine. They are, in fact, more like a labyrinth that appears to wind back on itself indefinitely, until we finally shuffle off our mortal coil. Even then, I'm guessing the pressure of uncompleted tasks will loom right until the end. And if we want to take a broader bird's eye view of human life where individuals are part of a greater whole, our descendants will pick up the slack and keep going. 

Two brothers named John-Roger and Peter Macmillan wrote a book named 'You Can't Afford the Luxury of a Negative Thought.' They remind readers that we aren't ever finished with ourselves, and never will be. 'We've yet to meet a person who has said for any length of time, "I'm done."' 

Wherever we find ourselves is the goal of some former moment in our lives. I love the end of hiking trails, where there is always something like a lookout with a lovely kiosk on a high peak with an amazing view. Yet in life as a whole, when we arrive, there is always more path snaking away in the distance which we didn't notice before. The Macmillan brothers have a blunt way of reminding us to enjoy the journey and stop pining for the destination. 'If you don't have fun getting there, you probably won't have much fun there. Your fun muscles will have atrophied.' 

Point taken.  

Like many others, I've suffered from the impatience of wanting tasks and projects to be finished. Done and dusted, ticked off, ready to put out into the world for feedback. Whether it's writing a book, article or assignment, decorating a room, driving to a destination or cleaning the kitchen after tea, my favourite stage of the proceedings is 'Over and Done With'. An unfinished feeling hanging over my head isn't one I've ever been fond of. It's sticky, unsettling, and hard to shake off. But what if the very nature of life means we can never completely shake it off?

I'm trying to make peace with this sense of unease. And I've decided part of the benefit of keeping this blog is that it's never finished. Sure, any number of individual posts get churned out, but there are always new ideas to write, fresh books to read, photos to snap and ideas to record. I've no idea what future posts and updates are going to look like. And I guess that's how it should be. Maybe it's good for us to have some open-ended hobby to remind us that life may be more of a curly scramble with no clear end in sight, than a clearly marked hiking trail.

I really like a growing-older meme I once saw. 'They tell me I'm over the hill, but I can't remember ever being at the top.' I'm taking this specific reflection as a pause along the way to peer out at the view I can see, and stop and reflect. Then I'll be off again with my book chat, lists and challenges.

How about you? What are you in the middle of, for I know there is always something.  

(This might be a good moment to mention the new Follow.It button in my toolbar, in case you're inclined to wish for notifications of this blog's updates in your emails. The old system bit the dust, and we bloggers were forced to search for something new to enable followers to keep being informed when we share new content. Hence, the delightfully straightforward Follow.It. You won't miss a post, and on the other hand, you won't receive any non-post related material. Win win.)    

'Crusoe's Daughter' by Jane Gardam

In 1904, when she was six, Polly Flint went to live with her two holy aunts at the yellow house by the marsh -- so close to the sea that it seemed to toss like a ship, so isolated that she might have been marooned on an island. And there she stayed for eighty-one years while the century raged around her, while lamplight and Victorian order became chaos and nuclear dread. Crusoe's Daughter, ambitious, moving and wholly original, is her story.

MY THOUGHTS:

This was a core syllabus book from my first year of English at Uni. I didn't remember much about it, except that we were set to read it alongside the famous classic it was drawn from; Robinson Crusoe. When I saw it at a second hand bookshop, I really wanted to remember what it was all about, and whether or not I enjoyed it. 

In 1904, a compliant six-year-old named Polly Flint is taken to a lonely yellow house near the sea to live with her two spinster aunts, bleak Aunt Mary and gentle Aunt Frances. Also under the roof is their maid Charlotte, whose smile always appears false, and Mrs Woods, a dour widow whose presence Polly can never quite figure out. 

As she grows older, it dawns on Polly that she's being brought up in the shadow of an extinct time period. Mary and Frances live as if hazy Victorian mores have made a massive stamp on them. While the world is evolving into the 20th century, vague values of a different era are still trying to be cranked to life beneath their roof, although nobody seems to realise that's the case. It gradually dawns on Polly that if she'd been a boy, money might have been forked out for an education and profession. As it is, the aunts raise her in a vacuum where nothing happens, but seem to think they've done perfectly right by her. 

Polly has access to her dead grandfather's library, and bonds with Daniel Defoe's character Robinson Crusoe as her ultimate hero of all time, even though others including Dickens (and me!) find him dry and dull. Crusoe's appeal to Polly is not his sexless, white masculine status, but his existence on an island of his own, knowing that his only way to survive is to declare it's God's will. She adopts him as her spiritual counterpart and derives a lot of comfort from their mutual isolation; Crusoe's being his location and Polly's being her life in general. She invests so much into Crusoe that in her later years, she invents literary projects of her own just to feel as if she's doing something to fill her days. 

At one stage, Polly visits the Thwaites (sort of extended family) who run a commune for arty, intellectual people. Lady Celia Thwaite believes her mission in life is to help geniuses, which she does by providing this turf for them to veg out, doing Polly knows not what. Nearly live the wealthy Zeit family who laughs at aestheticism and find the commune amusing. Polly observes them all, and rather than making judgments one way or another, she makes quiet, dry observations which the reader can assess if we want to take the trouble. Or we may choose to simply accept what we see, as Polly does. Her most common statement is, 'Yes, I see.' All through the story, although people either put each other on pedestals or cut each other down, Polly just observes. 

The commentary on the nature of different relationships and the proper pecking order happens through this sort of observation. For example, the stately aunts decide to make their maid, Charlotte, a cup of tea after a grievous loss, but need her to rouse herself to set a fire before they can do so!

Polly has a few brushes with romance. There's Paul Treece, a promising young literary talent from a modest farming background, and his Uni chum, the pleasant but inscrutable Theo Zeit. Polly unrestrainedly gives her heart to one of them, but realises she had no idea what he was thinking, if he ever did himself. (Yeah, what was he thinking?!)

Jane Gardam's skill with the pen kept wanting to make me read more. The aspects of a person's appearance or character she chooses to highlight through Polly's eyes are so fresh and unique. Her evocation of the First World War and its effect on the poor soldiers is stunning. And she's able to make characters who appear for just a few pages seem super interesting and revealing. 

My 1988 read didn't make me want to go straight off to hunt for more Jane Gardam titles, but my 2020 read has. Still, I don't envy my teenage self, for having to write something academic about such elusive, sensual writing. It's a will-o'-the-wisp of a book, if ever one was, and I'll bet I didn't get very far. But I really enjoyed it. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½

'What Katy Did' by Susan Coolidge

Twelve-year-old Katy is constantly making and quickly breaking resolutions about how she will change her ways and treat others, especially her five younger brothers and sisters, with more respect and compassion. When Katy meets her Cousin Helen, an invalid, Katy is awed by her kindness, prettiness, and generosity. Katy is determined to become more like Helen, a resolution that lasts only a few hours. Soon, however, Katy gets a chance to become more like cousin Helen than she ever wished as she finds herself confined to her bedroom for four years as a result of an accident.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Caution: Very minor plot spoilers about halfway down. 

I'm currently re-reading many of the beloved old childhood and YA classics on my shelf, and haven't cracked open the covers of some of them for decades. What a treat books such as this one are, as if someone from a bygone era is extending some goodness and wisdom forward through the decades, even centuries, to cheer us up. 

This book introduces the original and unruly Carr family. Doctor Philip Carr is a widower with six kids, Katy, Clover, Elsie, Dorry, Johnnie and Phil. This book focuses on the eldest sister Katy, who is messy, curious, bold and sociable. She has great intentions to be a useful and dependable person, but her impulsive, boisterous nature keeps sabotaging her. Then in one split second she suffers a serious accident, as a consequence of her own rebellious action. Katy faces a long recovery period in her bedroom, flat on her back for a good portion of it. 

The poor girl is devastated and in great pain, feeling at the age of 12 as if the best of life must have passed her by. Yet there is not much she can do but take each day as it comes. Little by little, it becomes clear that the trial itself is smoothing down Katy's rough edges and helping her to become the person she aimed to be when she kept falling short of the mark she set. She still has her passionate nature, but without the mobility to please herself each moment, it's easier to direct her good intentions in purposeful ways that may benefit others. Nothing encourages productive thought more than enforced reflection time. 

There are many instances of how small, everyday pleasures, such as a pretty dressing gown, tasty snack or neat bedroom, may make a far greater impact than their modest nature may suggest. Also loads of excellent supporting characters, including the perpetual invalid, Cousin Helen, who intentionally chooses a bright and merry attitude until it's second nature. This young woman spreads sunshine through the pages. There's good Aunt Izzie, who devotes her life to helping her widower brother with his kids, and is taken for granted all round until the crunch comes. And wistful, left-out younger sister Elsie, who feels as if she fits nowhere. (This little girl stirs me most.)

Okay, I have one major gripe with the premise on which the whole plot hinges. I find it super implausible that Aunt Izzie wouldn't have mentioned the problem with the swing. She says, 'That swing is not to be used until tomorrow. Remember that, children. Not till tomorrow. And not then, unless I give you leave.' The narrator goes on to explain that Miss Izzie Carr expected compliance without needing to justify every order. But as a long-time homeschooling parent, I'm positive in real life Izzie would have added, 'Because the staple is broken.' It would have taken an extra split second and put undeniable weight behind the urgency for obedience.

Here are a few of the ways she could have added it.

'Alexander says the roof staple has come loose, so it'll be dangerous right now.' (About seven seconds.)

'It's damaged, so don't go near it.' (About three seconds.)

Or simply, 'It's broken.' (Barely more than a second.)

 I appeal to all parents, teachers, care-givers, older siblings and baby sitters. Would you have dreamed of holding back the vital information that the swing is broken? In fact, I think it would have rolled off her tongue so naturally, it would have taken more effort not to say it.     

But I guess Susan Coolidge thought she had no other option for her story to work the way she wanted it to. The only alternative would be that Aunt Izzie does explain why, but Katy doesn't hear any of it, in which case the all-important willful disobedience theme is shattered. And then the adults would be culpable for not making extra sure everyone hears the vital instructions. I can't see how Coolidge could have written the story other than as she did, but it really doesn't sit well with me.

What I do love are descriptions such as this one of Katy's bureau drawer. 'All sorts of things were mixed together as if someone had put in a long stick and stirred them all up. There were books and paint boxes, and bits of scribbled paper and lead pencils and brushes. Stocking legs had come unrolled and twisted themselves about pocket handkerchiefs, ends of ribbon and linen collars. Ruffles all crushed out of shape stuck up from under the heavier things, and sundry little paper boxes lay empty on top, the treasures they once held having sifted down to the bottom of the drawer and disappeared beneath the general mass.' Hmm, I've never seen anything like that! Have you?    

I hope I haven't been describing this book as if it's some moralistic, nineteenth century hammer, because there's far too much mischievous movement, flashes of humour, and raw honesty for that. None of the Carr children are goody-two-shoes, least of all Katy. I've decided Susan Coolidge is a great addition to my list of bad-mood busting authors, which is steadily growing. 

Stick around, because I'll soon be adding my thoughts about the rest of this series. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½

PS, Maybe Aunt Izzie had already explained about the broken swing to the younger siblings several times, and Katy came in just in time to hear one more directive without the reason added to it. That could be more plausible, but I suspect I'm now way over-thinking this and had better stop.