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.  

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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.'

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