2023 Top Ten Wrap-Up

It's hard to believe another year is almost done and dusted. I'm happy with my reading and reflections throughout 2023 and I've also ticked off enough Creative Writing and Communication subjects at Tabor College to acquire my Graduate Diploma. At the end of each year I re-assess whether I should keep this blog going, since it's time consuming. The same twofold reason makes me say YES again. Since I'm always writing anyway, it's another good outlet for me to hone my craft and rave about books at the same time, which I've loved doing from the time I was tiny.  

Here, in no particular order, are the ten shining lights of 2023, from among the 50+ books I read and reviewed. Please click on the titles, for my reviews of each. 

1) Demon Copperhead. Barbara Kingsolver's award-winning retelling of Dickens' classic novel ticks every box. It's a modern mirror in every way. The young hero Damon Fields is arguably even more charismatic than his model, David Copperfield. And this story's counterparts to Dickens' other characters make me smile and prove that human nature doesn't change. (This was a library book and therefore not in my stack photo.) 

2) Little Dorrit. This year's pick from Dickens himself has put the grim Marshalsea Prison on the map of places to visit while in London. The story aimed to show the corrupting and personality-changing influence of big money, especially in the form of sudden windfalls. It is also full of deeply buried family secrets and sudden disaster.

3) Adam Bede. More Victorian drama, this time from George Eliot. I appreciate her charming pastoral touches and her pioneer spirit in venturing to focus on working class families, rather than the gentry who were normally highlighted in novels of her era. Eliot's books are valuable historical documents as well as excellent stories. This one is all about the huge impact of youthful indiscretions and the struggle to earn back trust once it is lost.

4) Treasures of the Snow. The snowy mountains of Switzerland make a great backdrop for this juvenile tale of unforgiveness and revenge. The main girl and boy, Annette and Lucien, are both excellent protagonists-cum-antagonists. And their two elderly mentors, Annette's grandmother and Lucien's unlikely friend, the gruff old man of the mountain, drop some truly wise lines we are never too old to take to heart. 

5) The Man Who was Thursday G.K. Chesterton's teeming and colourful imagination brings us a fanciful, picaresque version of his own turn-of-the-century London. Gabriel Syme is a double-agent opposed to anarchy who completely misrepresents the characters of his fellow agents, who are all named after the days of the week. 

6) Oliver Twist. I read two Dickens titles this year and they both make it onto my annual Best-Of list. This sweet and humble 11-year-old finds himself the pivot around which all types of low-life from the London underworld swarm. And they all have their reasons. He's in almost too deep to be rescued for the peaceful, respectable lifestyle which he craves.

7) The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. This must be my year for finally catching up with famous classics about exceptional boys. This is an amazing tale about a misguided morality issue, and the 13-year-old whose heart prompts him to do the right thing, while his conscience accuses him of doing serious wrong. The great Mississippi River forms the backdrop of the action. 

8) The Grapes of Wrath. Anger is a great prompt for social justice, when the right person wields his pen. John Steinbeck was furious enough about the plight of the displaced tenant farmers who were forced interstate to find work during the Great Depression to create the ultimate Dust Bowl novel. Several members of the down-and-out Joad family have become mouthpieces and icons of a movement which was just ripe to happen. Especially Ma, the family cornerstone; and Tom, the straight-talker with his heart for revolution. 

9) The Happy Prisoner. I read this one way back in January and it's remained in my Top Ten all year. Oliver North, a young war veteran who has lost his leg, narrates this story from his bed where he's recuperating surrounded by quirky family members. The fact that his voice held me captive throughout the novel proves that any modest setting will suffice for a truly witty and winning personality to shine. And we can benefit from Oliver's hands-on revelations about busting bad moods. 

10) The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. The more I read over the conversations of these impressionable, adventurous, superstitious and energetic boys, the more waves of nostalgia wash over me. We don't have to have been alive in the mid-1800s to remember how seriously we took our play-acting before we hit High School. If we have forgotten, I reckon the chats of Tom's gang will whiz us back decades.   

So those are my ten top reads of 2023 and when I looked over my spread of options, they were all clear stand-outs.  

Honourable Mention - Spare I'm giving this controversial memoir a quick plug because when I revisited all this year's books, I re-read my prediction that it might be among my top ten reads. Sorry Harry, it's not even close. Yet if I extended my list to 15 or 20 it might be a contender. In spite of all the flak he got for writing it, I can see how Prince Harry felt a humanitarian obligation to lift the lid on his disturbing lifestyle which made him an exhibit just for being born, and a magnet for the world's heartless media.   

Wooden Spoon - Naw, I won't be mean enough to award one this year.     

 I wish you all happy reading and holidays as we swing into 2024. I'll touch base early in January with my plans for this blog in the year to come. 

'Hercule Poirot's Christmas' by Agatha Christie

I never planned to review two Agatha Christie novels back to back on two consecutive weeks, but hey, it's Christmas week. It seemed a no-brainer to give the slot to this quick and entertaining Yuletide murder. 

MY THOUGHTS:  

This could be called catastrophe at Christmas time.

Simeon Lee is a detestable old man who invites his adult sons and their wives home to Gorston Hall for a Christmas family reunion, seemingly out of sudden sentimentality in his old age. But really it's to insult them, set them off against each other and enjoy the resulting mayhem. This is arguably a book about reaping what we sow. Old Simeon gets what's coming to him in one of Agatha Christie's more gruesome murder scenes. 

At the start, Christie dedicates this mystery to her brother-in-law, James, who'd joked that her crime scenes were getting a bit anemic in his opinion and needed the occasional brutal bloodbath to spice them up. Agatha hoped this would tick his boxes. She has Simeon Lee's throat cut with a loud, spine-chilling scream and blood spattered over upturned furniture and smashed ornaments. And when the family burst in on the scene, Simeon Lee's daughter-in-law, Lydia, quotes Lady Macbeth when she remarks, 'Who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.' 

Of course it's almost farcical that Lydia would have been cool and collected enough to drop such a corny line at such a shocking moment, rather than just a one-word oath or a scream. I guess for Agatha it all compounded the effect of James' Christmas gift. 

In all honesty, this story is a seasonal melodrama from start to finish. The son characters are all typecast caricatures. Was the murderer Alfred, the gentle conformer who claims to love his dad? Or David, the sensitive artist who loathes his father because of the heartache inflicted on his gentle mother? How about George, the tubby politician whose parasitic lifestyle is threatened by Simeon? Or Harry, the flashy and arrogant Prodigal Son who throws his weight around with no scruples about who he offends? Could any of their wives possibly have committed a crime so appalling? Maybe it was Pilar, Simeon's only granddaughter, the bloodthirsty young woman with Spanish heritage from her other family connection. 

Police Superintendent Sugden is on the case and getting off to a thorough start of investigations. The Chief Constable, Colonel Johnson steps in to lend a hand, and his houseguest turns out to be none other than... drumroll... Hercule Poirot! 

The setting isn't as festive as I'd expected. There is not a decked-out tree or wreath in sight, although as the characters themselves point out, the savage slaughter of their patriarch dampens the jollity. I just thought some trimmings might have been put up beforehand, but perhaps if anyone had the nerve to hang a sprig of mistletoe anywhere near this resentful, brooding mob, it might have backfired badly and caused another murder. 

The colonel is initially surprised to be summoned to a murder scene at Christmas time, as he assumes no crimes take place in a holiday period of cheer and goodwill. Poirot argues that irritability brought on by overeating and subsequent indigestion makes Christmas a prime time for murder, because people who don't feel inclined to be amiable have put themselves under more of a strain to appear so. His conjecture seems spot-on with the Lee family. 

I was pleased with the revelation of the murderer. I'd truly been wondering how Christie could pull off her Wow! factor with such standard suspects, any of whom would elicit a 'Meh,' from me. She manages though. It's a cheeky and audacious effort by the crook, accidentally helped along by the red herring masquerades of certain others. Taken altogether, the whole set-up of this one is way over the top, but I think Agatha Christie knew a crime writer can get away with lots at Christmas time when readers are inclined to be more indulgent.

🌟🌟🌟    

'Murder at the Vicarage' by Agatha Christie

‘Anyone who murdered Colonel Protheroe,’ declared the parson, brandishing a carving knife above a joint of roast beef, ‘would be doing the world at large a favour!’ It was a careless remark for a man of the cloth. And one which was to come back and haunt the clergyman just a few hours later – when the colonel was found shot dead in the clergyman’s study. But as Miss Marple soon discovers, the whole village seems to have had a motive to kill Colonel Protheroe.

MY THOUGHTS: 

This is the first full length novel featuring Miss Marple and takes place in the village she calls home, St Mary Mead. The story is narrated by the vicar, Leonard Clement, who has a likeable blend of wisdom, curiosity and self-deprecation. He makes such wry observations as, 'I preceded to follow the example of the devil in quoting scripture for his own ends.' 

One of Len's church wardens, Colonel Lucius Protheroe, is discovered shot through the head in the study of the vicarage. The thing about Colonel Protheroe is that nobody really liked him, including his wife and daughter. Protheroe was a dour and outspoken advocate for a more militant Christianity, with far stronger punishment in the name of justice. Needless to say, that attitude got lots of people's backs up. 

He was also a tedious know-it-all. Dr Stone, the archaeologist, says, 'Because he had read a few books, he set himself up as an authority, against a man who has made a lifelong study of the subject.' We all know the type. Colonel Protheroe was one of those guys. 

Motives for Protheroe's murder are everywhere. In fact, several people recently stated that the world would be far better off without him, including the vicar himself. Len was using exaggerated hyperbole, which he regrets, especially after the murder took place in his own house. But presumably, some other person meant every word. 

At first I found it a stretch to believe that so many people would tell the vicar, of all people, that they wished the colonel would die. Surely it would make more sense for the real murderer not to say it outright at all. Miss Marple's nephew, Raymond West, agrees with me. He says, 'Of course, if your subconscious were really planning to do him in, it would never have allowed you to make that remark.' Does that general rule hold true for everyone who vocalised that wish? Hmm, maybe or maybe not. 

The rude and abrasive Inspector Slack is assigned to the case, but he has not half the skill of the modest but astute Miss Marple, whose favourite hobby is people watching. The twist, which only she manages to unravel, is very smart. Some slick and clever crime is uncovered.

As an interesting philosophical aside, the local GP, Dr Haydock muses that some poor criminals may have medical conditions that cause them to commit crimes they cannot really help. This was 1930 and nearly a century later, the issue of such accountability is still a bit of a grey area. Haydock is so passionate about the subject, I wonder if he was the mouthpiece for one of Dame Agatha's own hobby horses. 

We get to meet the illustrious Raymond West, who is often merely mentioned by his aunt in other stories. He's portrayed as one of those pretentious, down-his-nose literary authors. (The sort who writes poems with no capital letters.) 

I also found out what trencher salts and tazzas are; knowledge I never realised I lacked until now. Friends, don't assume you know the name of everything that may sit upon a table top.  

Overall, it's a great debut for a lovable sleuth, but a bit sad to think that such unlovable people as Colonel Protheroe exist in the world, not to mention filling church eldership roles. The ironic phrase, 'It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy,' fits him to a tee. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟

'The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn' by Mark Twain

As promised, I'm following up my reflections about Tom Sawyer with fresh ones about Huckleberry Finn. I knew it's generally regarded to be the superior book and looked forward to putting it to the test. 

MY THOUGHTS:

Whoa, I can see why this is regarded as one of the best anti-racial American classics ever written. What an unforgettable epiphany. 

This book immediately differs from The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Huckleberry Finn tells his story first person, which gives it an intimate touch that suits the soul-searching tussles awaiting him. Reading every line in Huck's unique vernacular really unites us with this boy. His keen intellect is hampered in expression by his lack of education, yet he still finds an eloquent way. 

At the conclusion of his friend Tom's story, we left our hero chafing under his own generous reward, which seems to him more like a stroke of misfortune. The Widow Douglas, grateful that young Huck saved her from the evil plans of Injun Joe, has resolved to adopt and 'sivilise' him. But her strict and nitpicky sister, Miss Watson, moves in and hijacks Operation Reform. It's all too much cultural overload for poor Huck. What's more, his sole source of respect in the eyes of other boys, his freedom, has been snatched away. 

Meanwhile, Huck contends with a dangerous obstacle that privileged boys like Tom wouldn't dream of; his drunken, abusive father. Mr Finn's redeeming qualities have been drowned in grog, if they ever existed to start with. Instead of feeling grateful and amazed that his son has been offered an opportunity for education, accommodation and stability with no strings attached, he burns with bitter resentment and makes it his goal to pull the plug on it. 'Pap' Finn is, perhaps, one of literature's biggest losers. And he really wants to get his grubby hands on Huck's proceeds of the treasure that was shared between him and Tom. 

Feeling like the meat in an incredibly explosive sandwich, it's no wonder poor Huck decides his only recourse is to fake his own death and run away. Bumping into Miss Watson's escaped slave, Jim, on Jackson's Island, is a happy accident. The pair of driven fugitives decide to team up and travel via the Mississippi River up north where Jim will be free and Huck will be unknown. 

Along the way, our boy realises that he bears an inbuilt moral code. Early on he professes never to see any personal benefit to the widow's concept of praying for the spiritual gifts, since all the generosity and thoughtfulness will flow to others rather than himself. So he stops praying. Yet whenever it comes to the crunch, Huck chooses empathy and compassion as his pilot light every time. This puts him in some gnarly ethical dilemmas, especially regarding his responsibility to Jim. 

A lifetime of social conditioning has convinced Huck that his sensitive and humane conscience is, in fact, immoral! He thinks that by following his compassionate instinct to help Jim escape, he's bringing down heavenly retribution on his own head. He even contemplates turning Jim in as the 'right' thing to do. 

 Shocking as it is for me to read how a boy can consider for one moment the corrupt lie that some human beings have the right to own others, in Huckleberry Finn's own mind he's committing grand larceny. Huck is projecting onto God the slave-owning mentality of the southern states before emancipation, which is all he's ever known. It's a huge hurdle for one lonely, poorly-educated 13-year-old to question the philosophy and theology that has always hummed around him. 

To him, it seems more logical to judge himself as corrupt and wicked for wanting to help, than to transfer that label to his formative social structure, including the stream of pastors, teachers, care-takers and Sunday school superintendents who have poked their noses into his life. It takes a rare individual to do as Huckleberry Finn does, and stick to his own sound moral compass, even when he believes it may be leading him off course and straight to hell. 

'Alright then, I'll go to hell,' may be the most profound line in the book. It's pure genius of Mark Twain, to have his southern boy-hero come to embrace a staunch abolitionist way of thinking off his own bat. 

This fascinating introspection is embedded in high adventure and run-ins with several other colourful characters. Jim himself has as many superstitious taboos as the biblical Pharisees had crazy laws, but runs rings around Huck's own father when it comes to a providing a loving presence in the boy's life. The antics of the 'Duke' and the 'King'; a pair of shameless conmen who latch onto our two travel companions, puts Huck's peace loving nature at odds with his need to take action. And although she's featured in just one chapter, I love the wisdom of Mrs Judith Loftus, the lady who calls Huck's bluff when he thinks he's assumed an excellent disguise. 

Finally, I can't sign off without griping about the Tom Sawyer factor. Whenever Tom steps into the picture, he's incredibly bossy and obnoxious. This kid's delusions of grandeur surely dwarf Mount Everest. He insists on acting out his fantasies, knowing full well his acquiescent friend Huck will eventually cave in to his outrageous demands. 

I was finally willing to overlook how Tom played on Aunt Polly's grief in the last book so he could walk in on his own funeral, but now he's gone too far. Tom is up to another heartless stunt for his own glory, with absolutely no scruples for the feelings of the anxious people he is stringing along. I don't know about other readers, but it frustrates me to see Jim humble himself to kowtow to such bizarre and childish behavior, and to see the quick-thinking and resourceful Huck revert back to his default role as this show-off's loyal sidekick. 

Bottom line now I've read both books - when it comes to Mark Twain's famous boy duo, much as I love the truly contemplative and heroic Huck, I kept wishing someone would deliver Tom a good punch in the face. 

(I'm getting psychological now, but I can't help thinking Tom gets envious when he hears all about Huck's real adventures, and feels the need to compensate by making himself ringleader of the most dramatic pretend ones he can invent, which just happens to involve manipulating other people and toying with Jim's life.) Anyway, the bromance which I thought so healthy in the first book has sadly taken a toxic turn, especially now we see Tom sweep Huck along for a cruel ride along with everyone else. 

Notwithstanding the Tom factor, I love this book. Huck is a humble and gentle soul, and also a survivor whose unfolding character arc is a masterpiece. I would never tire of reading his heartfelt and evocative descriptions of life along the river, and enjoying more of the 150-year-old sunrises we get to sample within these pages. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟      

'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer' by Mark Twain

I discovered both books comprising Mark Twain's most famous duo in different free street libraries within a short period of time. I've taken that as a sign that it's high time to read them. I say that as a tribute to Mark Twain. It didn't take long to see that his characters themselves are HUGE believers in signs and superstitions within the pages of these novels. Interestingly, it turns out that his birth coincided with the appearance of Halley's Comet, as did his death with its next appearance. And Twain himself predicted that would be the case. 'It will be the greatest disappointment of my life if I do not go out with Halley's Comet. The Almighty has said, no doubt, "Now here are these two unaccountable freaks; they came in together, they must go out together."' Call it coincidence or self-fulfilling prophecy, I'm sure he would have been pleased.

I'm starting with Tom Sawyer and will finish up with Huckleberry Finn soon. 

MY THOUGHTS:

 I finally read this famous antebellum classic about the mischievous Tom who's such a handful for his long-suffering Aunt Polly. Mark Twain considered it his homage to childhood days and he sure wasn't kidding. At first I was a little apprehensive it would be all beetle races, Robin Hood re-enactments, incantations to recover lost marbles, and cheating to win Sunday school prizes - but then it got interesting and I was hooked. For me, the drawcard begins when Tom and his mate, Huckleberry Finn, witness a grisly grave robbery and brutal murder in a cemetery at midnight, followed by the framing of an innocent man, putting the boys in a fearful moral dilemma.

But that's enough flirting with plot points. I want to focus mostly on character traits. Oh Tom, Tom! He could be called a lovable larrikin, a shrewd businessman (shown by the iconic opening incident with the white picket fence) or an unconscionable, callous little arse! All three are accurate depending on a reader's own starting point. Speaking from a mother's perspective, he crosses a line for me into the third description. The stunt he pulls on poor Aunt Polly, Mrs Harper, and everyone else deserves far more retribution than he ever receives. (It was quite a stunt though, I grant you that!)

Tom's abundant energy and confidence makes him a natural leader, but he uses his imagination to borrow from and cruise by on the genius of others. Tom draws heavily on hackneyed stereotypes he gleans from the stories he loves, and weaves them into play activities for his own gang, who don't have such a broad knowledge base of yarns and legends. So I consider this book to be a tribute to the power and influence wielded by writers and storytellers, as much as it is an ode to childhood. Done well, their stories contain power to shape and inform their culture by hijacking people's enthusiasm, and Mark Twain himself participates in the wonderful ripple effect with this very book.    

I tend to think Tom's dynamic combo is an overbearing personality coupled with a vast knowledge and respect for great stories. It gives him an irresistible 'power' persona that covers over many rough edges. And if those are smoothed when he grows up a bit, he probably has a bright future. 

But to me, Huckleberry Finn, the town's 'juvenile pariah' provides much of the book's charm. He's the neglected son of a raging alcoholic, hence in the adults' eyes, no fit companion for civilised kids. Although Huck wears cast-off adult clothes, a bit like Dickens' Artful Dodger, he doesn't carry the style off with quite the same panache. There is a certain wistfulness surrounding Huck, who's aware that he's regarded as untouchable by most adults. Yet at the same time, he appreciates being envied by other boys for his freedom from responsibilities such as school and church attendance. 

Tom is by far the most gung-ho, cocky member of their friendship group. Huck is his follower, and more cautious and thoughtful in his approach. While Tom revels in being the centre of attention, Huck shuns the spotlight. But he has a courageous core, enabling him to put up with being unwelcome wherever he shows his face. Far from being a bad influence on Tom, it tends to be more the other way around. (Not that I'd go so far as to call Tom a bad influence on Huck, since poor Huck is in need of a true friend.) 

Tom's youthful romance gets a fair airing. Becky Thatcher is first presented as 'a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow hair plaited in two long tails, white summer frock and embroidered pantalettes.' But far from being as sweet as she appears, Becky is a manipulative little miss, adept at using her feminine wiles for unworthy purposes. Mark Twain appears to have infiltrated the calculating and sometimes tortured headspaces of pre-teen girls, and his accuracy impresses me. The ups and downs of Tom and Becky's relationship indicates precisely why 11 or 12-year-olds shouldn't indulge in love affairs. But perhaps the pair of them deserve to end up with each other in the long run, take that how you will :)     

Just because Tom Sawyer himself is heedless and thoughtless doesn't mean we readers have to be. I find the story urges us to ponder the true meaning of success, which may be more modest than we think. Muff Potter, the hopeless drunk, is by all accounts a 'no-account.' Yet his small kindnesses over the years to Tom and Huck may end up saving his life. The boys might not have been as willing to risk their safety to defend someone more like the harsh and exacting school master, Mr Dobbins, who has achieved a far more 'successful' position in worldly terms. (Not that Dobbins would ever find himself in Muff's position, but you know what I mean.)

The book is well worth reading, but we may need to suspend our disbelief. It's not just any old evocation of a southern, small-town world, but one in which the following may happen.

1) Random treasure chests, chock full of coin, may be buried anywhere, so you might as well dig around with your pick and shovel. Your chances of becoming filthy rich are as good as anybody's. 

2) Search parties tend to be a bit lame, which you can use to your advantage.

3) Superstitious rituals are generally reliable. When your expectations don't come to fruition, it's probably because witches have interfered.

4) The same two boys may accidentally eavesdrop on the vile plans of the most degenerate wretch they know, not merely once but three or four times. Either together or separately. 

I'm right into the goings-on at St Petersburg on the Mississippi now. Bring on The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. I'm anticipating that Huck, as the main protagonist, will bring a more reflective slant to these rollicking adventures, which may contrast nicely with this book's focus on the impulsive, surface-skimming Tom. 

🌟🌟🌟🌟½

'The House on the Strand' by Daphne du Maurier

Dick Young is lent a house in Cornwall by his friend Professor Magnus Lane. During his stay he agrees to serve as a guinea pig for a new drug that Magnus has discovered in his scientific research.

When Dick samples Magnus's potion, he finds himself doing the impossible: traveling through time while staying in place, thrown all the way back into Medieval Cornwall. The concoction wear off after several hours, but its effects are intoxicating and Dick cannot resist his newfound powers. As his journeys increase, Dick begins to resent the days he must spend in the modern world, longing ever more fervently to get back into his world of centuries before, and the home of the beautiful Lady Isolda...

MY THOUGHTS:  

This is one of du Maurier's Cornish tales with a timeslip theme thrown in. It was published the year of my birth, so I was curious to see how the 'modern' thread had aged.

Dick Young, the main character, is staying at Kilmarth, the boyhood home of his friend, biophysicist Magnus Lane. (With a name like Magnus, I reckon his parents destined him to become a ground-breaking, experimental scientist. Doesn't it seem perfect for the stereotype?) As part of the deal, Magnus coerces Dick into sampling the wonder-drug he's been working on, which spirals its users back centuries, yet always on their own local turf.

Dick consistently ends up in the fourteenth century, and always touches base with a mysterious guy named Roger, prompting Dick to wonder whether Roger's brain is the random link to the mind of any time-tripper. Nobody from the 1300s, including Roger, ever seems to see futuristic visitors. Dick verifies Magnus' experience, that every sense, except for touch, is heightened whenever they visit the past. However, only their brains are really taking the trips. Their physical bodies are still lumbering blindly about in their contemporary world (1969), vulnerable to sudden peril such as collisions.

Dick keeps trying to convince himself that he's not addicted to his trips, but can't help admitting he is addicted to his infatuation with the beautiful Lady Isolda Carminowe, who keeps him returning for another 'fix' of her. 

My googling tells me Dame Daphne got really excited about this story, considering it to be one of her finest. She intended for readers to be sucked into the implicit questions she was raising. Was Dick really progressing back in time, or was it some elaborate mental hallucination? Is the concept of time, rather than being a linear projection, 'all-dimensional' with past, present and future spinning like a wheel simultaneously? All Dick can say for sure is that the people he enjoys spying on have been dead for over 600 years, yet they're alive in his escape world. Sounds like a recipe for a page-turner, right?

Sadly, it fell flat for me. Neither of the two time periods held my interest. The political intrigue and family saga of Roger and Isolda's world felt like wading through quicksand. There are far too many family connections to keep track of and too much standing around talking. As for Dick, he lives up to his name too well. Each of his unfolding personal disclosures made me eyeroll more. 

He flicks his cigarette butts around the countryside, he hasn't visited his mother in over a year because he's too lazy, he's getting tired of his wife, Vita, after just a few years of marriage, and prefers his 'trips' to stalk the more attractive Isolda. He professes to have not a flicker of interest in his two young stepsons, who incidentally strike me as nicer people than he is. He gets grouchy and irritable with everyone in his real world. He resents Vita for her concern regarding him, which turns out to be completely justified. I kept finding the pages of Dick's narration progressively harder to turn. 

All this story really has going for it is du Maurier's hallmark description of Cornwall. Sadly, Cornwall alone is insufficient to maintain my interest in a story with a crawling plot and unlikeable characters. The premise sounded great... but it fell short. Sorry Dame Daphne, it's a no from me.

🌟🌟  

'Yellowface' by Rebecca F. Kuang

Athena Liu is a literary darling and June Hayward is literally nobody.

White lies
When Athena dies in a freak accident, June steals her unpublished manuscript and publishes it as her own under the ambiguous name Juniper Song.

Dark humour
But as evidence threatens June’s stolen success, she will discover exactly how far she will go to keep what she thinks she deserves.

Deadly consequences…
What happens next is entirely everyone else’s fault.

MY THOUGHTS: 

I was delighted to discover this novel in a little free street library, and cancelled the hold I had on it at the library. It's all over book platforms at the moment, so I prioritised it on my reading pile.  

June Hayward is a jaded, obscure young writer out for the evening with her brilliantly successful friend, Athena Liu, who has had several award-winning bestsellers with major publishers. When Athena dies suddenly after a freak accident, June snatches the chance to steal a freshly completed manuscript from Athena's desk. It's the first draft of a World War One novel entitled, 'The Last Front,' which focuses on the heroic efforts of the Chinese Labour Corps which were largely unacknowledged at the time. 

After making some sneaky alterations, June gets a contract under her own name with a prestigious publisher. Throughout the rest of this story she adroitly dodges discovery while enjoying the lifestyle of a famous author and justifying to her innermost self why her action wasn't despicable plagiarism. There are also pesky accusations of cultural appropriation to fend off, not to mention pressure to produce her next blockbuster. Will the truth lie dormant forever? 

To maintain the new lifestyle she's craved for so long, June becomes a progressively worse human being, which she deems vitally necessary to avoid regression or discovery. Everything about her is false, calculating, opportunistic and manipulative, including her version of how close a friend she really was to Athena Liu. Yet disturbingly, June's insistence that duplicity is the price she must pay to remain a media darling rings true. Being unknown and forgotten, after a taste of the spotlight, is her greatest dread. It makes me wonder how many big name authors and other celebs behave through a filter of, 'How will this make me look?' 

Kuang reveals plenty about the book industry which may surprise the uninitiated. She presents a world in which there is a finite number of book contracts with competition rife, like seagulls swooping on chips; where one minority author's success may create barriers for others writing in the same genre, rather than the green lights we may expect. Crowds of consumers (in this case, readers) assume a macro-personality far more daunting and impersonal than those of the individuals who comprise it. Ms. or Mr. Public Opinion isn't necessarily a giant whose approbation we can seek without being tarnished, yet so many of us seek it anyway, in our own small ways. And tsunamis of social media passion are toxic. Think cancel culture.

I relate to a lot of the reading and writing culture described in this story, having written and made huge efforts to market my own published novels for years. Yet there are surely several others like June's mother and sister, who simply read the occasional novel to relax without giving the actual industry a thought. This makes me wonder how Yellowface itself has become such a bestseller, since not everyone is trying to peddle their own books. I guess the theme about exposing fraud and the tense thriller elements must carry weight. 

Overall, I'd never add this book to a list of my best reads of the year. I think it makes me read in a mean-spirited way, eager to find out how (and even if) the unscrupulous main character will be exposed. That's not as satisfying as following admirable, lovable heroes we long to cheer for all through. I prefer books to bring out the best in my own nature rather than the worst. More nobility and less schadenfreude, thanks. 

Still, I think I'd have to call myself a fan of Yellowface, especially after all the thought-provoking content. 

🌟🌟🌟

'Demon Copperhead' by Barbara Kingsolver

Many generations ago, Charles Dickens wrote David Copperfield from his experience as a survivor of institutional poverty and its damages to children in his society. Those problems have yet to be solved in ours. Dickens is not a prerequisite for readers of this novel, but he provided its inspiration. In transposing a Victorian epic novel to the contemporary American South, Barbara Kingsolver enlists Dickens' anger and compassion, and above all, his faith in the transformative powers of a good story. Demon Copperhead speaks for a new generation of lost boys, and all those born into beautiful, cursed places they can't imagine leaving behind.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Whoa, this is a knock-off in a million. No wonder it won the Pulitzer and Women's Fiction prizes for 2023. I was simply curious to see how closely it could stick to the David Copperfield story in such a vastly different time and place, but I didn't expect such evocative writing packed into practically every sentence.  

As most of us are aware from the start, it's the story of David Copperfield juxtaposed onto a modern, Appalachian society. Kingsolver expresses her deep concern about the plight of the deplorable foster care system and the opioid crisis strictly within the boundaries of Dickens' famous classic. Modern retellings of classics often strike me as way too overstrained, but this one is written in a way that convinces me this Victorian saga could well have taken place in the 21st century inland USA. It weaves all the counterpart characters in so brilliantly and naturally, it's a joy to spot them all. 

Damon Fields, aka Demon Copperhead himself, narrates his own story, starting from the moment he was born to an 18-year-old junkie mother in a humble trailer, intact in his amniotic sac. Sound familiar? His engaging voice, full of sharp discernment and poignant, often dark humour, never falters throughout almost 550 pages. Demon is a budding comic strip artist whose latent genius gives him a knack for capturing anyone's idiosyncratic essence in both words and pictures. If you think the character of Davy Copperfield would take big shoes to fill, I promise you this boy aces it. 

Supporting roles are triumphs too. There's Demon's abusive stepfather, Stoner; and the exploitative and harsh foster father, Crickson, nicknamed 'Creaky' by the boys under his care. Here Demon meets the dangerously magnetic Fast Forward, who could make anyone want to do anything and be glad of it; and the good-natured Tommy Waddles, who sketches skeletons as a sort of memento mori gesture, to remind himself that this too will pass. Demon is later fostered with the perpetually desperate and broke McCobb family. These guys have to exercise their creativity just to pay their bills. 

We have Miss Betsy Woodall (estranged grandmother this time) and her clever, disabled brother, Mr Dick, whose tributes to his beloved authors is to cover kites with their quotes and then launch them into the sky. Miss Angus Winfield is an edgy, nerdy version of David's Agnes, and his ill-fated relationship with poor, helpless Dori takes on a whole new level - you'll see. And lurking lethally with his reptilian eyes gleaming is the slimy Ryan Pyles, or U-Haul, who keeps insisting that he's nobody special.  

Demon actually has what some might call the total package; good looks, witty personality, empathy, intelligence, athleticism and artistic giftedness to boot. The fact that he considers himself an abject failure and nonentity highlights the gaping limitations of his culture and poor start in life more than anything could. ('It dawned on me that I could get run over flat out there, and nobody would know or care what to call the carcass. Road kill?) 

From the point of view of a reader already familiar with David Copperfield, it's a winner. And I've noticed that several reviewers who have never read the classic have now added it to their TBR lists, on the strength of this story. I've challenged my kids to read David Copperfield followed by Demon Copperhead, because the effect is bound to impress them. I would always recommend that nobody who has ever read either should start with Dickens followed by Kingsolver.

Demon's take on Charles Dickens is worth mentioning. 'A seriously old guy, dead and a foreigner, but did he get the picture on kids and orphans getting screwed over and nobody giving a rat's ass. You'd think he was from around here.' Well, to take a broad view, Demon, since David Copperfield is regarded as Dickens' most autobiographical novel, and you're modeled on the character of David, then you are that old guy.  

This is one of my reading highlights of the year. And my photo is a tribute to Demon's lifelong yearning to visit the beach for real. 

(Here is my review of David Copperfield)

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟 

'Evil Under the Sun' by Agatha Christie

The beautiful bronzed body of Arlena Stuart lay facedown on the beach. But strangely, there was no sun and she was not sunbathing... she had been strangled.

Ever since Arlena's arrival the air had been thick with sexual tension. Each of the guests had a motive to kill her. But Hercule Poirot suspects that this apparent 'crime of passion' conceals something much more evil.

MY THOUGHTS: 

Hercule Poirot is staying at the Jolly Roger Hotel on Smuggler's Island, a popular summer beach resort on Britain's southern coast. Some sunbakers remark that nothing bad could possibly happen at such an idyllic destination, yet our little Belgian detective knows that there is 'evil everywhere under the sun.' 

One of his fellow guests, Mrs Arlena Marshall (nee Stuart), has the reputation of a femme fatale. She seduces men and breaks up families, reputedly relishing every moment. Fellows are bewitched by her and women fiercely resent her. So when Arlena is found strangled to death in a secluded cove, several other sun seekers may well have a motive.

There are two lovers' triangles. Dressmaker Rosamund Darnley has adored Arlena's husband Ken since their childhood, but Ken takes his marriage vows seriously. Poor, pale-faced Christine Redfern is upset that her hunky hubby Patrick keeps following Arlene around like a dog on heat. Fanatical clergyman, Stephen Lane, likens Arlena to Jezebel or the Whore of Babylon. And Ken Marshall's moody teenage daughter, Linda, simply loathes her stepmother. 

I have to say, what we readers see of Arlena in the pages never strikes me as pure evil, which the characters would have us believe. In fact, I find it unbalanced that she's the target of all the fall-out from illicit liaisons, and never the silly men who are led by their libidos rather than their brains. Here is what we are told about the reactions of a group of older men, when she simply walks past. 

'The eyes of Hercule Poirot opened, his moustache quivered appreciatively. Major Barry sat up and his protuberant eyes bulged even further with excitement; on Poirot's left the Reverend Stephen Lane drew in his breath with a little hiss and his figure stiffened.'

Yeah, eyeroll. How do we even know for sure the lady is playing on her beauty, as people accuse her, since she always elicits this behaviour for doing nothing at all? 

Incidentally, Poirot states his belief that modern women's bathing costumes leave nothing to the imagination. 'What appeal is there, to remove all the romance and mystery?' (This novel was published in 1940.) 

Reverend Lane is disturbed because he's noticed  it's fashionable for many people to abolish hellfire and Satan from their collective consciousness, yet he's certain demonic entities are still gleefully doing secret mischief. Hmm, not sure if he was talking for his author, Agatha Christie, but plenty of theologians, such as C. S. Lewis, would agree with him. 

Mrs Gardener, the American tourist, says, 'Those girls that lie out that in the sun will grow hair on their legs and arms.' I'll assume that's Mrs Gardener's personal delusion and not indicative of the era in general. 

This is not the best Christie mystery I've read, but nor is it the worst. One thing in its favour is that there was only one death, and not the flurry of spin-off murders Christie sometimes sets off. Apart from Poirot, of course, I didn't really bond with any of the characters. In fact, poor Arlena Marshall was as likeable as anyone else. The baddies' motive didn't totally ring true for me, yet it's easy enough to believe they're also motivated by the adrenaline rush of escaping detection. 

So good on you Poirot, for foiling their plan.

🌟🌟🌟½  

'The Ghost of Thomas Kempe' by Penelope Lively

When James and his family move to an ancient cottage in Oxfordshire, odd things start happening. Doors crash open, and strange signs appear, written in an archaic hand. James finds that the ghost is the spirit of Thomas Kempe.

MY THOUGHTS: 

When I found this novel in a secondhand shop, it was a blast from my past. I read it during Primary School silent reading sessions in the early 80s. What great nostalgia, to re-read prize-winning British kids' fiction published in 1973, which had its 50th birthday this year. 

The Harrison family has bought East End Cottage, a charming, ramshackle old doer-upper. But since they've moved in, somebody keeps pulling annoying stunts and writing weird messages. Young James is getting blamed for all of them, because he's a bit left-of-centre himself. 

Poor James is resentful and baffled. He knows the culprit couldn't possibly be a member of his own family. His wry, sensible father and slightly frazzled mother wouldn't bother, and nor would his smug sister Helen, who has a deficient sense of humour anyway. What's more, Tim, the scruffy stray dog who's adopted them, keeps barking and snapping at nothing. 

Soon it's clear that the arrogant perpetrator desires to be known by James. He's an opinionated poltergeist named Thomas Kempe, who lived there in the sixteenth century practicing sorcery. Kempe insists that James becomes his assistant, whether he likes it or not. And since Kempe's behaviour includes persecuting other villagers whom he suspects of witchcraft or knavery, James must think of a way to end it fast. He soon discovers there are no exorcists listed in the Yellow Pages.  

The story is so fun to read because James is such a cool and curious 20th century kid. His own quirky 'To Do' list is based completely on inquisitiveness without a trace of ego. This boy knows the fun of indulging in grandiose daydreams without a hint of angst that they might never come true, because he never truly takes them seriously. 

It's full of insights about human nature, both past and present. When James' father summarily dismisses the supernatural, James realises that commonsense is as impenetrable as a stone wall. 'If people had to be so unswerving in their beliefs, the only thing you could do is let them go on their own way.' In fact, Mr Harrison and Thomas Kempe's ghost are quite similar, in their closeminded approaches. 

I love it when James comes across a boy named Arnold, a kindred spirit his own age, but separated by a century. James discovers that reading all about Arnold creates a sort of oddly reciprocal friendship through the pages. And even though Arnold is (or rather was) on James' wavelength, James' school friend Simon is nonetheless satisfactory for other moments. We need all sorts of friends, including both soul mates and time mates. 

All the time impressions are very cool. James learns that people develop their own layers, like onions, added to by the passing years. Senior citizens, such as his neighbour Mrs Verity, are often most multi-layered. The point comes through that young people are still buried deep within their older selves.

The final line is worth quoting for its insight into the passage of years.  

Time reached away before and ahead: back to the crusading knight, and Thomas Kempe, and Aunt Fanny, and Arnold: forward to other people who would leave their names in this place, look with different eyes on the same streets, rooftops, trees. And somewhere in the middle there was James, walking home for tea, his head full of confused but agreeable thoughts, hungry and a little tired, but content. 

Yep, we all take our part for a short time, then shuffle off the set.  

🌟🌟🌟🌟½ 

'Little Dorrit' (Part Two) by Charles Dickens

MY THOUGHTS: 

I shared my thought here on Part One and this second half was equally riveting. 

We hear of lottery winners who don't handle their windfalls wisely because they retain the mindsets of poor folk. That's what happens to the Dorrit family following their freak family inheritance. At the start of this second section, entitled 'Riches', Papa, Tip, Fanny, Amy and Uncle Frederick are off and away to Europe to live the good life, but we sense that dressing them in lavish clothes will be a superficial  band-aid fix to cover the identities of lack and devastation that have shaped them over several years. 

Mr Dorrit and his two eldest kids now expect veneration based on their obscene amount of dough, although they're still exactly the same people they were back home in the Marshalsea without a cent. Will wealth really make a change for the better? Mr Dorrit's former source of great pride, his decades as a prison inmate, will now be the skeleton he longs to shut tight in his closet. Hiding it will surely add a new source of stress to his life. And it may be argued that Amy's whole purpose for living, which is performing acts of service, has just taken a major blow. Who will she be, as a rich lady of leisure?

Even though I'm discussing Part Two, I won't say much about the unfolding plot and risk giving spoilers. Suffice to say the farfetched twists and shocking destinies of the two biggest villains makes Dickens a real Victorian precursor of the long-running soap opera. (Kudos to the flamboyant, cloak-swirling Rigaud aka Blandois and his signature creepy facial gesture, where his nose and moustache intersect.) 

What a varied lot of characters this book presents. We have old Mrs General, a snooty sort of governess hired to prepare the two Dorrit girls for high society. She exemplifies the most shallow and inhumane aspects of Victorian society, such as, 'a truly refined mind must simply ignore the existence of anything that is not perfectly proper, pleasant and placid.' This, of course, includes suffering and homeless people. Mrs General loves words beginning with the letter 'P' because they supposedly make the shape of your mouth look good as you say them. 

Another standout for me is the cold and twisted Miss Wade, who regards anyone's generous behaviour towards her as unforgivable condescension, since she's so ultra-sensitive about her orphan origins. Viewing everything through the lens of her own paranoia, she mistakenly projects onto others her touchy insecurity about her social position. It was genius of Dickens to invent this beautiful self-saboteur. I'm sure we don't need to be destitute orphans to get where Miss Wade is coming from. Using our touchy triggers to second guess others is toxic behaviour. She's not really a villain, in the true sense of the word, hence Dickens doesn't visit down any fatal calamity on her head, but letting her carry on with her bitter delusions is punishment enough for her. 

Even though they were not main characters, my mind keeps returning to the huge chip on Miss Wade's shoulder, and the regretful experience of her would-be disciple, Tattycoram, who learns the hard way that the people who stir our emotions aren't necessarily the most accurate readers of any situation. That's not to say there is no grain of truth in Tatty's grudge against the Meagles. Giving her that nickname alone is enough to ensure she never forgets her workhouse background. Perhaps this girl's greatest takeaway is that life won't always deliver what seems fair, and the sooner we accept that, the easier we'll fare. Besides, life with the Meagles is certainly better than what they rescued her from. 

Dickens makes certain sections a triumphant faith statement. I love how Little Dorrit's heartfelt, modest Christian outlook contrasts with the sour, Old-Testament eye-for-an-eye logic of old Mrs Clennam. 

'Oh, Mrs Clennam, Mrs Clennam, angry feelings and unforgiving deeds are no comfort to you and me. Be guided only by the healer of the sick, the raiser of the dead, the friend of all who were afflicted and forlorn, the patient Master who shed tears of compassion for our infirmities. We cannot but be right if we put the rest away and do everything in remembrance of Him.' 

As a culmination of all that has just gone down, this is powerful stuff. I was pleased during my googling to discover a small section of stained glass window dedicated to Little Dorrit herself, in London's St. George the Martyr church. (See above.) Adjacent to the Marshalsea Prison, it's the real life location where the fictional girl was christened, sought refuge on an icy night and eventually married her true love, Arthur Clennam. What a great tribute to Charles Dickens and also to the doggedly faithful Little Dorrit herself. 

There are many other excellent characters who I haven't even tapped into yet, such as Arthur's talkative old flame, Flora, her corrupt but saintly looking father, Mr Casby, and their huffing and puffing employee, the diamond in the rough Mr Pancks. Not to mention Mrs Clennam's creepy business partner, Jeremiah Flintwinch, and his poor, abused wife, Affery. I also loved Daniel Doyce, the clever inventor who's suffered so much at the hands of the 'Circumlocution Office' in attempts to patent his product, he feels more like a criminal. But most of all, I love Arthur and Amy, two totally good-hearted people and a perfect match. 

I can't help getting into the shipping mood for other couples this story might have produced, if it went on for even longer. Somebody on a forum I stumbled across suggested Tattcoram and young John Chivery, to which I echo, 'Sure, why not?' And how about poor Flora with either Doyce or Pancks, although neither gentleman would probably wish to put up with Mr F's Aunt for the long term. 

It was clear to me early on that Little Dorrit would tick the boxes of a wonderful, immersive Dickens tale. Some of his books haven't quite hit the mark for me, but this one was bullseye, despite its unbelievable plot twists. Gee whiz, if it makes me question whether or not I'm sensing accurate signals from others or simply listening to my inner Miss Wade, it's worth the read for that alone.  

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟   

'Little Dorrit' (Part 1) by Charles Dickens

Amy Dorrit grows up in Marshalsea Prison, where her father is imprisoned for debt. But in this classic tale of poverty and wealth, sacrifice and greed, fortune can change in a moment - even Little Dorrit's.

MY THOUGHTS:

It's time to tick off another Dickens doorstop. This one is split neatly into two sections entitled 'Poverty' and 'Riches' so I'll make two blog posts out of my discussion. From the very start I sensed that the Dorrit family will prove to be the Victorian equivalent of sudden lottery winners, whose limited headspaces don't keep pace with their freak financial windfalls. I was keen to see whether the unfolding story would match my expectations.

Here goes with 'Poverty.'  

Poor Arthur Clennam has had a harsh upbringing from unloving, demanding parents. He's on his way home to England, having worked since he was young with his father in China for 20 years. Arthur's dad seemed to die with some deep, unsettling regret which he couldn't articulate from his deathbed.

When Arthur tries to ask his morbidly pious old mother about it, she flies off the handle. Yet bedridden Mrs Clennam and her cranky servant, Jeremiah Flintwinch, seem to be up to their ears in some shady secret. And the house itself keeps making weird, creaky sounds. 

Arthur is intrigued by Amy, aka 'Little Dorrit', the young woman who works each day as a seamstress for his mother. It doesn't take long to discover that Little Dorrit lives in the Marshalsea Prison. She was born and raised there, because her father has been a prisoner of debt for twenty-three years. Now Arthur Clennam can't help wondering if his parents' dodgy family secret has something to do with cheating the Dorrit family; hence his mother's inadequate attempt to make amends through Dorrit's daughter. Arthur makes it his business to find out, yet it's a maze of dead-ends and false leads out there. 

In another thread, a French criminal named Rigaud who killed his wife is on the loose. Cavalletto, his former cell mate in Marseilles, is always trying to keep one step ahead of him.  

A book in which main characters quickly win my affection is bound to be a good one.

Arthur is a lovely guy with a stubborn resolve to think the best. He's chosen to be an idealist as a quiet mutiny against the harsh way in which he was raised. (He was a man who had deep-rooted in his nature a belief in all the gentle and good things his life had been without.) So we have, in effect, a middle-aged, male version of Anne Shirley, which I find quite attractive. Gracious in disappointment, always willing to lend a hand, it's time 40-year-old Arthur gets a break, although he never really expects one. There are sometimes flashback glimpses of the younger, pushed-around, thwarted Arthur to keep us barracking for him.

Next there's Little Dorrit, that resourceful, diminutive young woman with soft hazel eyes who does her best to justify why the Mashalsea is not such a bad place to call home. She's like the lotus flower who can flourish in mud. Yet I can't help wondering how she survives on occasional nibbles of bread and butter and sips of tea. Maybe she's so tiny because she's stunted and starved, owing to a lifetime of putting aside the best for others. She's definitely one of Dickens' cohort of heroines who takes self-sacrifice to an unhealthy extreme, yet I sense Amy Dorrit has much to teach our generation. 

In our era, the focus is so much on boosting our status and maximising our potential, quiet, dutiful people who accept their lot in life with no expectation of fanfare aren't very fashionable anymore. No twenty-first century counterpart character springs to mind. Perhaps Amy Dorrit is the sort of person who draws me toward Victorian novels. She counterbalances the restlessness and discontentment which seems to be in the modern air we breathe. Hence, she's refreshing. 

But the 'good' characters aren't the only memorable ones.

Whoa, what a character Mr Dorrit is, that hilarious, destitute snob who plays up his own dubious status as longest serving prisoner to make himself a celebrity. In a way I admire the dude for his sheer front, and for always choosing the most flattering way to regard himself in a callous world determined to keep him in his place. That takes some solid self-esteem. Yet he does it through such audacious self-delusions, I can't help facepalming.

Arthur is friends with the Meagles family. There's another fascinating thread with 'Tattycoram', aka Harriet Beadle, the young workhouse orphan who was adopted as a companion for their beloved girl, Miss Minnie Meagle. Can two diametrically opposite interpretations of one person's life both contain grains of truth?

1) She's blessed and fortunate to have been rescued from the workhouse by such a caring family as the Meagles. 

2) She's born beneath an unlucky star, the butt of condescension, forced to kowtow to a girl her own age who she has no respect for. 

This exotic and resentful girl with her flyaway, shiny black hair and snapping black eyes chooses the second, resentful interpretation, and behaves accordingly by cutting loose. Sometimes Dickens releases a startling, colourful, non-conforming bird among his drab, dutiful little sparrows, (such as Amy Dorrit), and Harriet is surely one of them. Her aloof and mysterious mentor, Miss Wade, seems to be a piece of work too, with an agenda of her own. Dickens' 'good' girls may shine, but his 'bad' girls sizzle. 

At this stage I'm feeling the whole plot is like some giant Jenga game, with old, sacred cows being gently dismantled and uncomfortable new developments being laid precariously on top. There's a whole lot of stuff being done behind the scenes on the Dorrits' behalf. There are secrets which will surely come to light. When the whole thing comes tumbling down, it'll be with a mighty crash.

Update, here is Part Two.   

Tips on Reading from Frankenstein's Monster

(This was a recent assignment for my creative writing and communication course. I thought it would fit well into my October reading schedule, which will focus on Victorian books or spooky reads, and this ticks both boxes. I'm thinking of writing more of these reflections in which famous fictional characters read books. Do you think that would be interesting?)

Mary Shelley’s famous classic has more modern parallels than we may imagine. Frankenstein’s bewildered, abandoned monster discovers a knapsack containing a handful of books, including John Milton’s Paradise Lost. Since he’s taught himself to read, books are fodder for his urgent hunger for knowledge. But the monster mistakes the epic fantasy poem for history instead of the speculative vision from John Milton’s fertile brain it really was.

The monster’s pallid complexion surely erupts into gooseflesh and his coarse hair prickles the further on he reads. Then at last, torrid tears flood his bloodshot, recycled eyes. The poor monster can’t help relating to the character of Satan, who is thrown out of heaven, doomed to be an outcast and shunned by everyone he comes across. He even concludes there might be shared DNA between them. Hence, Paradise Lost becomes a huge influence on the monster’s despairing decision to wreak havoc on the innocent family members of the heartless creator who’d rejected him. He decides that since he’s evidently a devil, he might as well see if he derives satisfaction from behaving like one.

The desolate monster succumbs to credulity, believing everything he reads just because somebody wrote it and it’s there in print. This fictional incident suggests that the printed word sometimes carries clout it arguably shouldn’t. And of course, there will always be readers, like Frankenstein’s monster, who interpret a written piece in ways its author never intended.

Fast forward two hundred years, and we see the monster’s plight repeated by many others in our 21st century era of internet-fueled, panic-driven publications. Essays, articles, treatises, magazines and e-books are produced in record time. The internet gives self-proclaimed experts freedom to jump on their soap boxes about anything under the sun, which can set off a ripple effect of delusions. We’ve created a baffling culture in which readers believe all sorts of things. And the underlying reason is still simply because they appear ‘true’ when they are printed.

What’s more, we contend with a more sinister scenario than Frankenstein’s monster ever faced. He simply chanced upon that lost bag of books while he was out walking. He never dealt with the likelihood of alarming, printed literature zooming his way specifically. But computer algorithms determine the nature of the inflammatory content that may appear in our newsfeeds. It seems tailor made for each credulous soul. Depending on what lurks deep in our personal view histories, algorithms dredge up similar material to parade before us. It’s almost guaranteed to include something triggering among the mix. Human nature is unfortunately biased to latch onto negativity and drama, hence skewed stories crafted to upset us often rise to the top of our feed like cream in a milk pail. Keeping in mind the monster’s experience with Paradise Lost, the content we see is not necessarily accurate but just provocative. ‘If it bleeds it leads’ has long been a motto in the world of journalists, which may help explain why doom and gloom seems to wing its way straight to our screens.

If we are perpetually anxious, angry, disgruntled or depressed, perhaps the online world prompts us to be, for the sake of seducing our attention and getting our oh-too-willing fingers clicking links. The heartless, impersonal force that compels us cares nothing for our personal welfare or headspace, so long as we are staying online.

Ironically, our out-of-control online world has become a type of Frankenstein’s monster itself. The brainy tech designers behind the internet and social media profess to have had no idea what they unleashed. They haven’t a clue what might pop up on any individual’s newsfeed next, just as horrified science student Victor Frankenstein never knew which dearly beloved family member his recklessly vengeful creation would target next. And like Victor, they often express horror when they hear stories of how their own brainchild has taken on a life of its own.

In his book, Stolen Focus, journalist Johann Hari recounts his interviews with some Silicon Valley tech geniuses at the cutting edge of building our monster. These young men were once showered with praise and accolades for their work and applauded for building such a great and life-changing aid for humanity. But now in retrospect, the tech designers liken themselves to hapless Victor Frankenstein, who formed a living entity out of the best cadaver parts he could dig up in graveyards. Victor thought he’d be responsible for blessing the world with a wonderful super-being. Instead, the creature rampaged around murdering people and his every next move became anyone’s guess – a mystery impossible to predict.

Hari argues that the internet has become a similar malignant entity to Frankenstein’s monster, seducing us to believe whatever we read, shattering our attention spans and wreaking serious harm on our headspaces. He professed skepticism at first, considering this theory overly dramatic. Yet when he admitted his disbelief to those Silicon Valley designers, they looked at him as if he were, ‘a maiden aunt in the 1850s who had just found out about sex.’ The creators of our internet and social media claim to be too well aware of the sinister side to the brilliant creation they unleashed on our world.

Our takeaways from these revelations are clear. We must aim not to be like Frankenstein’s gullible monster, who believed every word he read of Paradise Lost. Without being total cynics who dispute every word we come across, we should read with a discerning and questioning spirit. Awareness is the key to avoid being sucked into a vortex of exaggerated reporting, misinformation, over-stated click baits and simple bad news which members of the general public don’t need to know.

Frankenstein’s monster is a villain, but he’s also shown to be a victim. Let us strive to be neither. We won’t add to the villainy by unwittingly spreading misinformation further when we reactively press SHARE with our trigger-happy fingers. Nor will we unthinkingly swallow any clickbait that drifts our way.

‘Of what a strange nature is knowledge,’ reflects Frankenstein’s monster to himself. ‘It clings to the mind when it has once seized on it, like lichen on a rock.’ That being the case, it is difficult to un-learn any false or disturbing content we take on board. Let’s aim to cultivate valuable moss in our minds, knowledge which is true, encouraging and motivating. And let’s try and clear the weeds that try to grab a strangle hand on our thoughts, content which is useless for not being true or beneficial at all.

Here is my review of Frankenstein by the amazing Mary Shelley, whose voice also turned out to be quite prophetic.           

 

'Miguel Street' by V. S. Naipaul

A stranger could drive through Miguel Street and just say ‘Slum!’ because he could see no more. But to its residents this corner of Trinidad’s capital is a complete world, where everybody is quite different from everybody else.

MY THOUGHTS:

This is one of the English syllabus texts from my distant past which I'm revisiting decades down the track. 

It's essentially a bunch of linked short stories about a slummy section of Trinidad around the WW2 era called Miguel Street. There's a nostalgic narrator who never names himself, but takes turns shining the spotlight on different personalities who carved an impression on him in his boyhood. Each story is like a cameo or sketch of a person from his past. He was just a kid who didn't judge or pretend to understand much about the adult world, but simply reported how different people's conduct made him feel, and left it to his readers to form psychological insights or figure out how things really stood.

The residents of Miguel Street are living a rough old lifestyle with a collective knowledge that they're generally regarded as the world's riffraff, yet try to make the best of it. The author Naipaul evidently managed to achieve success with his writing, but acknowledges through his characters that being born somewhere like Miguel Street (or Trinidad in general) is a giant handicap from the very start. He uses his unprecedented soapbox as a published author to highlight several of his peers who weren't so fortunate. Even though this is written as fiction, I can't help asking, 'Is it really though?' So many characters are larger than life, I wouldn't be surprised if they were real people and Naipaul himself was the young narrator. 

Some of them are super poignant. I can't forget Elias, the boy with the abusive family profile who decides to become a doctor, yet finds the exams are skewed against people with his background, no matter how hard he studies. (We felt it wasn't fair, making a boy like Elias do litritcher and poultry.) Or Bolo, the disillusioned barber who's been let down by so many scams in the media, he refuses to believe the news when he wins the sweepstakes for real. 

Others try to raise their status through any paltry means possible, such as Eddoes, the spic-and-span rubbish cart driver who boasts about the VIPs whose garbage he collects. There is also B. Wordsworth, an aspiring poet who impresses our young narrator by doing everything as if it were some church rite, and aims to write the greatest poem in the world at the rate of one line per month. Although he misses his twenty-two year deadline, the intention is there. When you can't achieve your fondest dreams because the world appears to be pitted against you, you can at least extend your own creativity as far as you can. This makes for some characters and events as colourful as the tropical fruit that appears abundantly throughout these pages. 

Their colonial background is reflected in their language. Everyone speaks with a local patois which tries to observe the rules of formal English but never quite pulls it off. Everything from proper tenses to accurate syntax is really jumbled, with quite a cool result. It's intriguing that these people at that time period adopted the British dialect rather than stick to whatever Caribbean and Creole speech was also current. Perhaps they had no choice. Yet they express facts in matter-of-fact ways which English never would. A prime example is, 'A girl is making baby for me,' which occurs several times throughout these stories. (A quick internet search reveals that it's now regarded as a dialect in its own right, called Trinidadian English.)

Some aspects of the story make me really sad. First is the fact that every resident of Miguel Street generally agrees that life in Trinidad is bound to turn a person bad. This encompasses everything from excessive drinking and chain smoking to domestic violence, murder and other crime. It may well be true, owing to the invisible but powerful handicap everyone faced when it came to pursuing genuine ambitions. Naipaul writes his case really well. Our boy narrator admits candidly that he was heading in the same direction, because the Trinidad atmosphere is just so oppressive, he felt he couldn't help it. Sound characters such as Titus Hoyt the tutor, or B. Wordsworth the poet suggest that not every citizen resorts to making life miserable for others, but that tendency is a major theme of the book. 

All the wife beating leaves a sober impression! Even the kindly role models and 'good' characters believe that it's sensible for a man to keep his spouse in line with physical beatings every so often, as long as they don't make a habit of it. Sadly, these male characters, who know full well they are victims of racism, resort to sexism of the worst kind to alleviate their own frustration. To be a woman living in Miguel Street must have been the worst misfortune, although some of the female characters Naipaul presents had plenty of spirit and force of their own, including the protagonist's mother, who brought up her son with a harsh hand and never hesitated to strike him. 

On the whole, V.S. Naipaul has written a cultural eye-opener that highlights the best and worst of the human spirit. Perhaps the best summing up line is this one. 'A stranger could drive through Miguel Street and just say, "slum" because he could see no more. But we who lived there saw our street as a world where everybody was quite different from everybody else.' I wouldn't mind reading more of Naipaul's work in the future. 

🌟🌟🌟½      

Some Funny Spam

One of the best things about this blog is comments from readers whose search engines have landed on my posts while googling for specific books. I don't know many SEO tweaks I can do from my end to make these encounters even more frequent, but at least evidence has proven that it occasionally happens anyway. What also boosts my spirits is occasionally seeing my own blog posts pop up when I'm in the middle of Google searches about specific books. It's a surreal feeling, to see something I've worked hard on appear in my feed as if I'm a stranger. 

However, the flip side of being available for discovery is all the spam! The abundance of this outnumbers legitimate book comments by far. Opting to use the comment filter has proven to be highly necessary. Without it, this blog would be full of comments which are way off the mark. 

Generally, the spam I get in my comments share these three characteristics.

1) It's essentially self-promotional on behalf of the sender.

2) The people who post it never bother to read my blog posts for suitability, or they would surely realise that my content doesn't match their agendas. Probably most of the comments are from bots. 

3) They can ooze with gushingly false compliments that make me wince. 

So here's my sample of some of the stuff I've had to clear. Although I stopped them from going live, today I'm lifting the lid for your amusement.  

A leasing agency warned me about 10 signs of mold toxicity on Literary Houses that Perish.

A mental health therapy practice advertised their services on Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning.

Another psychiatrist put their two cents worth on managing depression and anxiety in Enchantments and Depression. (Hmm, I'll wager they don't see many story book style enchantments in their clinic which I focused on here.)

A skincare company left a long spiel about their tailored expertise on Madeleine L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time.

Someone hyped up their nasal hair trimmer for men on The Illusionist's Apprentice by Kristy Cambron (for whatever reason). 

A rental company attempted to convince me that they provide the best cars and bikes on Stories featuring Railways and Trains.

A private tutor advertised his services on The Tutor's Daughter by Julie Klassen. (He also gave me the sweeping compliment that, 'every blog post you write is a unique experience! Yeah, yeah.)

Hyundai Spare Parts mentioned their quality stock in Stories with Mirrors.

A pool/spa builder gave himself a lengthy plug in Books to read in the bathtub. (Pun intended.)

A safety machine's website designer commented on Remarkable Causes of Death in Books inviting me to consult them. 

I got tips on how to beat driving test anxiety on Alain de Botton's Status Anxiety. (That review got a bit more attention too. Somebody else thought they'd plant a link to their article, 'How to get Xanax without Prescription' there. Um, no thanks, it's not that sort of anxiety.) 

'Everest Panorama Trek in 10 Days' urged me to give it a try, on We don't have to tackle Mt Everest.

A rose preservation company invited me to contact them for advice in Roses in Literature.

A tea franchiser offered their services in Famous Storybook Tea Parties.

A company that provides cardboard gift boxes advertised themselves on my post about The First Christmas Presents. Thanks guys, but I doubt the three wise men considered such details. 

A recruitment finance office contacted me regarding The Invoice novel by Jonas Karlsson. 

A foreign call girl centre, of all people, commented on my Anne of Green Gables read-athon. They added, 'Thank you, Sir. I like your blog very much.' What the...?

And to wrap it up, a divorce lawyer offered his services on C. S. Lewis' The Great Divorce. Little does he realise the characters in this book are far beyond any service he can provide.

Whew, it's all in the life of a blogger, as I'm sure many others know. And this isn't even including the occasional mean comment. (Such as, 'What a 😢 load of 💩' on my Trixie Belden grand finale post. I was glad to delete that one. Folk, if you don't like what I have to share, you don't have to visit and read it.) 

Thanks, as always, to supportive, genuine readers who stick around.  

'A Murder is Announced' by Agatha Christie

'A Murder is Announced' is a staple of crime fiction and often considered as the best Miss Marple novel. The villagers of Chipping Cleghorn, including Jane Marple who is staying nearby, are agog with curiosity over an advertisement in the local gazette which reads: ‘A murder is announced and will take place on Friday October 29th, at Little Paddocks at 6.30 p.m.’ Is this a childish practical joke? Or a hoax intended to scare poor Letitia Blacklock? Unable to resist the mysterious invitation, a crowd gathers at Little Paddocks at the appointed time when, without warning, the lights go out…

The novel was promoted on both sides of the Atlantic as Agatha Christie's 50th book and published in 1950 by William Collins.

MY THOUGHTS: 

(Note: Coincidentally, today's date was Dame Agatha's birthday. So my mention further down of Dora Bunner's 'Delicious Death' chocolate birthday cake can serve as my tribute to the character and her author alike.) 

This great mystery starts over breakfast in several households, with various townsfolk of Chipping Cleghorn discussing a strange announcement in the local Gazette. 

'A murder is announced and will take place on Friday October 29th at Little Paddocks at 6.30pm. Friends, please accept this, the only intimation.' 

They all guess it's probably a general invitation to a Murder in the Dark style event and make plans to show up. But the household at Little Paddocks turns out to be as mystified as everyone else. To their collective horror, a young intruder becomes the murder victim. Rudi Scherz is (or rather was) a receptionist at the Royal Spa Hotel who placed that ad in the paper himself for whatever reason. He's revealed to be a petty thief or 'picker up of unconsidered trinkets.' Whether his death was intended as a suicide stunt or is a genuine accident remains to be discovered. 

The biggest question is why the heck choose Little Paddocks as the grisly venue? Scherz had nothing to do with the folk who live there, headed by sensible Miss Letitia Blacklock. Detective Inspector Dermot Craddock is a trifle irritated when senior sleuth Miss Jane Marple hobbles onto the scene, but grudgingly admits that he needs all the help he can get. 

'I'm afraid I have no gift except a tendency to believe the worst of human nature,' she demurs. 'Not a nice trait but often so justified.' 

It irks me how everyone refers to Swiss citizen Scherz as 'the foreigner' in such a snobbish, derogatory manner throughout the story. Miss Blacklock accuses the police of having an anti-foreigner complex, yet it's not just them. We get a picture of an insular village mindset where everyone knows each other and regards strangers with suspicion. It's also clear from the 1950 publication date of this novel that the aftermath of World War Two was still turning social structure topsy-turvy. People were anxious to cling to their snobbery-as-usual for comfort. It's a revealing read as a historical document as well as a murder mystery. 

A decadent, homemade chocolate cake referred to as 'Delicious Death' is featured in this story. Mitzi, the uptight refugee cook, is coerced to concoct her specialty for Miss Dora Bunner's birthday. And in real life, Agatha Christie dedicates the book to her friends, Ralph and Anne Newman, 'at whose house I first tasted Delicious Death.' Hmm, I wonder if they left a recipe. It leaves the characters feeling a bit bloated with an unusually high sugar fix while rationing was still a thing. But they didn't care, and nor would I. 

The ending rewarded me for a cosy afternoon reading, with all the Wows I could hope for! I'd noticed a few fishy details but the full picture is still a great a-ha moment. Another murderer who almost got away with a huge risk is brought to justice. And a couple of details I assumed were typos turn out to be integral to the plot. Okay, enough said. 

I love Agatha Christie novels but don't usually give them 5 stars. This time I will, for the masterful twists and larger-than-life characters. It's a great prototype of all the surprises she does best. Christie gets all her ducks in a row here, creates understanding for the murderer, if not a sort of sympathy, but makes it clear that escaping justice would have been preposterous. (After all, we feel sorrier still for the victims.) And it establishes Miss Marple even more firmly as one of my favourite sleuths.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟