Orlando: A Biography by Virginia Woolf (1928)

Fantastic events occur in the long life of an Elizabethan nobleman, er, woman.

Book Review: Orlando is an unfettered example of Virginia Woolf having too much fun. Who knew? In this amazing detour from her other novels, she uses all the tools at her disposal: sarcasm, irony, satire, humor, great heaps of silly as well as a small boatload of snark. Although reminiscent of Candide, here Woolf is in full-blown biographer guise (there's even an Index and eight photographs of Orlando) describing the random events of our aristocrat's picaresque life. The novel is really just an excuse for Woolf to expound (seriously and not so much) on the subjects she wants to talk about, spread over the three or four centuries of Orlando's life. She spends much of the book commenting on history, English society, writers and literature, the mechanics of writing, women's rights (and the lack thereof), the sexes, love and connection. Although there is a bit of gender bending, it's accomplished in a restrained and fairly chaste manner. No details or descriptions are given of the transformation and subsequent interactions. Not as radical as often portrayed. Orlando's life hits the traditional major moments. As Orlando was a major success (critical and financial) for Woolf, perhaps she knew what she was doing. Woolf's vivacity and wit are well displayed, with an endless number of great lines ready to highlight. Could she have done stand-up? We'll never know, but I'm sure she was great fun at tea parties. The novel slows in the later pages, but that does little to damage the entertainment and edification that came before. If Mrs. Dalloway or The Waves aren't your cup of tea, Orlando may be the hearty helping of Assam you need.  [4★]

"The Death of Ivan Ilych" by Leo Tolstoy (1886)

Suffering leads a man to examine his life.

Story Review: "The Death of Ivan Ilych," one of Tolstoy's later works (written after his great novels), is a simple story still relevant today. The author begins by painting the portrait of Ivan Ilych, a proper, successful government bureaucrat -- seemingly he has everything. These pages seem pointless at first, awaiting the final third of the story to reveal their meaning. Ilych's life is proper, but empty. He does everything correctly, studies hard, gets married, earns a prestigious job, rises to the top of his profession. He lives for "what was considered good by persons of higher position." But his life is unnatural, futile, his bureaucratic work has no purpose, is divorced from meaning. He always did what was expected of him by others, but never made his own choices. Ilych's only enjoyment was playing cards (the 19th Century version of video games), which he relished above all else, including time spent with his family. Later, the memory of these pleasures give him no relief -- only the help of a humble peasant will ease his pain (do I hear cymbals?). Yes, as is cleverly foreshadowed in the story's title, Ivan Ilych becomes mortally ill, suffers horribly, and in his existential crisis begins to search his life for meaning. Tolstoy gives his answer to this crisis, and while it may be the only reasonable interpretation of the story, it's not the only possible interpretation, and not the only meaning the reader can take away. Tolstoy is a writer, he knows the value of the vague and ambiguous. "The Death of Ivan Ilych" is somewhat dated in our post-existential age, but still a worthwhile meditation on life, dying, and death.  [4★]

Poem

Put It Away, Now

Put it away, now --

bike in the garage

shoes by the bench

notebook on the table

jacket -- closet.

Bus, school, homework

riding the bike

kneeling by the maple

wasn’t so much

we put it away.

Just small

behind the door

it all can be put away

put away childish things

nothing to say.

In a drawer, perhaps a cabinet

out of sight, where it’ll stay

if not there, then under

under is good, under the stairs

under the bed.

So many places

and put away it’s easily --

like it never.

Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy (1878)

An aristocratic woman wants more from life. An aristocratic man wants more from life. They both get their wish.

Book Review: Anna Karenina is not as intimidating as we're led to believe. Much like root canals. Tolstoy writes clearly and efficiently, even repeating himself sufficiently to ensure the reader keeps up. The story is so well known that spoilers are part of our common heritage, but with Tolstoy that's irrelevant. Even knowing the ending, Anna Karenina is a journey worth taking. At heart, the story is about two people: Levin, a man who finds himself, and Anna, a woman who loses her way. Both are part of the wealthy, cultured class, the aristocracy, in which everyone seems to speak at least three languages. He is awkward, clumsy, a misfit. She is intelligent, charming, beautiful. She is of the city, distant from the peasants. He is a landowner, a farmer, of the land and works alongside the recently emancipated serfs. She aspires to be cultured and European, he rejects the influence of the West and desires to be closer to his Russian nature. He's in a practically perfect marriage, although insecure and overly jealous. She's in an unhappy marriage, which she forsakes for a dangerous romance, also tormented by insecurity and jealousy. Her insecurity stems from her precarious position as a scarlet woman, little of which taints her lover. She has no right to her child and is ostracized by her peers. I actually didn't get a full picture of her as a person till near the end of the book when we see her through Levin's eyes, which is the only time they meet. She has so much hunger for life, she wants so much, is capable of such rich feeling that it's especially cruel to see her circumscribed and punished. Both protagonists suffer an existential crisis at the end of the book, which neither of their lovers are capable of comprehending.

Two great strengths of the novel, layers of genius, brilliancies, are how Tolstoy gives such a complex, accurate evocation of the interior of every character, which then enriches a series of wrenching, all-too-human vignettes. He spends much of his writing from inside everyone's head, telling us what they're thinking and why they're thinking it. Motivation is carefully examined, people change their minds, and simply change. Even the dog Laska has a rich inner life. Tolstoy has a surprisingly strong sensitivity and support for women. Amazing. Many of the emotionally powerful moments are obviously drawn from Tolstoy's own life, such as his illustration of Levin's wedding, the birth of his child, the death of his brother. Even in his lengthy descriptions of farming, Tolstoy's writing exults in the joys of physical labor. There are many brilliant accounts of individual moments: Kitty's care of Levin's dying brother, Anna's love for her son, Karenin's transformations, Anna's disordered thoughts. This is Tolstoy's genius.

Although not suspenseful or compelling, the short chapters and many varied characters easily encourage continued reading. The book is just long (like a Russian winter), with enervating stretches that beg to be shortened for the modern reader. The sections about Levin are a bit less interesting, diluting the greater drama of Anna's life. Much of Levin is written from Tolstoy's own point of view, with the author eager to share his opinions on farming, politics, relationships, and more. He is loyal to the old world: good guys are of the land, bad guys are the effete, cosmopolitan, urban elites. In fact, much of the book promotes Tolstoy's philosophy, especially a theme of distancing Russia from European culture. Long tracts on farming, tangents on hunting, much mocking of politics. There are also involved descriptions of religion, especially during Levin's existential crisis.

Some of these moments are brilliant and enlightening, but in the end (for me) Anna Karenina is too long, unnecessarily long. To have tightened the book, to bring the wonderful scenes closer together, would've brought this book to all the people, instead of only those rarefied Westerners willing to climb the mountain. I know many people believe Anna Karenina is magnificent as written, but whether because of cultural differences, differences in how we read now, or just my own impatience and limitations, for me the length weakens the power and emotional impact.

A few random thoughts: my gosh do Russians really blush this much? It seemed the characters couldn't get through a conversation without a good, healthy flushing and blushing. And how are there so many princes and princesses? Also, although we think of Tolstoy was one of the great writers of eternity, timeless on his pinnacle, writing this all time classic, Anna Karenina is actually very much of its time and place, citing countless contemporary events, books, people, stores, and streets. It's not just a 19th Century novel, it's a novel of 1878. Finally, what a great first line -- when did we stop having great first lines?

I had access to three translations (Garnette, Maude, Pevear/Volokhonsky); all had positives and negatives (my Garnette edition wasn't edited, which some seem to think is the best). While reading I came across sentences that made me question the translation, when I'd think, "That's not how we say it English," or "That doesn't seem quite right." Then I'd consult all three versions. What sounded the best, seemed correct, appeared to be most accurate, varied among the three translations. I mostly read the P&V, but none stood out. If I could take parts of all three to make a clear, appropriate translation. One that read smoothly and like a book that had been written in English, instead of sounding translated. For instance, "You've done good deeds while with us," versus, "You've done good actions while with us."

Perhaps I'm a barbarian. Better readers will get more from the book than I did. For me it seemed long, and a book shouldn't seem long no matter how many pages it has (just as Austen's Emma is long). I'm not proud of it, but I don't think Anna Karenina is as necessary as I did before reading it. Certainly there was something to learn, certainly I'm glad I read it, certainly I'll still read War and Peace. In hindsight, I could've lived without reading it. Perhaps my time could've been spent on Middlemarch or Infinite Jest. I can recognize the genius that went into this masterpiece, but I also know I missed something, and remember the moments my attention wandered. At 350 pages, this would've been the book I expected.  [4★]

Sula by Toni Morrison (1973)

Nobel Prize Winner Toni Morrison's second novel is the story of a deep childhood friendship gone deeply wrong.

Book Review: Sula is lovely, magical, and sad. A short book, evoking a small town; it's tempting to think of it as aiming low, not trying to be too big. But like Emily Dickinson, Toni Morrison can find whole universes in the tiniest of incidents. The accumulation of small instances creates all of life and death (especially death) in our visit to Medallion, Ohio. Death filters through every page, can occur at any moment, is the only god that matters: "They did not believe death was accidental -- life might be, but death was deliberate." The two girls' friendship, Nel and Sula, is unalterably touched by death. The story occurs mostly within the black community, in black people's treatment of each other, good and bad, women and men, and coping with the trials and tribulations of their lives. Throughout there is the prophetic, the reader being told what's to come, just not how or why: "It would be ten years before they saw each other again, and their meeting would be thick with birds."

Morrison is such a beyond-talented writer. She's like a basketball player who can make all possible shots, so now she needs to try the impossible ones. Sometimes she relies on her dizzying literary pyrotechnics, her pile-driving poetry, instead of just telling the story. Morrison describes Sula one way, but Sula acts another. Nel asks Sula why she was so cruel. Sula doesn't answer. Morrison tries to explain Sula through some of her most poetic flights of dazzlement -- beautiful, awesome words in a book full of miraculous writing, but I still didn't understand Sula (my fault, I know). Why the cruelty? "How come you did it, Sula?" Nel and I both needed to know. "I was good to you, Sula, why don't that matter?" But because of the strength of this novel, I had to just accept Sula as an inexplicably disturbing and destructive force of nature, and go on.

Morrison's black enclave of the Bottom in Medallion, Ohio, reminded me of Zora Neale Hurston's writing about the (real) African American town of Eatonville, Florida. Both create a rich history, the families, stories, residents, customs of a real community supposedly untouched by the white world outside. The Bottom also has its own magical myths and impossible legends, strongly reminiscent of Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Macondo, though instead of being set in the jungles of Colombia, Morrison sets her story in the jungle that is America. Whether Morrison read Garcia Marquez is immaterial, she creates her own individual vision and version of a reality inhabited by the fantastic and mythical, whether rooted in modern genres and narratives, or in wily African American folk tales, or American tall tales.

Sula has some of the most powerful, poetic writing I've ever read. At times it seems that Morrison is saying, "You think that was good? Watch me now!" Never seen to be showing off (or is she?), but always amazing, and sometimes her writing sends the reader soaring so high she fears she may never get back down. But the story has its foundation in a small town with a philosophy: "The purpose of evil was to survive it and they determined ... to survive floods, white people, tuberculosis, famine and ignorance. They knew anger well but not despair."  [4★]

"Cat Person" by Kristen Roupenian (2017)

From the current New Yorker comes a short story which has been the source of much discussion and dare I say it ... (dare! dare!) ... controversy.

Story Review: "Cat Person" is well-written, a compelling read, and as is thoroughly documented: thought provoking. The story, is quite simply, about a "relationship" between a young woman and a slightly older man. "Relationship" is in quotes because this story made me realize what a huge breadth of human interaction is contained in that now-almost-useless word. It's about the modern world of texting, hook-ups, and surface. Dating, perhaps. Believable, realistic enough, curious. No good guys or bad guys. "Cat Person" has caused quite a bit of discussion on the internet. Kristen Roupenian's story is open-ended, with plenty of space to form opinions, choose sides, get angry and self-righteous, to discuss morality, youth, common sense, women and men, culture. It's a story of our time like no other in a long while. Well worth reading. What impressed me in the story and subsequent discussion is that it's a mirror, a rorschach test. What readers take away from "Cat Person" says more about the reader, and less about the short piece itself. Readers will find some aspect of themselves here and they may not like what they see. For many it seems to be the "judging" side of their personality. The story is in the current issue of the New Yorker, is an e-book, but is also easy to find on the internet. Look it up, see what folks are talking about. See what you think.  [4★]

Fables and Fairy Tales by Leo Tolstoy (1886)

A selection of instructional short works collected or written by the famous Russian author.

Book Review: Fables and Fairy Tales by Leo Tolstoy is a bit of an oddity, but a good oddity. These are indeed fables and fairy tales, mostly aimed at children, all embodying a moral lesson. Unlike Aesop, Tolstoy doesn't include an actual moral at the end, leaving that for the reader to decipher. Since many of these pieces were included in primers to help students learn to read, the moral should be relatively simple, but a good number of these contain ideas worth pondering. A piece of advice in the middle of one tale is: "tell your sons that the elder will receive the entire inheritance, and the younger will receive nothing; then they will be equal." Of course, the younger son ends up better off than the older. But "The Snake" has a disturbingly nihilist conclusion, surely baffling to children. In another a hungry peasant eats roll after roll, and after finally eating a single pretzel is no longer hungry -- he realizes he should've eaten the pretzel first! Who says Tolstoy has no sense of humor? While all these stories were new to me, most seemed familiar. For example, Tolstoy uses the metaphor of many birds caught in a net for the adage, "if we do not hang together we will surely hang separately." In another, two hedgehogs find a way to duplicate the success of the tortoise with the hare. All in all, these Fables and Fairy Tales express Tolstoy's philosophy of doing good no matter the cost, which can be difficult for those who concern themselves with superficial notions of fairness, of right and wrong. In a longer piece we learn: "For life there is neither time nor space. The life of a moment and the life of thousands of years, your life and the lives of all creatures, seen and unseen, is one." This is for children? Finally, in "The Three Questions," the answers are: the most important time is now, the most important person is the one you're with, and the most important act is to do good to that person. Fables and Fairy Tales may be the shortest of Tolstoy's works, and at 130 some pages will be certainly the easiest way, even if you re-read, to honestly claim that you've read Tolstoy.  [4★]

FilmLit: Doctor Who - The Unquiet Dead (2005)

The Doctor and Rose Tyler venture back to Victorian Cardiff to team up with Charles Dickens.

Television Review: "The Unquiet Dead" sees the Ninth Doctor (Christopher Eccleston), Rose Tyler, and their good friend Charles Dickens take on spooky, smoky, zombie phantasms on Christmas Eve in 1869. I'm not saying Doctor Who is anything more than fun escapist fare, as with myriad other fandoms (to each their own). I do, however, appreciate the show's little efforts to take it one step better, as with the episodes recruiting famous English writers such as Agatha Christie, William Shakespeare, and here, Dickens. We first see him in "The Unquiet Dead" backstage, depressed at spending his Christmas Eve traveling on a reading tour. Dickens is brilliantly personified by Simon Callow (perhaps best known for Four Weddings and a Funeral). Callow's Dickens will be stuck in my head forever whenever I hear the name. Although at first put off by his brash manner, Dickens quickly warms to the Doctor's unfeigned enthusiasm for and flattery of his work. The plot centers around a funeral parlor which aliens (this is Doctor Who, after all) are using as a portal to enter our world through the "restless dear departed." A seance (Dickens, a known debunker of psychic phenomena, is at first skeptical) is used to contact the aliens. Initially, it seems that all will be resolved well and happily, but soon all goes bonkers (this is Doctor Who, after all). Of course Dickens, genius that he is, plays a key role in addressing the alien menace (and quotes Shakespeare). "The Unquiet Dead" is a more than usually excellent episode -- with a healthy dose of in-jokes and literary references for the initiated. Extra added bonus: the missing ending of The Mystery of Edwin Drood is revealed.  🐢

Thoughts About Reading ... #3

Random thoughts ... some more random than others. Over the course of a day or three, a lot of thoughts fly through my steel-sieve mind; these are just the ones that got stuck.

First, I'll tell you somethin' for nothin' -- perfection is overrated. The sooner we accept that, the happier we'll be. Aiming to be better, doing the best you can, even trying for perfection, all good habits. But if we expect perfection (in ourselves or others) we should also expect disappointment. Besides, perfection is boring: bumps and dents and a barnacle or two are just what make life interesting. And tolerable. Before you think I'm auditioning to be a self-help writer, here's where I'm going with this: let's not expect perfection from authors, even our favorite writers. Lets be tolerant of a few weak spots, give authors the room they need to experiment, to try new things. Give writers the freedom to fail. Even the greatest writers have flaws; let's concede that there are few perfect books. Artists need to reach for something they can't quite grasp. If we judge too harshly, the alternative is repetition, the same old thing, and the disappearance of daring. A little tolerance goes a long way.

Next: Don't mess with my reading! The last thing I want is sanitized fiction. I don't want anyone shutting down an author who dares write a hateful character. The word of the day is "problematic." Tell me a book or author is "problematic," and I'll still have to decide for myself: no one's doing my thinking for me. I have to reach my own wrong opinions. I want a few bigots, jerks, some nasty jokers, and few generally ignorant idiots in my books. We can't ignore the bad elements of life and we can't fight bigotry and prejudice if we don't identify it. Every year during "Banned Books Week" we hear about all the books that people were told not to read because they were "problematic." Social media bullying is the new "Banned Books Week." Everybody who discriminates (including railing against some hapless author) thinks they're doing it for a good reason. Next time you hear a book is "problematic," don't let that stop you if it's a book you want to read. You may learn there's a vast chasm between representation and endorsement, and context is everything. Today some readers are more interested in finding some trivial way in which a book is less culturally sensitive than they judge it should be, than in trying to learn what the book is saying. Some are competing to be the most culturally sensitive -- the world is culturally insensitive and that's going to creep into books. I really don't want either Big Brother or those who are "more sensitive than thou," to be the mama bird that predigests my reading for me. Whew! Rant over.

Finally, I want to mention that rare intersection of the Venn diagram that is educational and entertaining, which is The Cartoon History of the Universe by Larry Gonick. The series is up to three volumes now (hey, it's big subject). I've read the first two volumes and learned more than I'd like to admit. Graphic history is cool. Gonick has published graphic histories in a variety of areas; if the others are anything like what I've read, they're awesome. These books are perfect for teenagers (older teenagers for parents who turn a blind eye to the world we live in) and all adults. But even more than simply imparting knowledge, graphic histories also have the potential for inspiring interest, passion even, in the subject matter and learning in general. One good graphic history could turn you, or your aimless, unmotivated, slacker child, into a college-bound future scientist of the world. Go for it!  🐢

Chicks Dig Time Lords by Lynne M. Thomas (2010)

A series of essays by women about the BBC television series, Doctor Who, describing what the good Doctor has meant to them.

Book Review: Chicks Dig Time Lords is the light, pop-culture book one might grab at the library as reading material for down-time during a Doctor Who holiday binge. It's also the kind of book to convince me that I'm not a real fan as I have zip interest in attending conventions, cosplay, creating fan fiction, fretting about the fan base, or even leaving the house much. This is a book by and for the fandom and folks somehow connected with the show (e.g., an actor's sister). Most of the women (more than half are from North America, though there is an Australian!) are lifelong fans of the show, and the contents include interviews and a cartoon (there're even suggestions for good convention food). Most of the writers began watching the "classic" episodes with the older Doctors -- many of the American viewers first encountered the Fourth Doctor, y'know, the one with the wild curly hair, perpetually bewildered expression, and a scarf always long enough to trip over. Chicks Dig Time Lords is all in good fun, attempting to balance the traditional audience skew toward male fans. Most of the articles are light and amusing except one that (among other fault finding) castigates the Doctor for rarely kissing men and a female character for "only" being a medical doctor. Sorry, my standards aren't that high. And sorry again, although tempted, I'm not going to apply the Bechdel Test to every episode of the show -- Doctor Who is too slender a reed to bear such weight; the series makes a reasonable effort at political correctness. Soon we'll have a (much overdue) female Doctor. Plus, Catherine Tate was on the show, so that's good enough for me. Chicks Dig Time Lords is now outdated, as it ends with the Tenth (and so far, the best -- he of the "quicksilver charm and fantastic hair") Doctor. Actually, I only finished reading (it got a little repetitious) so I could write this review in good conscience. Entertaining and diverting, but without much substance. Not bad, but not necessary. Just for fun. Best aimed at die-hard (seriously die-hard) fans and scholars only; this collection could be of use to pop-culture academics studying fan bases and related phenomena. But I did learn at least two things: fans of professional sports are just as much a fandom as geek fans, and the Doctor Who fandom is definitely bigger on the inside.  [3★]

The Angel's Game by Carlos Ruiz Zafon (2008)

An author of cheap, sensational crime novels in 1920s Barcelona is recruited to write a book for a wealthy, satanic stranger.

Book Review: The Angel's Game is a story of ... just about everything. There's no way I can reduce this to just a story of family or love, of books or writing, of philosophy or mystery. The beautifully written pages contain all of that and more; many readers will be drawn to the author's understanding of the love and power of books and writing. There's also a secret library! Zafon's detailed descriptions took me into the streets of Barcelona; I was there, sometimes forgetting it was a historical novel as it seemed to have been written in the 1930s. The plot is slow and deliberately paced, careful and precise. When I needed to I could stop reading The Angel's Game, but I always wanted to come back to it, wanted to learn what would happen, and never guessed what was next. There's a love story, but the book's real heart is the relationship between the protagonist and a young girl who becomes his assistant: with love, respect, hurt, humor, compassion. A lesser writer would have added a romantic relationship, but Zafon refuses and the book is stronger for it. I also liked the connection between our hero and an elderly bookshop owner. There are several discussions about religion here, making the reader wonder: what if the devil decided he wanted his own book, his own bible (since the winners write the history books). Speaking of religion, one character is not-too-subtly named Cristina -- hmm. The second half of the book gradually picks up steam, with occasional bumps and surprises along the way. The last few chapters become just like the protagonist's cheap crime novels: lots of gun play and violence. The ending will be a test of how successful the novel is for the individual reader. For me it didn't quite work (too much "ick"), but certainly didn't ruin the rest of the novel for me. The English translation by Lucia Graves was very good. The Angel's Game doesn't answer all the questions it raises (at least one confusing minor plot point), it's that kind of a book, but it's well worth the read. I haven't read Zafon's immensely popular The Shadow of the Wind, but now I'll have to get to it.  [4★]

Jane Austen at Home by Lucy Worsley (2017)

A new biography of a little-known, early 19th Century woman writer from southern England.

Book Review: Jane Austen at Home is a casual and quirky new biography of everyone's favorite writer from Steventon. Informal and comfortable, it doesn't read like an academic treatise although it has the requisite notes and sourcing. Instead, it's more like a chat with a freind over tea, telling about a book she read recently, certain not to miss any of the gossipy (and racy) bits. Usually biographers who refer to their subject by first name annoy me no end, but in Worsley's writing it's natural and unaffected. The author stresses a number of points she believes are necessary to understanding Austen. Worsley emphasizes the difference between the free spirited Georgians of Austen's time, and the prim nature of the later Victorians. It's unclear whether this is merely a generational change (our parents' times being different than ours), or whether the culture actually transformed. She also notes that Austen was a Tory, a status quo conservative (openly contradicting the premise of the recent Jane Austen: the Secret Radical (2016) by Helena Kelly). Austen wrote of the classes above her own, the class of which she barely touched, but sometimes viewed, the bottom fringe. The financial difficulties and insecurities of Austen's own life, shines a clear light on the painful trials that faced Austen's heroines if without the safety of a good marriage or wealthy family. Although Austen wrote heartbreakingly of Charlotte Lucas and her willingness to endure an imperfect marriage to satisfy a desire for her own house, Austen was unwilling to make the same sacrifice. One of Worsley's great strengths is finding parallels to Austen's life in her novels or in the writings of neighboring contemporaries. Although Jane Austen at Home has some focus on Austen's houses and homes, domestic life and duties, it wasn't obtrusive and more seemed to signal that this book wasn't an exegesis of Austen's novels (though she knows the novels backward and forward).

Worsley has called herself "an entry-level historian," and admits that hers is a very personal take on Austen's life: "This is, unashamedly, the story of my Jane, every word of it written with love," who is "a better version of myself," in "a personal, not a definitive, interpretation of her life." She is more than willing to explore insignificant tangents, to speculate wildly and guess without evidence about instances and incidents in Austen's life. Departures and digression are frequent and Worsley is more than willing to go off on a frolic and detour. All information about Austen's life passes through her biases, with contemporary witnesses becoming "ungrateful" rather than reliable when their statements deviate from the author's preferences. Worsley's opinions carry equal weight with the facts (when Jane's words disagree with her interpretation, then "Jane was joking." She's also more than willing to avoid the high horse in her colorful informality: a highwayman "must have looked rather like Adam Ant"; Austen's letters are full of "bitterness, bitchiness and regret"; a relative wins "Legacy Bingo"; another relative "could be pain" (location of said pain not provided); her brother had been "sucking up to important people." Her own biases and pandering to her followers round out Worsley's take on Austen's life. She's correct: we all find and believe in our own personal version of Jane (see Helena Kelly, above).

For all you potential biographers out there, I'll tell you something for nothing. For those unfamiliar a nice map of the south of England (mainly Hampshire) would be quite helpful in clarifying Austen's story (without the awkward Googling).

Lucy Worsley is a celebrity, a BBC presenter, with loyal following -- it's easy to feel we know her and the book reflects her tone. Jane Austen at Home is a fun, engaging, and idiosyncratic take on Austen's life. For Austen fans it's like gossiping with another Janeite. For serious Austen readers, however, Claire Tomalin's 1997 biography might be a better place to start, with this one being a second or third supplement. Engaging, readable, and quirky, but not definitive.  [3★]

The Letters of Sylvia Plath: Volume I, 1940-1956 (2017)

Plath put as much effort into her correspondence as her other writing, she's witty, engaging, energetic -- a true writer, she wanted the recipients to enjoy her letters.

Book Review: The Letters of Sylvia Plath is a chunker, a monster, a brick, a beast, massive ... literally a "tome." Sylvia Plath, in those pre-Twitter and texting days, wrote a lot of letters (future generations will not have the pleasure of reading letters collections). More than 1,390 letters. You've already read some of this book if you've ever read a biography of Sylvia Plath; these letters are what her biographers have been quoting at us for years. Many previously appeared in the 500 page volume, Letters Home (1975), edited by Plath's devoted mother, Aurelia Schober Plath, which I read previously. This volume is only the first (the second is expected in 2018), clocking in just shy of 1400 pages, and this brobdingnagian volume will mostly appeal only to biographers and the most pious Plath fans. I count myself in the latter group (Plath and Emily Dickinson are two of America's best poets, not just best female poets).

No, I haven't read the whole of The Letters of Sylvia Plath, perhaps never will. I've been paging through and reading randomly for about a month now, but already two fascinating themes have emerged. First is how, paradoxically, Plath is wonderfully confident of her mother's love and interest in the tiniest of details, but her need for her mother's approval is also nakedly apparent. So much focus has been placed on Plath's relationship with her too-soon departed father (per her most famous poem, "Daddy"), but her relationship with her mother could be a lifetime study (thanks to this recent overdose of evidentiary material). Second, Plath is surprisingly open, frank, and confident in her letters with her boyfriends. Perhaps I have a mistaken image of the times. With further reading, I'm looking forward to further revelations and insights. Plath was diligent and hard working. She was intelligent, ambitious, talented beyond belief, and funny; those qualities come through in the letters. So much personality. Aurelia Plath was a single mother, uncommon in those days, with two children. Coming from limited means, money was always an issue. Plath worked hard for scholarships and literary prizes -- they were not only a much needed validation, the money was necessary to exist in her elite academic circle (Smith College, University of Cambridge). She needed the money, even simply to buy a sweater.

In addition to the letters, there are photos, facsimiles, poems, and drawings. The footnotes and index are amazing, extensive and thorough -- for scholars half the research is already complete. The Letters of Sylvia Plath is a class act, professional, expert, and always well done. Worthy of Plath's legacy.  [5★]

The Tragedy of Macbeth by William Shakespeare (1606)

The classic Scottish tale of ambition, murder, and guilt, with witches.

Play Review: Macbeth is about nature -- human nature, the natural world, women's nature in a man's world. Shakespeare's play is first a study of the human soul, of our humanity, of what we as humans may do. On the stage he essays ambition, murder, and guilt, but beneath the plot is a choice anyone may confront: whether to do wrong. As in King Lear, Shakespeare writes about these concepts through complex characters. Each of the title roles is a laboratory, an experiment in human nature; rarely has a writer put so much possibility into parts. Macbeth, apparently a good, loyal, brave man, becomes none of these when the Weird Sisters suggest he may rule without consequence. At first he hesitates, that moment is his human nature. When that spark of humanity is extinguished by his wife, he learns there are consequences aplenty. One murder begets two more, and then more until wife and husband crack. After first demanding murder, Lady Macbeth is punished by her better nature. She becomes a Freudian symbol, the archetype of a guilty soul.

Shakespeare uses the natural world as both the impetus for, and a reflection of, human actions. As in Hamlet, Shakespeare begins with the fantastic. He displays the Weird Sisters who, bound to nature, spark the action by presenting a possibility. They share prophecies with Macbeth and Banquo. Banquo is tempted, but the spark doesn't catch; Macbeth is tempted, hesitates, then acts against his nature. Nature herself has a role in the play. Predicting Duncan's murder, the sun fails to shine, horses become cannibals, the shy owl kills the falcon. These extraordinary events parallel the characters' abnormal acts. Nature is used as metaphor throughout, as in Lady Macduff's bitter speech about her  unnatural abandonment by her husband, noting that even the "poor wren will fight against the owl." Later, the distraught Macduff compares his slaughtered family to his "chickens." Macbeth and his wife have gone against nature, both theirs and the natural order.

The three Weird Sisters embody nature, but also the strength of the feminine: maiden, mother, and crone. Shakespeare uses the feminine as a force of nature. The Sisters create the spark that Lady Macbeth fans, shaming her husband into murder by attacking his manhood. Lady Macbeth mocks her husband for not being man enough to do what she may not. She does all but wield the dagger. But after the murder she loses her resolve, conquered by her decent "female" nature, as Macbeth's "violent" nature takes over. Lady Macbeth, defying traditional roles, is contrasted with Lady Macduff who, relying on traditional roles, is betrayed by a husband who leaves her defenseless. Both die. Macbeth's executioner is one who "was not born of woman."

Macbeth is simple and straightforward. Shakespeare is confident his characters are strong enough to say what he wants to tell. Macbeth and his wife go against nature, and both disintegrate. Beneath the greater issues, we see a human need for hesitation and second thoughts, reflection before and after our acts, the pain of guilt to prevent us from future wrong acts, all so we may know what it is to be human. Simple thoughts, but powerfully shown.  [5★]

Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky (1864)

A sick, spiteful, wicked, unattractive man shares his philosophy and bits of his life. Also, his liver hurts.

Book Review: Notes from Underground was the first step in Dostoevsky's most productive and successful period, followed by Crime and Punishment (1866), The Idiot (1868), Demons (1872), and The Brothers Karamazov (1880). As such, the life of the underground man may hold keys to understanding the later books (for thesis writers, there are plenty of reflections of Raskolnikov in the underground man). Notes from Underground can be read on several levels. For those familiar with Russian history and literature, Dostoevsky includes a study of those intellectuals influenced by Western values and as such alienated from the land, religion, and their Russian heritage. These intellectuals are people of "heightened consciousness," as opposed to "normal" men, "direct" or ingenuous men, men of action; the two extremes are also identified as the man and the mouse, with the Westernized intellectual being the "mouse." This discussion includes many references to What is to be Done? (1863) by Dostoevsky's ideological opposite, N.G. Chernyshevsky. This reading of the book is of a contemporary Russian writing for contemporary Russians. This level of interpretation, however, isn't too profitable or entertaining for non-scholars and simple readers like me.

The book can also be read as a study of existentialism: the underground man is an existentialist. He is solely an individual, he has no meaning in his life, although he is searching but failing to find some meaning. The underground man is constantly upset, disturbed, impassioned, filled with anxiety. He lives in a permanent existential crisis, always vacillating, weak, miserable. He may not know who he is, but paradoxically (Dostoevsky calls him a "paradoxalist") he is himself. Discontented and resentful but unbound. He makes his own choices, always bad choices, but his own. He's lost his Russianness, but nothing has filled the void: "it is not at all the underground that is better, but something different, completely different, which I thirst for but cannot ever find!" My guess is that the underground man's world is what Dostoevsky saw in his dark nights of the soul. Although religious (if he is an existentialist, he made his meaning from traditional Russia and the Church), as an intelligent man Dostoevsky also had doubts, and he wrote what he saw in those moments of doubt. What was his gambling addiction except a manifestation of doubt, and in the throes of his addiction he had visions from the underground man's world.

Finally, if Notes from Underground can be read apart from historical and existential interpretations, it can be read as a story. The book (novella?) is divided into two parts. In the first, we are virtually only exposed to his inner life, his mind's constant rant, and we have barely any description of the real world around him. This can seem to go on too long, which was Dostoevsky's point, but still wears on the reader: we get it already! In the second part, we have more interaction with other people, "friends" and a lover, Liza, but he's still always wretched and miserable. The underground man is someone you may have seen, that person in class or in the office, the loner down the block who just seems pathetic, never happy, never fitting in, a "loser." He feels superior because of his intellectual capacity, but also knows that he's less than other people. He's read too many books. But he still needs human contact. He wants to join, to connect, but he can't make contact, adapt, conform, get along. He can only live his own way, which is always self-defeating relative to the real world. He cannot even be honest with himself, telling Liza "I look upon my poverty with pride. I'm poor but noble." But in the same discussion he says, "I'm ashamed of it most of all." The "underground" is his own diseased mind, that he can't let others see. The underground man cannot connect with other people, and would rather stay in his fantasies than suffer the humiliations of the real world. He'd rather "be left alone in the underground." Living life has "crushed" him, that it is "even difficult ... to breathe." He would like to conform, gain the admiration of acquaintances, but he is unable, his nerves, his narcissism, prevent him from interacting in any kind of normal manner. We don't know how he came to be this way.

This is not a light and easy read; few people will be able to read this purely for enjoyment. Notes from Underground is a book for those who want a challenging read, want to expand their vision, to grow a little. A work of the mind as much as the heart.  [4★]

FilmLit: I Am Not Your Negro (2017)

James Baldwin's words mesh with American history to create a crushing documentary you must watch. You can thank me later.

Film Review: I Am Not Your Negro is necessary. See it. Please. (If you don't trust me: it has a 98% rating on Rotten Tomatoes.) Get it from the internet, check your local library, wherever, and help us all become the people we were meant to be. If you've seen Eyes on the Prize, this is that turned up to 11 and transported to 2017. Ken Burns with a passion and a mission. If you've read Ta-Nehisi Coates, this is him on steroids with visuals (Coates himself being influenced by Baldwin). This is James Baldwin (1924-1987) brought back from the grave so his zombie corpse can speak to a time in which Black Lives Matter is a thing and introduce Medgar, Martin, and Malcolm to a time that has forgotten it needs them; hearing them in their own words is mesmerizing. This is the book he began in 1979 but never completed, now resuscitated and given a new and more powerful voice. All the narration is from Baldwin's words, read immaculately by Samuel L. Jackson (who's never given a better performance -- straight from the heart). We remember what a brilliant writer Baldwin was. He is the center of I Am Not Your Negro through clips of interviews and speeches, interspersed with bits of films (Baldwin was a movie fan) and visuals from throughout American history, photos and footage of the civil rights struggle from the 1950s to 2017. We see how so much of what was feared in that time has come home to roost today. For Baldwin's "Birmingham," the viewer can substitute Charlottesville, or any city in which an unarmed black man was shot dead by the government. Too many similarities still exist from then to now -- recent events have made Baldwin's words not only prophetic, but contemporaneous. We learn that seeing through others' eyes is necessary, but blacks and whites in our national book club are reading two different books, and then discussing as if it's the same book. We can also see that this is not solely a racial problem, but a human problem, an American problem, in which no Americans should be treated as some Americans are treated. One third of America consists of racists and racist enablers. This documentary is not for them, as watching it will only make them purchase another gun, buy a new lock for the front door, and feel a certain smug nostalgia while watching the swastikas and frothing mobs try to prevent small black children from going to school. This film is for decent Americans and traditional liberals, and for those who lament Charlottesville, routinely vote for civic improvement, and can stare unflinchingly at racism without seeing it. I Am Not Your Negro may help us all see the world just a little more clearly. Maybe we'll all move closer to reading the same book.  🐢

We Were Eight Years in Power by Ta-Nehisi Coates (2017)

An article from The Atlantic for each year of the Obama administration.

Book Review: We Were Eight Years in Power embodies my mixed feelings when I hear the name Ta-Nehisi Coates. The first dozen or so times it was being thrown in my face, variations on "even that Coates guy? He thinks Obama's a joke." I didn't enjoy having to simultaneously debate America's favorite intellectual and some random dude's efforts to de-legitimize the first black president. But that's okay, because these eight articles (and even more valuable epilogue) are necessary, educational, and (mostly) riveting; the book's subtitle is "An American Tragedy." In just two books (haven't read his first, yet) and a series of stellar articles in The Atlantic, Ta-Nehisi Coates has become required reading. His insights change how readers see the world, and the next time there's something in the news, something about the Civil War, something from the President, the reader will think about it a little bit differently. Even those who don't agree with everything Coates espouses will still hear his voice saying, "Yeah, but ... ." While he's opening eyes, he's opening minds.

Coates has done much valuable reading and research, but at times the endless statistics and unrelenting litany of racism, discrimination, violence, and other barbarity in his articles becomes numbing (as with some Holocaust literature). Emotional overload. After a while I simply can't assimilate another crime or instance of savagery without saying, "Yes, I'll stipulate that American history consists of horrors piled on horrors, but then what?" As President Obama is quoted: "Yeah, we can talk about this. But what are we going to do?" Coates seemingly enjoys research -- rather than simply including the strongest anecdote or most convincing statistic, he tends to include all of them (most notably in the "Reparations" and "Incarceration" articles). But his greatest strength lies in his insights and analysis, as when he finds inconsistencies in prevailing theories, contradictions in carefully constructed arguments, exposes when politicians are trying to defend the indefensible. Fortunately, We Were Eight Years in Power has many examples of this strength. He destroys the myth that blue-collar whites supported Trump due to economic displacement; deconstructs the national response to the opioid and crack epidemics; identifies black cultural conservatism (what he calls "the organic black conservative tradition"); explains why Obama particularly appealed to white America; and provides a short but devastating contrast of the candidacies of Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. Coates also notes that not all who voted for the current president are white supremacists, but they all voted for one.

As noted above, although he now regards Obama as "one of the greatest presidents in American history," Coates was not above challenging President Obama: he's "written several blog posts criticizing" him, and records that due to his criticism the Obama camp believed he was the "wrong journalist" to interview the President. But Obama and the author have more in common than Coates will admit: Obama was white America's black president; Coates is white America's black intellectual. Obama was acceptable to white America as long as he didn't act black; so far, Coates has been unable to offend the white reading public. Coates himself raises the question: "Why do white people like what I write?" He provides no answer (someday there should be a book aimed at a black audience). We Were Eight Years in Power is just as accessible as Between the World and Me (maybe more so), just as valuable, and entirely different.  [4★]

The Tragedy of King Lear by William Shakespeare (1603)

An aging king's vanity brings wrack and ruin to his country.

Play Review: King Lear is Shakespeare's play about old age (and ageism), just as he had previously examined sexism (The Taming of the Shrew), racism (Othello), and antisemitism (The Merchant of Venice). Shakespeare, always so far ahead of his time that he's still relevant today -- it's interesting to see how society has changed (and is unchanged) in the last four centuries. A play set in England (for a change), the aged King overconfident in his kingship to the point of arrogance and tyranny. Approaching his dotage or madness, Lear decides to ease the burdens of his duties by dividing his kingdom among his three daughters. But his favorite, Cordelia, the youngest, refuses to flatter him (believing her love should be enough) and is banished. When Lear's most faithful retainer, Kent, speaks in Cordelia's defense, he too is banished. But as the play continues Lear's faithless daughters turn on him. Goneril and Regan seem almost more like wicked stepsisters, but are complex characters and carry the play whenever they're on stage. The parallel for Lear is the also-aging Gloucester and his two sons (yes, sons as well as daughters are untrustworthy). Gloucester also foolishly trusts the child who betrays him (his illegitimate son Edmund) and banishes the faithful child. So the teams are drawn and we have the battle of the filial children, Cordelia and Edgar, against the serpent's teeth of the thankless children, Goneril, Regan, and Edmund. The two daughters just seem like bad seed, using Lear's decaying age and foolish trust against him to take his power and transform him into a homeless king. Edmund, at least, has an understandable motivation in desiring the patrimony a society that punishes the innocent bastard (but not the sinner) would deny him. Unlike Iago trying madly to destroy the Other, Edmund's only goal is to right an unfair world, at least as he sees it. King Lear is a more plotted play than usual, more emotional than psychological. Emotions run high for both characters and audience as both encounter almost endless suffering from start to finish. Extreme suffering, leavened only by periodic black or inappropriate humor, but not all that funny; sardonic is the word I'm looking for here. Again, as we're accustomed in Shakespeare's tragedies, by the end of the play the bodies have piled up and litter the stage. This is more straightforward play than some of the others. King Lear is accessible, less dependent on and susceptible to deep criticism, but more emotionally wrenching and a sad commentary on the perils of aging in an ungrateful world. Rather than appreciate the contributions of our parents and the older generation, we only want them to get out of the way.  [4½★]

Dark Tales by Shirley Jackson (2017)

Seventeen disturbing stories by the author of The Haunting of Hill House and "The Lottery."

Book Review: Dark Tales has some stories that will keep you up at night -- at least they did me. But first a quick origin story (or history lesson) for those obsessed Shirley Jackson fans out there. Despite writing one of the most anthologized stories in history, "The Lottery," and writing loads of other stories to pay the rent, Jackson released only one story collection in her lifetime (originally titled The Lottery or, the Adventures of James Harris), now commonly known as The Lottery and Other Stories. Posthumously, three Jackson story collections have been published: Come Along with Me (1968), Just an Ordinary Day (1996), and Let Me Tell You (2015). The stories in Dark Tales were selected from just these last three collections. Although Penguin says that these are her "scariest stories," it may also serve as something of a "best of" Jackson's later shorter work, since the three previously published collections are considered somewhat sketchy (the last two compendiums may be scraping the bottom of the barrel -- two collections are on my shelf, I'll report back). Now, back to the book. Dark Tales starts strong with four amazing stories. After that, subtle, intelligent, disturbing stories mix with ones that are a little less powerful, as sometimes Jackson telegraphs her endings, being just a little too obvious, though still unsettling. Jackson writes about worlds that are just little off, worlds where we're not in control, worlds that are against us; she writes about worlds that are close enough to be familiar, but just different enough for chills. The unexpected may be expected in Dark Tales. There are stories where paranoia isn't paranoia, where city folk refuse to listen to country folk, even a couple stories reminiscent of "The Lottery." Jackson is is an  expert at the vague, the ambiguous, the suggestive. Dark Tales is an excellent collection, every story worth reading. And reading again.  [4★]

The Tragedy of Othello, the Moor of Venice by William Shakespeare (1603)

The great general is brought low as he succumbs to the plots and snares of Iago, and his own tragic flaw.

Play Review: Othello is a psychological battle between two men: the deceitful, devious, and depraved Iago, and the simple, honorable Othello, who suffers the tragic flaw of jealousy. Iago spins his web, falsely manipulating his confederate Roderigo, pouring poison into Othello's ear, entrapping Cassio, exploiting his own wife, all to his own evil ends. Early on, Iago is dismayed that the post of Othello's second-in-command is given to Cassio, and decides to win it for himself through a complicated scheme that ensnares everyone in his plot. The parallel is that he loves position and power as much as Othello loves Desdemona. Othello, though a great general, a "noble Moor," is portrayed as a trusting and simpler man, without the breeding and refinement of the Venetians. As such, even though he has won the true love of aristocratic and beautiful Desdemona, he still feels not quite worthy of her, not quite believing in his good fortune. He feels what others feel, that he is not deserving of her, and this insecurity is his fatal flaw; he can be lead into jealousy by Iago's manufactured hints and signs. Even after Othello has named Iago to Cassio's post, it is too late, by then Iago is caught in his own web. His dupe, Roderigo, has spent his last ducats on jewels he asked Iago to give Desdemona, but Iago has taken them for himself. He cannot have Roderigo carrying tales, and must have Roderigo kill Cassio to tie up loose ends. The play revolves around two key axes. One is the way the scheming Iago manages to sway Othello, intelligent as he is, into believing that the faithful Desdemona is not. The lengthy Scene 3 in Act 3, shows Iago twisting Othello's mind, overcoming each of Othello's objections, slowly painting a picture in Othello's mind of an unfaithful Desdemona entwined with a duplicitous Cassio. That scene is a subtle but brilliant masterpiece of the two men in a mental battle, a struggle that decent and trusting Othello loses to the wily Iago. The other axis is that Iago's utter amorality is almost too much to accept. He has some cause: he believes he was unfairly denied the lieutenantcy, appears to believe that Othello has slept with his wife, and may be in love with Desdemona himself. But his resultant acts are beyond all reason. Why? Although perhaps these motivations might be enough for the deviant Iago, I believe that Shakespeare has to take it the next level. Iago's evil is unrestrained because Othello is a Moor, and as such Iago believes that Othello is unworthy of command, undeserving of Desdemona, and has no right to have any control over the cultured Venetian, Iago. The twin roots of Othello's tragedy stem from his race: a black man in a white world, he feels he doesn't merit his good fortune, and so succumbs to mortal jealousy; a simple soldier he is easy prey to Iago's unreasoning and overwhelming racial hatred, as no one would believe that any man was capable of so much loathing, going to such inexplicable lengths. Othello is a play that works on levels, and although not the central characters, Shakespeare has once again written roles of depth and intelligence for women, in Desdemona and Emilia. Though narrower in focus (so few characters!) than other plays, Othello actually ventures into more profound waters. This is as good a psychological drama as Hamlet (300 years before Freud tried to figure out this stuff). Wow.  [5★]

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark by William Shakespeare (1600)

The Prince of Denmark ponders his relationship to his dysfunctional family.

Play Review: Hamlet is one of the contenders for the greatest literary work in the English language. Who am I, being bearly literate, to have anything worth saying about it? So, rather than flopping about coming up with a thesis, this review will be just a few of the light bulbs that occurred to me while reading (if I do a re-read, I might try to make something a little more coherent and cohesive). Herewith, a collection of random thoughts: (1) Hamlet, the melancholy Dane, seems less indecisive than he's often made out to be. When we first meet our hero he's in deep mourning for his father and royally irate that within a month of his father's death his beloved queen mother "incestuously" married his sleazy Uncle Claudius ("more than kin and less than kind"), who is now king. Soon, his father's ghost (or is it?) informs Hamlet that Claudius murdered him. Before Hamlet can take revenge as the ghost demands, he must first play detective. Through the well-accepted investigative technique of "play-within-a-play," we learn by Act 3. Sc. 2, that Claudius is the murderer and the ghost a reliable witness (and, Shakespeare is telling us, is Hamlet's father, not some hobgoblin). In Act 3. Sc. 4, Hamlet kills Claudius (or so he thinks). That seems quick and decisive work to me. And if so, would've been a much shorter play.

(2) Having failed to kill Claudius, it takes awhile for things to get going again. Not killing him while eavesdropping on Claudius at his prayers (and remorseful) seems reasonable to me, as Hamlet explains it. It's only right that he hesitate before becoming a vigilante; taking a life should not be done lightly. But when his hesitation is over, bodies drop like flies. Hamlet shows little regret over the death of Polonius, and I believe he suspected that Rosencrantz and Guilderstern were in on the plot for the King of England to murder him, and so is not too broken up when they die. Then poor Ophelia, and again, not as much regret as expected. But then the flood gates open and all hell breaks loose: Mom, Laertes, Claudius. A good day for the undertaker.

(3) Hamlet seems to hate women? He is so Oedipally (Sophocles and Freud would understand) and deeply wounded by his mother's "incestuous" marriage to his uncle ("He that hath killed my king and whored my mother"), that he loses all faith in women and in marriage ("frailty, thy name is woman"). Hamlet says "we will have no more marriage," and has difficulty trusting even his devoted Ophelia. He feigns madness to advance his revenge. Recognizing that Ophelia may become collateral damage in his plot, Hamlet encourages her to go to a nunnery for her own safety ("I must be cruel only to be kind"). But she stays.

(4) Ophelia and Laertes, sister and brother, are Hamlet's doubles in the play. Hamlet feigns madness, and when he kills her father, the frail Ophelia actually does go mad (there is some suggestion that Hamlet's actions too have caused her madness), and mad she dies. Both Hamlet and Laertes are out to revenge their fathers, and both kill the man responsible.

(5) Can we take a moment to look at just how evil is Claudius? He murders his own brother and then, perhaps to cement his rule, marries his murdered brother's wife (which was considered possibly incestuous at the time). He then sends his nephew to England (with R & G) to be murdered. That failing, he convinces the willing Laertes to treacherously murder Hamlet, while Claudius himself (Plan B) will prepare a poison cup for Hamlet to drink. When his wife goes to drink from the poisoned cup, Claudius puts precious little effort into stopping her, despite full opportunity. Evil, thy name is Claudius.

(6) There are two other threads woven throughout the play, the keeping of secrets and eavesdropping to learn those secrets. Many secrets, much eavesdropping. But as Polonius learns, eavesdropping can be a deadly habit.

(7) Can we also take a moment to a look at all there is in this play? Hamlet could've been called Four Funerals and a Wedding. We have three poorly arranged and incomplete funerals (the King, Polonious, Ophelia), and one that is hasty and oddly fancy (Hamlet's by Fortinbras). We also have (pre-play) the hasty wedding of Claudius and Gertrude. But wait, there's more! We have a ghost, many murders and deaths, madness, a play within a play, some great swashing and buckling (in that darn good sword fight), pirates, a Norwegian army, a suicide, cannons, and a penultimate scene in which four corpses litter the stage. Wow, if that's not entertainment I don't know what is.

Hamlet! Good on ya, Shakespeare!  [5★]

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders (2017)

In the midst of civil war, Abraham Lincoln's grief over the death of his child is witnessed by the dead who are still waiting to die.

Book Review: Lincoln in the Bardo in no ordinary book. Imaginative, it's told in different sections: the "factual" commentary of inconsistent historical quotes, which mix actual accounts of Lincoln and his son's death (e.g., Doris Kearns Goodwin) with Saunders' own similarly constructed fictional accounts; the commentary of the long and recently dead (ghosts) in the graveyard, caught between death and rebirth in the "bardo," a sort of Tibetan Buddhist limbo or purgatory; and the diary-like sections of those who observed Lincoln visiting the cemetery and describe his appearance, his actions, his grief. At times it's like history -- at times like a play. Each of the ghosts has an individual story to tell. Although complex at first, after some pages Lincoln in the Bardo becomes accessible; can't imagine listening to this on audio book, though, without at least following along on the page. This is a brilliant book, a tour-de-force, a worthy winner of the Man Booker Prize. It is a post-modern and intellectual take on loss, letting go, grief, acceptance of death, history, how we treat our fellow humans, and most of all, the denial of death. A book of deep empathy that allows both ambiguity and conflicting views. There is insight, intelligence, humor, irony, raunch, understanding, creativity, and even more creativity here. But as is so often the case for me in postmodern writing, there was too little emotional connection (I know many were in tears after reading this book). There were certainly moments: one would have to possess a heart of stone not to be touched by Lincoln's desolate grief for his son. The death of his son allows Lincoln to more fully understand the war and the needs of the nation, the morality of killing and the morality of letting others live their own lives. But I think I should have felt more, been made to feel more, the subject demanded I feel more (George, it's me, not you). Perhaps in trying to understand the intellectual, I forfeited some emotional understanding. Lincoln in the Bardo is certainly worth a revisit, and perhaps having grasped some of it intellectually, I'll be better able to absorb more of it emotionally on a second read. All in all, this was a mixed bag for me: recognizing its quality, the effort, the chance for me to learn and grow from this book, I was missing the feeling, the human sentiment, the connection I wanted.  [3½★]

FilmLit: Doctor Who - The Shakespeare Code (2007)

The Doctor and Martha Jones travel back to London and the Globe Theatre, circa 1599.

Television Review: "The Shakespeare Code" gives the 10th Doctor (David Tennant) and his companion, Martha Jones (in her second appearance) the opportunity to meet William Shakespeare, in all his genius and fame ("no autographs. No, you can't have yourself sketched with me"). This episode from the BBC's Doctor Who Series Three reveals an alien race, the Carrionites, who appear as witches (broomsticks and all) attempting to use the brilliance, or magic, of Shakespeare's words in his famous play Love's Labour's Won, to resurrect their trapped race and take over the Earth. Magic being just another sort of science. Can the Doctor, Martha, and Will stop them? The whole show is too clever by half and way too much fun, while telling an exciting story at the same time! Back to the Future, Freedonia, groundlings, Harry Potter, Bedlam, Elizabeth I, the sonnets' dark lady, echoes of Shakespeare in Love (1998), all get a mention. Marty McFly is used to explain time travel. Allusions, puns, in-jokes abound. Writers have no more fun than bringing Shakespeare into their work; the chance to to put your own spin on the Bard: priceless! Irresistible. Here, Shakespeare is presented much as I see him myself, pure genius, seeing through and understanding all, the wordsmith, a mind for the ages, even immune to the Doctor's psychic ID. For Doctor Who and Shakespeare fans, "The Shakespeare Code" is all just a little bit of heaven here on Earth. All as funny and thought provoking as usual.  🐢

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky (1866)

An examination of psychology, philosophy, poverty, and murder.

Book Review: Crime and Punishment reflects the age-old query: Why is it always the longest books that are most in need of a good re-reading? Crime and Punishment is a classic if there ever was one, with sufficient wealth to spoil any reader. I'm going to focus on just a few elements of that treasure. First, plot and structure: Raskolnikov commits the crime early in the novel, the state's punishment comes quite late; for six of the book's seven sections we're in a limbo between crime and punishment. It's easy to say that this long stretch is the perp's punishment, but while partly true it's also where we discuss philosophy at length and meet many other characters, from Raskolnikov's mother and sister to the angelic prostitute, Sonya, who is his (literal) salvation (if Sonya is his angel, Svidrigailov may be his devil). The most saintly character in the book, she too violates society's norms, but with the author's approval. Many characters are developed, including Raskolnikov's drinking buddy and his sister's three suitors, all of whom also do wrong or commit a "crime," three of which are punished (one, essentially good, reforms immediately). This alone is worth a thesis. Next, the philosophy. The author often refers to nihilism, but what he's talking about is closer to existentialism (as in the prescient Notes from Underground), at least regarding Raskolnikov. If we define "nihilism" as that life has no meaning and never will, and "existentialism" as that life has no meaning so we must strive to create our own meaning, clearly Raskolnikov is trying to develop his own meaning of life (as in his published article) and find whether the end justifies the means. His philosophy is practically Nietzschean (more of Dostoyevsky's prescience). Raskolnikov then goes from pillar to post looking at every aspect of morals, law, civilization, encountering myriad related issues with everyone he meets. The police interrogation also serves as an inquisition of our protagonist's inchoate beliefs. Although there is some serious monologuing, Dostoevsky mostly keeps it interesting through Raskolnikov's feverish desperation, paranoia, and disordered psyche. This is the author's examination of existentialism with all the characters putting in their two cents; in the end Dostoyevsky's chosen meaning of life is the Russian Orthodox Church, in his view open to elite and commoner alike. This multi-faceted discussion is the most interesting part of the novel, and the reader is free to inject her or his own thoughts into the mix. Ultimately, there is Raskolnikov himself, a poverty stricken intellectual and former student, a determined individualist, he investigates philosophies, but finds himself not acting on any of them. Until he does. He's angry, reclusive, too proud, short tempered, dismissive, arrogant, half-mad, it's a wonder anyone has any time or patience for him. Tremendously isolated, even from the family he loves, he must then deal with a wide range of citizenry. He is decidedly indecisive: "Only this! No! Only that!" He is his own worst enemy, often provoking the police and exposing his own guilt. Although perennially broke, whenever he does come into money he impulsively gives it away (much like a gambling addict) and is skint as ever (money in Crime and Punishment, another thesis?). But it is his ill-tempered passion that drives the story and carries the reader along with him. The murder mystery (and ambiguous, ever elusive motive) provides suspense. But how can such a character exist, or survive, as he travels his long road from humiliation to humility. I also want to note the translations (admittedly, I'm obsessive about translations). I started with the trendy Pevear / Volokhonsky, but found it too literal, difficult to read, as if a step of the translation process had been omitted. I moved on to Penguin's Oliver Ready version, which was much more readable, was written in British vernacular ("chalk and cheese" "twigged that" "gave a fright" "scot-free"), but its Dickensian nature and seeming informality lessened the weight of the book for me. Neither translation engaged me emotionally (perhaps mostly me, not them). I ended up with Penguin's David McDuff translation as the best version for me, but as I only discovered it late in my reading I want to  re-read it. Crime and Punishment is a storehouse of ideas, I could've picked many other points to discuss (dreams and nightmares, religions, other characters). On my next read I'm hoping for more of the deep emotional entanglement I had on my first read in my early teens (although having the flu at the time may have had an effect). A classic.  [4½★]

Thoughts About Reading ... #2

Random thoughts about books, reading, and anything else that comes to mind while I type. 

First, I've found that the New York Review of Books reprint series is brilliant! I now buy anything with their distinctive layout pattern and the oblong "nyrb" logo on the spine. This despite the fact that I've heard of almost none of the books they publish. This reprint series is largely dedicated to forgotten, out of print, cult, lost, little or never known books that are of fantastic quality. Often they're books considered "meaningful." Usually fairly short. So far they've not let me down. Most of them are books originally printed in English, but a goodly number have been newly translated from other languages. There are a few books by big names: Dante, Balzac, Chekhov, mostly their lesser known works, but there are many more by authors I've never even come close to reading. It's wonderful finding a publisher that I'm willing to take a chance on anything they print -- much like finding a Penguin title in a used-book shop. Maybe what I like best is the voyage into the unknown, entering the book (and author) blind, not knowing what may happen. I admit checking the copyright date before beginning, though. (No, this was not sponsored. Are you kidding?)

Next, I've started "reading" plays, and I'm not sure what I think about it. Plays are difficult to read and review. A play is intended to be performed and heard aloud, where the viewer is part of a group, experiencing both the play and the audience simultaneously. The actors and stage are part of the work, as is the crowd. In fact, most plays change significantly between the writing and the performance, as the logistics of presenting the play can have a dramatic (dyswIdt?) effect on the substance of the work. A play is not meant to be a silent, private experience, alone with only pages and a cup of coffee. As such, I think it's best to watch a production or two, even if only on YouTube, while reading a play. What is unpersuasive when cold on the page, can be contagious on the stage, as I've found out to my delight.

Finally, having read quite a bit of Austen and the Brontes lately, I must comment about commas. Commas were doubtless much less expensive in olden times, as they were thrown about quite carelessly in the 19th Century. Five commas in a phrase is nothing to these comma-thrifts; two semi-colons and half a dozen commas in a sentence is commonplace. This punctuation overload can endanger the reader's safety and sanity with clauses and parentheticals just bouncing everywhere. I'm reasonably sure that Mrs. Austen was wont to say: "Careful with those commas, Jane. You could put someone's eye out!" I figure this all must have changed during the world wars when everything was rationed: sugar, coffee, and, apparently, commas. Fortunately, today there is a much less danger of becoming stranded in a series of semi-related sentence fragments, or being winged by an errant piece of punctuation.

Well, I seem to have just about run out of thoughts now, so it's time to print a turtle and say farewell till next time.  🐢

The Tragedy of Richard II by William Shakespeare (1595)

The King of England discovers that divine right will not save his crown, or his head.

Play Review: Richard II had beautiful language and minimal plot. The plot wasn't bad, it just wasn't riveting, and most anything of substance happened off-stage. The writing was beautifully metaphorical and poetic, which is fitting for the history of a man more suited to be a poet than a king. Richard has such beautiful, long speeches, that he is the linchpin of the play (and I assume a challenge for any actor -- I'd love to see a woman play the role, though there are three interesting female roles). Given that this is Shakespeare, I'm sure that there are many complex theories by people with too much time on their hands. But Shakespeare was aiming for something simpler. Richard II is about a young man, wrestling with his identity, who simultaneously believes and doubts he is truly ruling by divine right: "The breath of worldly men cannot depose/ The deputy elected by the Lord." Raised as a king and surrounded by flattery, he believes he can do no wrong (in the mode of: well, if the king does it, that means it's not illegal). Being appointed by God, he can be as high-handed as he wants, cruel as he wants, to disagree is to blaspheme: the rebels "break their faith to God as well as us." When Richard wants John of Gaunt dead, he seems to speak directly to heaven: "Now put it, God, in the physician's mind/ To help him to his grave immediately!" But he's plagued by uncertainty: "I live with bread like you, feel want,/ Taste grief, need friends ... How can you say to me I am a king?" He is merciful at times, wants to do right at times, doesn't know what he wants to do at times. As the kids say, he's conflicted. In part, Shakespeare portrays Richard II as just an ordinary man, who became a king. A man with no special qualities to make him a king, certainly not a good king. Richard notes about the future Henry IV, that "[we] observed his courtship of the common people,/ How he did seem to dive into their hearts." This is a mystery to Richard, but he rarely uses his divine appointment to make himself act more nobly. Instead it's an excuse for ignoble conduct, he does not do justice but injustice. A mistake would be to conflate Shakespeare's Richard with the historical king -- so much is left out and discarded that it all the more shows what Shakespeare was trying to do here, paring away the irrelevant and only keeping what is central to the story he wants to tell: to go deep within Richard, to dig into his personality, to show his feelings. Perhaps not very masculine for the time. For such a seemingly too simple play, Richard II is enjoyable and invites closer reading. [4★]

FilmLit: A Quiet Passion (2017)

A creative approach to the short life of the great American poet, Emily Dickinson.

Film Review: A Quiet Passion is well done, surprisingly so since the life of a poet, especially Emily Dickinson's, is almost impossible to turn into a film. As such, the writer/director has freely imagined many elements of Dickinson's biography. This is Terence Davies' version of, interpretation of, vision of the great poet. Since he willingly deviates from telling the truth of her life, it makes me wonder whose life he was actually telling about. But in a larger sense we get in A Quiet Passion a film that may be true to the spirit, if not the letter, of Dickinson's life. His fabrication is only troubling because so many Americans get their history lessons from the movies. Davies' Dickinson lives for home, music, faith, family, and of course, poetry. She is strong willed, angry, proud, feminist, short tempered, sharp witted, and something of a smart-ass. There is conflict, rage, sorrow, hypocrisy, loneliness, and the immortal poems.

Dickinson the poet turned her gaze within, ever deeper, ever smaller, to the interior of the atom, and there she discovered a whole universe in the circumscribed realm of her life. Contrasted to her contemporary, Walt Whitman, who orating as an Old Testament prophet tried to envision the largest possible picture of America, and found small moments of the personal and private. A significant part of the film's success is Cynthia Nixon's nuanced, strong, and sensitive performance in the lead role (she makes the viewer forget there was ever a Sex and the City). Nixon reads the poems well, no easy task (having the words simultaneously on screen would be even better). One of the director's decisions has to be questioned. Davies largely invents a friend for Dickinson, a female Oscar Wilde whose recited epigrams and banter outshine Dickinson every moment they share the screen. Why? Presumably much of the film was inspired by Dickinson's letters, but no small part is fictionalized. A Quiet Passion is enjoyable, well worth watching, a strong contribution to the too little noted memory of Emily Dickinson.  🐢