'The Scapegoat' by Daphne Du Maurier

By chance, John and Jean--one English, the other French--meet in a provincial railway station. Their resemblance to each other is uncanny, and they spend the next few hours talking and drinking - until at last John falls into a drunken stupor. It's to be his last carefree moment, for when he wakes, Jean has stolen his identity and disappeared. So the Englishman steps into the Frenchman's shoes, and faces a variety of perplexing roles - as owner of a chateau, director of a failing business, head of a fractious family, and master of nothing.

Gripping and complex, The Scapegoat is a masterful exploration of doubling and identity, and of the dark side of the self.

MY THOUGHTS:

This doppelganger/mistaken identity yarn is written with a flourish of du Maurier suspense, and also a tinge of the Gothic, although it was set in the 1950s. Two look-alikes come face to face in a city pub. John, an English historian, is a lonely orphan who regrets being a perpetual spectator of other people's lives. Jean de Gue, the Frenchman, feels shackled by family demands that stem back for centuries, including business, close relationships and community expectations. So Jean decides to do a quick swap when John is asleep, running off with his clothes and identity, leaving John to face the mess he's left behind in his own chateau, should he choose to do so.  

John finds himself between a rock and a hard place. He feels too sympathetic not to play along with the act, since so many people depend on Jean. Yet he also feels extremely guilty for hoodwinking the trusting souls. He has to improvise when it comes to being a husband, son, brother and father, since he's been none of these things for many years, if ever. Fortunately for him, a guy like Jean who would cut and run like that is an erratic role model whose shoes are not hard to fill. 

It seems that while Jean was a happy-go-lucky chap who was popular with many people, his own siblings consider him a jerk. His sister Blanche has not spoken to him for over 15 years, and John can't figure out why. This story held my interest all the way through, although I found it hard to warm to any of the de Gue family except for Jean's 10-year-old daughter Marie-Noel, and one other character who sadly dies. 

But one question du Maurier leaves us with is whether or not familiarity may breed contempt. As long-term secrets come to light, John finds genuine affection for Jean's family welling up. But would it dry up if he had as long a history with them as Jean? I guess I liked the pair of doppelgangers, but only just. John makes some questionable decisions, and for all his energy and charisma, Jean is such a cocky ratbag! 

Yet having said that, I kept hoping John would keep stacking up the brownie points for Jean in his family's eyes.

🌟🌟🌟½ 

'Man's Search for Meaning' by Viktor E. Frankl

Psychiatrist Viktor Frankl's memoir has riveted generations of readers with its descriptions of life in Nazi death camps and its lessons for spiritual survival. Based on his own experience and the stories of his patients, Frankl argues that we cannot avoid suffering but we can choose how to cope with it, find meaning in it, and move forward with renewed purpose. At the heart of his theory, known as logotherapy, is a conviction that the primary human drive is not pleasure but the pursuit of what we find meaningful. Man's Search for Meaning has become one of the most influential books in America; it continues to inspire us all to find significance in the very act of living.

MY THOUGHTS: 

This is my choice for the Classic in Translation category of this year's Back to the Classics Challenge. My edition was translated beautifully by Ilse Lasch. It was written in (9 days?) by the Viennese psychotherapist Viktor Frankl shortly after his release from a concentration camp. He'd been a long-term prisoner at Auschwitz and Dachau during World War Two. In a series of revelations and anecdotes, Frankl describes daily life along with the survivor's mindset most likely to last the distance. What makes it such an enduring classic is his conviction that the attitude he formed to pull him through may also be applied to any not-so-extreme lifestyle. 

Prisoners were stripped of all their belongings and possessed nothing but their bare bodies and the breath that passed through them. Comrades were regularly trundled off to the gas chamber, and everyone lived with the knowledge that they might be next. Frankl explains that appearing fit for work was anyone's only hope, so men shaved daily, in an attempt to look as young and pink cheeked as possible while suffering and starving.

He describes the mental torture that went hand in hand with this physical privation. Frankl considers it an inevitable, invasive form of inferiority complex. They'd all fancied themselves to be 'somebody' in their old lives, as we all do. I guess we're all born with the illusion that we're the centre of the world, since we're all the centre of our own world. When you abruptly become a complete nonentity, addressed by your number rather than your name, any delusions of grandeur are shattered. (Frankl's number was 119 104.)

So that was his setting of the scene. It was fascinating to read Frankl's personal testimony about making meaning out of such a degraded life, when it's so easy to empathise with the majority of Frankl's fellow prisoners, who considered their best days were gone forever. 

He suggests the power of imagination coupled with the power of love is unbeatable. Frankl describes how he retreated into mental images of interaction with his wife which the prison staff knew nothing about. He had no idea if she was dead or alive, (and it turns out she was dead) but either way, nothing could touch the strength of his great love, thoughts and image of her. So as any daydreamer can testify, 'the intensification of inner life helps prisoners find a refuge from emptiness.' Yeah!!

In Part 2 of the book, Frankl describes his own theory of Logotherapy, which is written in more of a clinical style geared toward members of his own profession. After trying to wrap my head around it, I managed to distill his three main ways of deriving meaning, with help from the far more engaging Part 1.

1) Creative/Active Way. This describes our opportunities to realise values using our own effort and creative work. So write a book, make a film, start a business or non-profit organisation, join a cause or keep a regular blog.

2) Experiential Way. Frankl says, 'a passive life of enjoyment affords man the opportunity to obtain fulfillment in experiencing beauty, art or nature. (I admit this one appeals to me.) So encounter good people, visit awesome places, or if both are limited, read  great books. 

3) Attitudinal Way. I guess this is the crux of the whole book. It's the path to meaning for those who face unavoidable suffering or circumstances we'd never choose. Although we can't change the condition, we can change our attitude toward it. When we make a firm decision to behave in a specific, stable manner, no matter what life throws at us, we fill our lives with meaning and personal triumph. Best of all, nobody else ever needs to know. 

And that leads to Frankl's great quote.

'Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms - to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances. To choose one's own way.'

Since I scribbled so many of his brilliant quotes in my scrapbook, I'll finish with a few others. Why bother trying to paraphrase perfection? 

'Most men in a concentration camp believed that the real opportunities of life had passed. Yet in reality, there was an opportunity and a challenge. One could make a victory of those experiences, turning life into an inner triumph, or one could ignore the challenge and simply vegetate, as did the majority of the prisoners.' 

'We had to learn ourselves and furthermore we had to teach the despairing men that it did not matter what we expected from life, but rather what life expected from us.'

'We needed to stop asking about the meaning of life and instead to think of ourselves as those who were being questioned by life, daily and hourly. Our answer must consist not in talk and meditation but in right action and in right conduct.'

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟   

Villainous Brothers and Sisters

 I thought this could be a revealing alternative list to that which we see more often, which is, of course, heroic brother and sister duos. The lovable pairs are awesome, but they're very familiar to us by now. We can surely all rattle off examples such as Jem and Scout Finch, Francie and Neeley Nolan, Ron and Ginny Weasley, Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert. But they're such well-known legends, I don't even feel tempted to write that list. I prefer my book lists to be more quirky or gathered from further afield. That's why I challenged myself to come up with baddies rather than goodies, when it comes to literary brothers and sisters. 

They're out there folks, suggesting that unfortunate gene pools do exist, or that questionable upbringing may strike double. It would seem some parents get an opportunity to spread their unfortunate chromosomes through both male and female channels, and when this double trouble makes it into the pages of our favourite novels, all the other characters who have to deal with them must look out.

Without further ado, here they are.

Anatole and Helene Curagin

These two have devastating good looks, and use their physical beauty to mess up the lives of War and Peace's favourite couple, Pierre and Natasha. The ravishingly fashionable society chick Helene gets her greedy clutches stuck into naive Pierre Bezukhov the moment she discovers he's inherited a fortune. He's off to the altar with this evil goddess before he knows what's hit him. Then down the track, her impossibly gorgeous younger brother Anatole seduces Natasha Rostov, an innocent teenager who fully intends to stay loyal to her fiance, Andrei Bolkonsky. But Anatole's pressure to elope is just too irresistible for her to withstand. (See my review.)

Hindley and Catherine Earnshaw

They share the wild family genes of violent and unrestrained passion. Hindley is a despicable bully to his father's adopted foundling, Heathcliff, which comes back to bite him later when he becomes a dissolute drunkard. And Catherine is a screeching diva to her husband Edgar Linton, who she marries just to get society's nods of approval. To a large extent, both brother and sister simply blow themselves out, like raging hurricanes. (Here's my review of Wuthering Heights.)

John and Isabella Thorpe

Look out, city of Bath, for the arrival of this pair of hypocritical fakes. John makes up stories on the spur of the moment to his own advantage, and never realises he's a crashing bore. Isabella is a bit more polished in her social climbing attempts, but anyone who gets to know her well enough can see she's just as insincere as her brother. Unluckily for their victims, they've both inherited what must be the family trait of manipulation. (See my review of Northanger Abbey.) 

Alecto and Amycus Carrow

This duo is bad news for Hogwarts in the lead up to the final battle between the forces of good and evil. They are a pair of Death Eaters who are both experts at the dark arts, and are appointed joint deputy heads of the school by the corrupt powers who have taken over the Ministry of Magic. During their reign of terror, cruel punishments are part of everyday life. The Silver Trio, Ginny, Neville and Luna, are hard pressed to figure out how to keep Dumbledore's Army functioning beneath the Carrows' cruel and beady eyes. (No official review but Potter posts are common on this blog.)

Edward and Jane Murdstone

As despicable a pair of siblings as you'd find anywhere, these nasty pieces of work believe their savage piety is fully justified. Edward is in the habit of marrying innocent young women and totally breaking their spirits. In the case of poor Clara Copperfield, his sanctimonious and mean-spirited sister Jane comes to live with them, to help him turn the screws. And they both treat her young son, David, like dirt. (Start here for my thoughts on David Copperfield.)

Anna Karenina and Stepan Oblonsky

These two are united in holding their marital vows super loosely, even though they both claim to be committed to their spouses and children. Stepan cheats on his wife, Dolly, whenever he has an opportunity, and regards her discovery as a minor hindrance he'll have to get his sister to help him smooth over. Anna herself meets Count Alexei Vronsky on the way to do her brother's dirty work, and instantly decides he is far more desirable than her own husband, who she's been content with until now. (Review is here.) 

Now, drum roll for my favourite bro and sis duo, who I can't help liking despite their villainous status.

Henry and Mary Crawford

These two are both easy to like, with spades of charisma, but their family weakness seems to be a sort of shallowness. Henry enjoys flirting with firmly attached or hard-to-get women just to see if he can, and Mary is a social climber who tends to be blaise and flippant about good, sound values. But both brother and sister get burned in their own games. Henry really does come to love Fanny Price, and Mary feels the same for Edmund Bertram. Some readers prefer these bad kids on the block to the main characters of Mansfield Park, and I can count myself among them. (And start here for my thoughts on Mansfield Park.) 

Now, how do you like my picks? Have you a favourite villainous brother and sister duo of your own?    

'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader' by C. S. Lewis

Or 'The One with the Lost Noblemen'

Warning: There are some minor plot spoilers in my discussion points, for those who have no idea what this is about.

I greatly anticipated this book, because who can resist a good sea yarn, or new frontiers tale, or fantasy adventure? The Voyage of the Dawn Treader combines all three, with plenty of awesome spiritual applications and Christian parallels to boot.

This time Edmund and Lucy are swept back into Narnia when the painting of an intriguing looking ship suddenly bursts through the barriers of its frame, sweeping them into the sea. Their annoying and entitled cousin Eustace is swept in with them, to his fear and horror. 

The ship belongs to the boy king Caspian, only three years older than when they last saw him. He and his crew are on a quest to track down his dead father's seven loyal friends, who were banished during the reign of Miraz, and Reepicheep the brave mouse captain aims to push on beyond the edge of the known world. The three newcomers are unintentionally along for the ride, and while this suits Lucy and Edmund just fine, Eustace has other ideas; especially at first.

Wow, I loved this multi-layered story, and feel my thoughts will only scratch the surface, just like Eustace's attempts to shed his dragon skin. Still, here goes.    

What I appreciated more than before

1) Lewis' strong belief in the value of a great story comes through loud and clear. The narrator keeps making digs at Eustace for not having read 'the right sort of books.' He was brought up to shun imaginative fiction as pointless and time-wasting, and stick to dry old practical text books. But as I hope any fellow fiction reader agrees, well-executed stories actually fill our spirits with deeper truths about the nature of life which is difficult to acquire any other way. In this story itself, Lewis makes sure Eustace's deficiency in this area proves to be a stumbling back many times. When it comes to intuitively working out the proper action in response to moral and emotional challenges life might deliver, thick books about agriculture and commerce just aren't going to cut it! 

(Similarly, Edmund gets praised at one point, for being the only member of the little party who has read plenty of detective fiction. It puts him in the position to instantly realise there's something fishy about finding a set of Narnian clothes and armour with no body.)

2) The incident in which Aslan helps Eustace cast off his dragon form is awesome. It might even be one of the best analogies about the limitations of the self help movement ever written. Eustace simply cannot tear off all his own layers of dragon skin, no matter how hard he tries. It's impossible for his own teeth to dig in that deep. Aslan stands back to let him figure that out for himself before coming in for the final, potent tear. The only effort which makes a vital difference is the one which Aslan applies, when Eustace comes to the end of himself. And this is a perfect example of my first point coming to play. Any attentive reader might twig that our own futile attempts to tear off our dragon skins, whatever forms they may take, are only scratching the surface. 

3) Poor heartbroken Caspian's plight shows that with great honour comes great responsibility. He wants to press through with Reepicheep beyond the edge of the known world to Aslan's domain, but the loyalty he owes to his many subjects is pointed out by the others. And it almost breaks him. A good lesson maybe for any readers who chafe against anonymity. It does have its benefits.

4) Lucy's temptation to repeat a spell from the magician's book, to impart overwhelming physical beauty is easy to understand. Her underlying resentment about Susan being regarded as the pretty one of their family is nearly her undoing. I get the feeling Lucy's misery is kept low key, since we don't talk about such things, but it clearly simmers away, as that sort of bitterness tends to do. She's sick and tired of feeling herself to be small and overlooked. Luckily Lucy resists, but even so she weakens enough to repeat another spell to discover what her friends truly think about her. It doesn't end well, and Aslan makes sure Lucy realises that what others think of us is their own business, and none of ours. It's a murky domain to try to infiltrate, so best left alone.

5) I love the dramatic entrance of Ramandu, the elderly retired star, and his lovely daughter. Especially when Eustace comments, 'In our world, a star is a huge ball of flaming gas,' and Ramandu replies, 'Even in your world, my son, that is not what a star is, but only what it is made of.' Yes! I feel Lewis is having a shot here at reductionism, in which practical minds seek to take the magic out of everything by reducing it to its basic scientific components. Although spiritual significance is invisible to measurable technology, it's no less powerful, and should never be negated or explained away. Eustace can always be relied upon to voice the practical aspect of anything, but he learns that there's another aspect as he goes, and has come a long way by the end. 

6) The quest alone is a good one. It's interesting how each of the seven missing lords ends up being accounted for.  

7) The heavenly descriptions of the environment the Dawn Treader passes through as they get further east than anyone has ever before is mind-blowing. It includes intensely bright light which is cleansing rather than piercing, wonderful, light-infused fresh water, birds that appear angelic and a fragrant type of white lily that floats on the sea.  

What I wasn't a fan of this time round.

1) There was basically nothing. This is an amazing book. But for the sake of saying something, perhaps the reason why Eustace becomes a dragon in the first place is sort of vague. We're told, 'Sleeping on a dragon's hoard, with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his head, he had become a dragon himself.' That seems a bit of an inadequate explanation, and very convenient for the plot, even in Narnia and the surrounding seas. But I'm willing to go with it, and even assume that the other, elderly dragon was indeed Lord Octesian, who presumably got transformed in a similar manner.

Having said this, I've got to add that I love the description of how it dawns on poor Eustace that he actually was a dragon. 

2) Maybe it would have come across an even more powerful incident if we'd read about the shedding of the dragon skin first hand, rather than just getting Eustace's second hand report of what happened when he describes it to Edmund. Hmm, not sure. 

Some Great Quotes. 

There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it. (What a brilliant, classic opening line.) 

It is very unpleasant to have to go cautiously when there is a voice inside you saying all the time, 'Hurry, hurry!' 

Eustace had read only the wrong books. They had a lot to say about exports and imports, governments and drains, but they were weak on dragons. 

Edmund: Between ourselves, you haven't been as bad as I was on my first trip to Narnia. You were only an ass, but I was a traitor. (And kudoes to Eustace for not pressing Edmund to find out more.) 

Lucy (to Edmund and Caspian): Oh, stop it, you two. That's the worst of doing anything with boys. You're all such swaggering, bullying idiots! (Whoa, that's the way you deal with the bad behaviour of two kings.) 

Lucy: 'Please Aslan, what do you call soon?' Aslan: 'I call all time soon.'

Eustace: 'Do you know him (Aslan)?' Edmund: 'Well... he knows me.' 

Reepicheep: Use, Captain? If by use you mean filling our bellies or our purses, I confess it will be no use at all. So far as I know, we did not set sail to look for things useful but to seek honour and adventure. 

Stick around, because next will be The Silver Chair 

'Jo's Boys' by Louisa May Alcott

Here is the final book in the March family series. The boy students in Little Men (read my review here) are now ten years older and forging their paths in the world, while Jo and Fritz Bhaer anxiously watch to gauge whether or not they've lived up to their full potential. Some of the young men venture far from home, and we follow their stories. I think Emil's is the most exciting, Dan's is the most emotional and Nat's is the most relatable. Meanwhile, there is now a big University on the grounds of Plumfield, for those who choose to stay behind. 

Okay, this write-up is going to be a bit gossipy, because by now we're familiar with all the Marches, Bhaers and Brookes, and there are so many divergent threads, I find it's the easiest way to write it. Here goes. 

What struck me this time round, both good and bad.

1) There's a fair bit of romance in this book, but in the spirit of the original Jo and Laurie thread, Alcott still shipwrecks a few budding relationships that appeared promising. (For the record, I was never upset about Jo and Laurie's failure to launch, but I can't deny Alcott led astray thousands of readers who shipped them.) But hooray, she does give us Daisy and Nat, for which I'm grateful, because they're adorable together and perfectly suited. And she introduces new love interests for Franz, Emil, Demi and Tommy. 

2) The biggest hypocrite award goes to Meg. (Don't worry, I'm half joking here.) As we know, she once had yearnings to pursue an acting career, and eventually married a poor man for love. Yet when it comes to her own daughters, she opposes the idea of Daisy marrying a charity case like Nat, and also resists young Josie's fascination with the stage. Hoping that Meg will change her mind is one of the main themes for the Brooke girls, who lived in an era when dutiful daughters obeyed their mothers implicitly.  

3) Dan continues to make me feel as if he's been transplanted from a different story altogether, with his restless energy and violent outbursts. The power of genetics comes through, as Alcott gives the impression that the shadow of his restless, dissolute father still hovers over his life, although Dan never even knew the guy. It's clever how she writes it this way, and Dan remains one of her most interesting characters. The little touch of thwarted love at the end breaks my heart for him, although I'm convinced that what he wanted would never have worked in a million years! 

4) The chapter entitled, 'Jo's Last Scrape' is clearly autobiographical. Louisa shows us Jo experiencing the nineteenth century version of annoying paparazzi and crazy fans. She aims to reveal the impossible juggling act it is to please the public and also look after her own well-being, because all the seemingly harmless demands on her time amount to an ocean rather than a trickle. On the last page of the story, the narrator suddenly gets a bit snarky and says she wishes she could destroy Plumfield in an earthquake with everyone in it. Ouch, I suspect Louisa was barely keeping a lid on her real life frustration at this point. 

5) One character who impresses me most is young Rob, who's grown up to be a modest and dependable young man, helping both parents with tedious paperwork chores behind the scenes with no expectation of fanfare or back pats. For me, he compares favourably to some of the more showy, noisy or indulged characters. (Ahem, his younger brother and two youngest girl cousins.) Laurie and Amy's daughter Bess is nicknamed 'Princess' without the negative connotations the word contains today, yet some modern readers probably can't help filling them in. I was sure tempted to. 

6) I can't help agreeing with Dan when he says that Bess, the princess, should explore the scope of her own country before dashing off overseas to sketch the beauties of Rome. Whether or not you agree with his view that all of the stone gods and goddesses are a bit namby-pamby, he makes a fair point. 

7) Laurie and Amy were richer than a wedding cake! Nat and Dan felt grateful and obligated to them for their financial backing, and rightfully so, yet I can't help remembering that Laurie's prosperity was a benefit from his family line. In a way, it was the luck of the cosmic draw that he was born into big money rather than them. He and Amy lived in a mansion and also owned a flash holiday home near Miss Cameron, their era's version of a movie star, with whom they were on friendly visiting terms. And Laurie's purse seemed to be bottomless! Supporting far less fortunate young men in their chosen professions was barely scraping it. No wonder he was such a good natured, jolly uncle character. He could afford to be.  

8) The two dreamy/thinking boys come out well. Demi's thread is interesting. Unlike his twin sister, he resists falling in with plans his mother and other older relatives concocted for his life long ago. All through Little Men, it looked as if everyone expected him to be a minister, but he chooses to be a journalist instead, and later gets into the publishing industry. And Nat fulfills his promise to become a polished musician, even though Jo often seems to denigrate him in her secret heart and consider him a bit of a weakling. I was tired of that, and really wanted him to show her. 

9) Jack and Ned, who hardly get a mention in the this story, are regarded as Plumfield's two 'failures.' Yet we're told that Jack fulfilled his youthful ambition of becoming a businessman and raking in the dough, so I guess that in his own books, he was a smashing success. It's all relative, hey? 

10) Alcott's writing is dense with other references. Reading her novels could be an education in itself, if we bother to follow all her leads. She frequently refers to the classics, or to other authors from her own time period who most modern readers are not so familiar with. It appears that Louisa expected her peers, like Charlotte Yonge, to remain timeless, yet her own name has endured for longer. 

I followed a few of the more interesting sounding ones and found it well worth my time. For example, she referred to Emil as their own 'Casabianca' and I traced the reference to Felicity Hemans, the old-timer who wrote the original 'Boy Stood on the Burning Deck' poem, which has been paradied and butchered for decades. That was a 'Wow' moment for me, and to find out what Emil has in common with the boy who stood on the burning deck, you'll have to read Jo's Boys.  

I guess this review or gossip-fest or whatever you'd choose to call it has gone on for long enough, but Jo's Boys is such a tying-up-of-ends sort of book encompassing so many characters, I couldn't help myself. 

My final word is that I enjoyed the whole series and recommend it thoroughly.  

Further Update: I couldn't get enough of Jo's Boys, so I decided to begin writing a chapter story of my own, featuring some of her beloved characters on a fan fiction site. If you'd like to read my companion novel, entitled Longing For Home, click here. It is totally canon compliant, and I've tried to thresh out the story threads of Emil and Mary, and Nat and Daisy.