Roses in Literature

Is anything else quite like a rose? They are likely to appear somewhere on the top ten of anyone's favourite flower list, if not the very first. No doubt this is because they please our senses. They look gorgeous, their petals are soft and silky, and their distinctive scent is not only heavenly but different for each colour. Yet their thorny stems give them an unpleasant side, as anyone who's ever been pricked can testify. Since I've had my fair share of bleeding fingers from vase accidents, I've decided roses are a lot like people. There is both good and bad, nasty and nice, lurking within the same individual. And this dual character emerges in our favourite stories.  

I'll start off with some romantic rose incidents to make us heave sighs of contentment.  

Wives and Daughters

The sweet heroine Molly Gibson presents a rose to Roger Hamley, the young man she has secretly loved for many years. He's about to depart on a long scientific expedition to Africa and it's a farewell gesture. Tragically, the author Elizabeth Gaskell died suddenly before writing the final chapter. But she'd revealed to her publisher that she intended for Roger to bring the dried rose back to Molly, as proof of his deep and enduring affection for her. (My review is here.)

Romeo and Juliet

 This play's famous line about roses has reached proverb status. It's Juliet's heartfelt declaration to Romeo that his belonging to the despised Montague clan means nothing to her, for wouldn't a rose by any other name smell as sweet? Technically, Juliet is probably correct, which accounts for the fame of her speech. But some people argue that the phonetic sound of words does count for something, hence roses may indeed lose an edge of their charm if they were called skunkweeds or cabbages. I'm never drawn into philosophical disputes of this nature, since neither side tends to back down and both seem to present a fair case. 

Jo's Boys

It's the final novel of Louisa May Alcott's famous series. Meg's son, Demi Brooke, offers his sweetheart Alice Heath three white roses in the form of a tight bud, a half unfurled flower and a full-blown beauty. He writes a note inviting her to pin one or more of them on her dress at a busy function, to silently signal whether or not she might be inclined to accept his marriage proposal. Or if we're really splitting hairs, this actually is his marriage proposal, and the presence of the roses will be her reply. Cop-out or not, it's a lovely chapter in an entertaining book. (Here is my chat/review)

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

This Anne Bronte novel is regarded as one of the earliest and most influential feminist texts. Toward the end, heroine Helen Huntingdon virtually proposes marriage to Gilbert Markham, the man she loves. She plucks a half blown winter rose and offers it to him, declaring that since it has withstood hardships of its own which no summer flower could possibly bear, this rose represents herself. She explains it in such a meaningful way, he'd be a blockhead not to twig. In this way, Helen shows that a woman can make a bold and decisive move in a tasteful and thoughtful manner. (My review is here.)

Okay, now for some other stories which highlight a more sinister or negative side of roses. I guess we may claim that these authors have chosen to emphasize the thorns. 

Alice in Wonderland

Everyone knows the Queen of Hearts will lose her cool big time, because her gardeners have accidentally planted white roses, but she wanted red. Now the poor guys are hurrying to paint them fast, to avoid having their heads snipped off. This incident has become a great analogy for any time somebody attempts to hide the truth or cut corners. (Here's my visual write-up about hanging with Alice)

Moby Dick

Captain Ahab has declared war on the big white whale, but whenever the good ship Pequod encounters another vessel, it's such a rare occurrence the crew record it with great significance. The stinkiest whaling ship they ever come across is named The Rosebud, and it's full of rotten fish carcasses. Surely this is Herman Melville's way of pointing out that names and reputations can be deceptive. (My review is here)

A Tale of Two Cities

The formidable Madame Defarge always adds a rose to her hat to signify the presence of possible spies or supporters of the French monarchy to her cutthroat band of revolutionaries. In this manner, she deceptively uses an object of great beauty for shady or hostile purposes. Madame Defarge trusts that nobody will ever figure her system out, and nobody does, because a lovely rose disarms everybody. So take care folks! (Here is my review)

Beauty and the Beast

This classic fairy tale ends well, but its famous rose causes devastation at the start. A loving merchant plucks a beautiful rose to bring home to his precious daughter, because it's the only treat she requested. Alas, he chooses the wrong person's garden to snip from. That rose tears a family apart. Poor Belle is estranged from her father and forced to live as a prisoner of the beast in whose garden it grew.  

So those are my choice of several books focusing on some of the best of worst moments of this most classic flower, and I love them all. But my favourite rose story of all combines both petals and thorns in a masterly manner.

Imagine a drumroll please ...

The Little Prince

The charming titular character has left behind a dear friend on his tiny planet, who he adores although sometimes she annoys him chronically. It's a beautiful rose, who is believed to represent the real life woman loved by the author, Antoine de Saint-Exupery. In the story, the Little Prince assumes his own rose friend is unique, and he's deeply crestfallen to discover that there are millions of others just like her on planet earth. But after some reflection, he decides that his own friend really is as totally special as he first thought, because she is his rose. It's one of the loveliest reminders to treasure our friends and family because of all we've been through together. (More in my review.)

My take-away from roses is that we must be gracious enough to accept the bad along with the good. Sure, we can enjoy their beauty and fragrance, but we must be prepared to take their thorns in our stride too, for they are part of the rose's nature. And if we extend this understanding to a flower, let's do it with our fellow humans too. Now, over to you.  If you can think of any other memorable story incidents involving roses spring to mind, do leave a comment.      

The Blog that won't Die

Although I love it, I get discouraged with this blog at times. I'm preparing to commence a new semester of study, and find myself regretting the time I'll need to pour into assignments that I won't be able to devote to blogging. Then I reflect how many hundreds of hours I've poured into this blog for comparatively little return by several measures based on engagement. Mine is a simple book discussion blog that doesn't earn money, and I'm not tech- savvy enough to optimise search engines and promote it online. Nor will I ever be. And I know nobody really reads it anyway. (I'm talking about this general sense of nobody, and definitely not loyal followers!) 

My inner critic has been known to chip in with accusations such as, 'waste of time,' and 'self-indulgent.' 

Recently with all this churning through my mind, I put a question out on Instagram asking my followers, who are mostly all bookworms, whether or not they read and follow blogs. An overwhelming majority responded no, because there is so much demand for their limited focus in our complex twenty-twenties. Although they like the idea, they simply can't justify the time and attention it would take to interrupt the flow of their day by clicking on the link. A small minority of respondents said they do love reading blogs and always set aside a slab of time for it, but alas, they aren't people who follow this one. 

So there was the sober truth. I totally understand the feedback, and even buy into it to some extent. I follow fewer blogs myself than I did in the early 2000s, knowing full well that even one extra regular one may nudge me over into the realm of skimming and hurrying-up, which is not in the spirit of a good blog devotee. Several people believe that blogs have had their day, and are now very 'nineties.' All this feedback convinced me that I needed to pull the plug on this one once and for all. It's been on life support a few times in the past, when I struggled to see the point of all the hard work. So I decided it was well and truly time to cut the cord this time, and I was convinced I meant it. 

But no! Dammit, this blog will live on, even though I've faced up to all these facts. The 'Goodbye' post I planned will not be happening.

It turns out the habit of thinking with my notepad is too deeply ingrained now. I really enjoy rambling on about books. Every so often I get a bit of encouraging feedback, or find a link to one of my posts while I'm scrolling through the internet. Those unexpected surprises are like a shot of adrenaline in the arm. Sometimes people really do stumble across my thoughts here, and this sort of serendipitous discovery will most likely happen for many years to come. 

I honestly think that quitting would be throwing out the baby with the bathwater at this stage. Instead, I've faced up to the fact that my drive to continue is different from the reasons that drove me to keep a blog in the past, which were all tied up with self-promotion and community. As an outreach or popular site, this blog might be a bit of a flop. (Okay, it surely is. Might as well be honest, even if honesty is brutal.) But as a chance to have some fun, figure out what I think about specific books, leave a record for my own sake, or come up with some unusual common ground shared by disparate books, it's been a smashing success. Perhaps hugely enjoying something is reason enough to keep on going anyway.

Besides, I honestly believe it helps my mental health too. For decades, I've been subject to some ruthless anxiety complexes which really mess up my psyche if I let them run rife. My anxiety episodes work like this. A horrible intrusive suggestion or thought will pop into my mind and I'll ruminate on it for weeks, scaring myself silly, unless I remind myself that a mere thought does not necessarily mirror reality in any way whatsoever. And distracting myself by thinking and writing about beautiful literature and stories is often a good weapon in my arsenal against these anxious thoughts.       

So although I'm surprised myself, this blog is off the chopping block. I'll have to ease off working on it in term times though. I'm not one of those people who can spread my attention super thin. My course content is meant to fill approximately 30 hours per week, and it probably will. But I have enough book related content up my sleeve to share for this second half of the year. I intend to focus mostly on more re-reads of some of the wholesome, lovely classics of my youth for the remainder of 2021. 

I guess we could consider this a bit of a cockroach blog. Even when I think I've whacked all enthusiasm out of it with my rolled up newspaper of proof and stats, it keeps coming back to life. 

But nope, I don't fancy the imagery of cockroaches for this beloved blog. I think I'll call it a phoenix blog instead, because it keeps rising from the ashes of discouragement and defeat. I'm sure there'll be many more fun posts in the future. And if you've stuck with me, I sincerely thank you for your fondness for it, and hope you'll continue.    

'Persuasion' by Jane Austen

Twenty-seven-year old Anne Elliot is Austen's most adult heroine. Eight years before the story proper begins, she is happily betrothed to a naval officer, Frederick Wentworth, but she precipitously breaks off the engagement when persuaded by her friend Lady Russell that such a match is unworthy. The breakup produces in Anne a deep and long-lasting regret. When later Wentworth returns from sea a rich and successful captain, he finds Anne's family on the brink of financial ruin and his own sister a tenant in Kellynch Hall, the Elliot estate. All the tension of the novel revolves around one question: Will Anne and Wentworth be reunited in their love?

MY THOUGHTS:

This could well be Jane Austen's most romantic novel of all. It's all about missed opportunities and the slim possibility of a second chance when it seems all bridges are burned. Anne Elliot is a quiet young woman who was persuaded by her trusted mentor, Lady Russell, to break off her engagement to a young man named Frederick Wentworth. But that was before he became Captain Wentworth, a great naval success. It's now eight years later, and Anne hasn't lived a day without major regret, for she realises he was the love of her life. 

Now he's back in town, because his sister and her hubby have just become tenants in Anne's ancestral home. Captain Wentworth is still the same hot heartthrob she remembers, but it's clear he hasn't forgotten how she reneged on their engagement. He's now a resentful hot heartthrob who knows how to snub a girl, which Anne finds most formidable. 

For his part, Wentworth almost gets more than he bargains for in his search for a girl who isn't such a pushover. Louisa Musgrove fits that bill and seems to be into him. A headstrong, stubborn and pushy young lady seems like a welcome change, but he discovers that girls who stick to their guns may create problems for themselves of a different nature. (I remember visiting the stairs down to the beach at Lyme Regis during my long-ago British holiday, and stopping to reflect that's where Louisa took her plummet.) The whole Lyme Regis incident was pretty cool, but I was sorry not to see the return of Louisa to the pages again after that. 

There's a lot to love in this story. I enjoyed how Anne mentions the limitations of the patriarchal society she belongs to. It's in the scene when she debates with Captain Harville about whether guys or girls have the most constant and loyal hearts. Here's my paraphrase. Harville attempts to win the argument by saying in effect, 'Whatever you say, great works of literature are on my side, because they prove that men harbour stronger feelings and nurse broken hearts, while women are as fickle as the breeze. So there.' And Anne replies, 'Well, duh, we can take great works of literature with a grain of salt since they're all written by guys.' 

Three cheers for Jane Austen, for doing her part to correct the balance. 

She horrifies me at times though. Here's what the narrator has to say about Dick Musgrove, a young man who died aboard one of Wentworth's ships. 'The Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome, hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his twentieth year; that he'd been sent to sea because he was so stupid and unmanageable on shore.' Ouch, Jane, that's a bit rough! If the twenty-first century has become a time of sugar coating and treading carefully to avoid causing any offence, I prefer it to the Regency era alternative. 

But there's a whole range of shocking, straight speaking characters, including Anne's peacock-vain dad, Sir Walter Elliot, who always vocalises impressions others may just think. People's physical attractiveness is one of his favourite topics. Sir Walter goes way above and beyond what the average person would even notice, when you take on board some of his very personal observations, and his opinion that very few people are actually what he'd consider tolerably attractive. He objects to naval men in general for a start, because the sun and wind have wreaked such havoc on their complexions and skin elasticity.  

Overall, it's satisfying to read how Anne and Wentworth are reconciled, including the great, hastily scribbled letter he's become famous for. Anne, and Jane Austen herself, must have considered him the complete package. At one stage we're told, 'Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Wentworth in manners, was a perfect gentleman, unaffected, warm and obliging.' Huh, does that mean we're supposed to believe that Wentworth surpassed perfection?

I would've liked a little more of Louisa and Captain Benwick for full marks, and maybe even Henrietta and Charles Hayter. But still, a good read guaranteed. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½ 

  

'Under His Spell' by Luv Lubker

A lonely young man attends the first World’s Fair – the Great Exhibition of 1851 – and meets a family who changes his life forever.
Follow the young Prince Fritz – later Friedrich III – of Prussia and his wife, Queen Victoria’s eldest daughter, Vicky, through their courtship and the joys and struggles of their first four years of marriage.
Fritz and Vicky dream of a peaceful united Germany, but Fritz’s uncle Karl has his own dreams of power…

MY THOUGHTS: 

This is a thoroughly well researched story based on the life of Queen Victoria's eldest child, a talented, smart and artistic girl who was known as Vicky. Starting with her childhood, it moves to her meeting with her future husband, Fritz of Prussia, a shy young man who bore scars from his upbringing. He came to visit the British Royal Family during London's Great Exhibition of 1851. He was destined to become Friedrich III of Prussia, was nine years Vicky's senior, but hit it off with her instantly. 

The tight community of royal families across the face of Britain and Europe made the world seem very small, but still huge for a teenager who had to move faraway to a foreign court full of corruption. Her sensitive husband had a bevy of frightening relatives, including his villainous and creepy Uncle Charles. 

Lots of life anecdotes are woven into this long tale, plenty of skeletons in closets are revealed or hinted at and dirty linen aired. There's an unsettling theme regarding hypnotism that keeps us turning pages. The author's fascinating take on what might have happened during those early years of Vicky's marriage, especially regarding the conception of her second child, Princess Charlotte, is easy to be drawn into. And it's all tied together with undisputed truth, including Vicky's good relationship with her dad, Prince Albert, and the unfortunate nerve damage to the arm of her son and heir, Prince Wilhelm, during a traumatic birth. 

I knew nothing of most of this, and now have great respect for Vicky, the English princess who became Crown Princess of Prussia. Her role was definitely not easy, since she had to bear the burden of much unpleasantness set in motion long before her birth. A bit of culture shock was the least of her problems. Vicky sure deserves to be the heroine of a book, in her brave attempt not to be a pawn, while she's trying to figure out exactly what's going on in the new court she must call home.

I was curious enough to google photos of Princess Vicky and her family, which enhanced my enjoyment of the story. For a girl who was said to be reasonably plain in her own era, yet still prettier than her mother (and whenever Queen Victoria appeared in the story, I couldn't help thinking of the grim old images we've surely all seen of her), I thought Vicky's photos were charming, and also touching in light of what I learned about her hard and challenging life.  

I do recommend getting out a pen at the outset, to make a list of characters. There was such a complex mesh of royal relationships across Europe and a lot of people bearing the same name may elevate the confusion, especially at first. There's nothing the author could have done about this. It was just the way it was. But pushing through is well worth it.

Disclaimer: Thanks to the author for sending me a copy to review. All my opinions are genuine and honest. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟  

'The Silver Chair' by C.S. Lewis

Or 'The One with the Lost Prince'

Caution: A few minor plot spoilers may lurk beneath the discussion points. 

I'd forgotten what a meaningful and very cool quest tale this is. 

Eustace Scrubb is back in Narnia, this time with his school friend, Jill Pole. Several Narnian decades have lapsed since his first visit, and the boy King Caspian is now a very old man. Eustace and Jill have been given the task to track down his missing son, Prince Rilian, heir to the throne. They'll have to embark on a dangerous journey to the north beyond the land of the giants. Puddleglum, a pessimistic marsh-wiggle who lives in a swamp, agrees to be their guide. 

What I loved even more than before

1) This seems to be the only intentional, human-induced whisking off to Narnia on record, so to speak. Eustace and Jill actually set up quite an elaborate ritual by requesting to be taken, at a most vulnerable moment when they're both fed up with bullies and their depressing co-ed school. I guess we can regard the result as an act of grace, for Eustace knows full well that nobody can order Aslan about. They can only ask. It turns out to be a wooing from the other side, too. Before long, Aslan tells Jill,'You would not have called me unless I had been calling you.' 

2) Many of Lewis' girls are feisty, and Jill has a particularly abrasive streak that makes me smile. Her prickly pride and disposition to show off is the reason why Eustace falls off the cliff at the outset, and if it had been a normal plummet as she thought, she would have killed him! All through the story, she keeps a secret eye on Eustace's reactions, forever comparing them to her own. If she feels she comes out better, she gets a tickle of pride. But if he appears to come out top, she's quite woebegone. There's always an attitude of something to prove, if only to herself. She's quite a character.

3) I totally understand the distracting effect on both children as soon as they hear about Harfang, the supposed oasis of the gentle giants, where they will enjoy fantastic hospitality. They can think of nothing but the short term comforts of soft beds, tasty food and warm fires. I don't blame them in the least after their cold trek, but Lewis' point is clear. Temporal comfort wins the day with Jill and Eustace. They stop looking at the bigger picture, completely sidetracked by the quick fixes they're anticipating. They forget to rehearse the signs Aslan has given them to keep their minds on the quest to find Prince Rilian. It's his little nudge for any of us inclined to forget the broader picture of our lives and goals. (And in the case of our little trio, they were lucky to escape with their lives.) 

4) The description of the underworld is wonderful! Their descent puts us readers right in the picture so we can almost see the weird forms of growth, smell the dank, close earth and experience the hush of the solemn underground city. And their ascent later on is most tense and eventful.

5) The chapter with the titular Silver Chair is among my favourites of any story ever. What a conflict of interests! What a test of faith! What a convincing appearance of extenuating circumstances! How easily they could have reasoned their way out of obeying Aslan's final directive to them. What curly plot twists, and final proof that enchantment was indeed happening, but just not the way they expected. Aslan did warn them that it's important to know the signs by heart and pay no attention to appearances. But how close they came to being sucked in.  

6) Directly after this is the brilliant incident in which the green witch does her best to convince them that the world they know so well is a mere dream. She uses the old trick of trying to make them believe there is no reality beyond what their physical senses can make out from their limited environment. This mirrors another theological lesson of Lewis'. Because we can't detect a greater realm than planet earth with our tangible senses, some people are convinced that such speculations are akin to fairy tales. And Jill, Eustace, Puddleglum and Rilian almost succumb to the same reasoning. 

7) I like how Rilian and even Eustace are so keen to venture down to the land of Bism at the world's bottom, with the tempting gnome Golg as their guide. It's clearer to them later that it's just pride and hankering for personal glory that caused them to delay their all-important trip back toward the world's surface. Just because something sounds awesome, doesn't mean we should drop everything and do it. 

8) Puddleglum!! What a hero and legend. I wish I had a marsh-wiggle for a friend. I read that Lewis based him on his long-term gardener and friend, F.W. Paxford, who he described as, 'an inwardly optimistic, outwardly pessimistic, dear, frustrating, shrewd countryman of immense integrity.' 

9) This is just a speculation of mine, but I'm sure if Lewis were alive, he would think the whole world has turned crazy like Experiment House, that up-to-date school he considered so dodgy. He drops several hints in the form of little digs. For example, Eustace and Jill are bemused when referred to as a Son of Adam and Daughter of Eve, because their school curriculum includes no teaching about Adam and Eve. And later, both kids bow to the giants of Harfang, because Jill hasn't been taught to curtsey in her environment of equal opportunity. Whatever we might think of our current PC era, I'm pretty sure Lewis wouldn't have been a fan.  

10) Caspian's death scene is one of the finest and most uplifting I've come across. 

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

1) Okay, although I love Eustace and Jill, I feel this begs to be said. All through the story, the real hero of the quest turns out to be Puddleglum. It is always he who makes the wisest decisions, and refuses to succumb to the human weaknesses of his two young companions. So as far as the quest is concerned, why not simply assign the saving of Prince Rilian to the marsh-wiggle in the first place? Jill and Eustace might as well have stayed home. They were a liability to Puddleglum in the same way he was a benefit to them. I would have loved to see these two come up with some heroic stuff off their own bats and save the day just once. As it was, they were just along for the ride for the most part. 

2) I was a bit disappointed that at no point did Aslan address Jill's automatic habit of comparing herself to Eustace every step of the way. I'd expected the great lion to help her confront this default reaction of hers and learn to stop the pointless game of comparison. It would have been fun to read.

Some great quotes  

Puddleglum: We've done the silliest thing in the world by coming here at all, but now that we're here, we'd best put a bold face on it. (At the giants' doorstep.)

Giant King: After them, or we'll have no man pie tomorrow.

Witch: Your sun is a dream, and there is nothing in that dream that was not copied from the lamp. The lamp is the real thing, the sun is but a tale; a children's tale. 

Witch: You have seen lamps, so you imagined a bigger, better lamp and called it the sun. You've seen cats, and now you want a bigger, better cat and it is to be a lion. Well, it's a pretty make-believe, though to say truth, it would suit you all better if you were younger. Look how you can put nothing into your make-believe without copying it from the real world, this world of mine, which is the only world.

Puddleglum: Supposed we have only dreamed or made up all those things - trees and grass and sun and moon and Aslan himself. Then in that case, the made up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that's a funny thing when you come to think of it. We're just babies making up a game, if you're right. But four babies playing a game can make a play world which licks your read world hollow. That's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side, even if there is no Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can, even if there is no Narnia

Narnia's oldest dwarf: And the lesson of all is, your Highness, that those Northern Witches always mean the same thing, but in every age they have a different plan for getting it.    

Stick around, because we'll soon conclude with The Last Battle.