Wednesday, August 30, 2017

A Shilling for Candles by Josephine Tey (1936)

A famous movie star drowns while vacationing incognito.

Book Review: A Shilling for Candles has some similarities to Josephine Tey's first Inspector Grant mystery, but this second installment is its own animal, with its own unique stripes. Once again this is not a whodunit: you may guess the perp, you'll never guess both the who and how. Inspector Grant again moves at his own deliberate pace, just a little more caffeinated this time, literally. He's no Sherlock Holmes, no genius. He just a dedicated detective steadily proceeding where the evidence takes him, right or wrong. One suspect calls him "just a routine policeman," and that's not far off the mark. Tey breaks up the routine by giving two other (amateur) detectives some of the story, one the Chief Constable's off-center, 17 year-old daughter, the other a scandal sheet reporter. But we always come back to Inspector Grant, persistent, determined, reliable, and quite pleasant -- someone you'd be glad to have a pint with. Which leads me to the next bit of enjoyment from A Shilling for Candles. Tey evokes 1930s England so well: the city and the country, the new technology, the still extant caste system, the reader is there in her time, as Josephine Tey wrote it (like your own personal time machine). There are a few of the attitudes of the time visible, but fewer than in the first book, and more representational than endorsed; in Tey's hands such bits seem harmless and merely what people actually said, without malice or harm intended. This isn't the greatest mystery ever, but it is well written, endlessly charming, and just a quick, pleasant read. For me, it was the characters, lovable, pitiable, evil, arrogant, stuffy. The characters make A Shilling for Candles a book to be read. I would've been happy to read this in one sitting if I'd just made time for it. Reading Josephine Tey is a dream.  [4★]

Monday, August 28, 2017

The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare (1593)

An independent woman reluctantly marries an independent man: fireworks ensue.

Play Review: The Taming of the Shrew is an amazing play, if for no other reason than it still creates real drama and controversy for us 424 years later. My reading of the play is colored by my belief that Shakespeare is too talented, original, and clever a writer to create a play where a man simply dominates a woman; that would only take a simpleton, which Shakespeare was not. Of course, we all have to note that those were different times, when women could actually be arraigned for shrewishness.

Bianca's suitors seek a champion. Petruchio is the mouse who will bell the cat, the only man brave enough (even if driven by filthy lucre) to confront Katherine (the Shrew). Gremio believes only a "devil" would marry Katherine. Petruchio is that devil. He is willing to challenge her, to break all the rules ("he is more shrew than she") even as she breaks all the rules ("of all mad matches never was the like"). Bianca describes Katherine "as being mad she's madly mated," at her marriage with Petruchio. Tranio describes Kate as "stark mad," and Petruchio behaves madly at his wedding, shocking the wedding guests and his father in law, later acting madly with the haberdasher and tailor. Petruchio will go his own way, just as Katherine does, saying he is "as peremptory as she proud-minded." Petruchio compares himself and Kate to "two raging fires" meeting together. When they banter, it's apparent that they are intellectual equals, that Kate can give as good as she gets. They are well matched, and he cannot best her with his mind or his words.

Petruchio begins by saying his weapon will be absurdity, that he will woo Katherine by saying she's sweet when she rails, looks clear when she frowns, is voluble when mute; by calling her the opposite of what she is, he will woo and break her. This is the method he uses when they meet, calling her gentle and pleasant, and toward the end of the play on the road to Padua when he calls the moon the sun and expects Kate to do likewise. He doesn't expect Katherine to believe these things (he knows she doesn't), but simply assent to them, thus accepting the superficial and false appearance of truth. This is truth disguised, as echoed and mirrored in the subplot as Bianca's suitors (and others) affect misdirection and disguise and are not who they appear to be. But Petruchio's antics are ludicrous and over the top, as he becomes a parody of himself (at least a parody of a loutish man), who no one believes unless they think him mad. All the while he insists it's all for Katherine's benefit, acting the perfect husband, which no one believes either. In a key line on the road to Padua, Hortensio advises Katherine, "Say as he says, or we shall never go." Katherine, indeed, adopts this advice as an expedient, but she's aware of Petruchio's game. There's no indication that she believes it or has been tamed or broken. Just another compromise of married life in 1593, as she must live with a mad man.

Katherine suffers when Petruchio also resorts to what today we would call "brainwashing," denying her food and sleep till she is in extremis ("I ... am starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep"). But although Katherine may, starving and exhausted as a prisoner of war, now be willing to say anything, there's no indication that she actually believes the words that Petruchio wants her to say. She knows what's going on, calling Grumio a "false deluding slave." She isn't broken intellectually, her mind is free. Instead she and Petruchio again play at absurdity, creating a charade, a facade, a farce, so as to have a truce in the war between the sexes.

At the beginning of the play, Katherine is none too sympathetic a character: she rails at her father (no Fifth Commandment for her), she strikes her bound, helpless sister (what, is she the Marquise de Sade?). But by the end of the play I expect the entire audience is rooting for her, and a goodly number are disappointed when she appears so compliant. But as Kate finds a way to live in peace, two new Shrews appear in the (suddenly appearing) widow and Bianca (actually Bianca first showed her mettle much earlier with her two "tutors": "I am no breeching scholar in the schools"). My reading of Katherine's final speech is that it is too over the top, goes too far, that she is exaggerating for effect, playing at absurdity, that she is once more putting up the facade, the charade the farce as she and Petruchio have bantered back and forth previously and repeatedly. There is nothing prior to this scene indicating that Kate has succumbed or broken, or believes any such words as she speaks. If only we had a TARDIS and could see The Taming of the Shrew as it was played in Shakespeare's time. Tellingly, Lucentio in the last line of the play, has doubts about the taming of shrews: "'Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so."

Plays are difficult to read and review. A play is intended to be performed, where the viewer is part of a group, experiencing both the play and the audience at the same time. The crowd is part of the work. A play is not meant to be a silent, private experience, alone with only pages and a book. As such I watched a couple of productions just to see how it was played. What is impressive is how timely it is, even if read anachronistically, and how well it plays today. Some may question the play's validity as a comedy, which makes me think the Bard knew it was a only a short, perhaps nonexistent, distance between comedy and tragedy. If Shakespeare ever wrote a bad play, this isn't it. [4★]

Friday, August 25, 2017

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte (1847)

After a tragic childhood, a young governess arrives at the Gothic and mysterious Thornfield Hall.

Book Review: Jane Eyre was even better on a re-read. Along with her sisters' Wuthering Heights and The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, this makes a powerful triumvirate of novels that almost compensates for the Brontes' limited literary output. It's difficult to pick one of the three as better than the other two, though I know all Bronte fans have their favorite.

A number of readers question how Jane Eyre could fall in love with Mr. Rochester. I ask, how could she not? She went from being ostracized and abused in her Aunt's house to the deathly nightmare of Lowood school, where she was as much prisoner as student. Her only male role model was the hideous Mr. Brocklehurst. She meets Mr. Rochester who, while moody and at times brusque (thornfield being a good descriptor), also speaks with her as an intellectual equal ("the friendly frankness ... with which he treated me, drew me to him"), a man who enjoys her company, and is unattractive but full of life, just as she feels unattractive, but knows that she too has spirit. She finds him challenging, a "choice dish," and finds that without his rough nature he would be "insipid." "You are a beauty, in my eyes," says Rochester, later asking "Look wicked, Jane, as you know well how to look," give me "one of your wild, sly, provoking smiles." This is a man in love. He's also rich, which may mean little to Jane, but could anyone in England at the time be truly oblivious to the safety and comfort of wealth. While he plays games with her at times, Jane gives as good as she gets in some of the most enjoyable scenes in the book.

What is most attractive about Jane is her intelligence and her feisty personality (too masculine, according to the critics of the time). She will not let herself be trod upon, she will take on any tyrant, and insists on being respected as a person: she lashes out at Aunt Reed, she takes on Mr. Brocklehurst, she challenges Rochester and St. John ("He had not imagined that a woman would dare speak to him as a man."). Her mission statement is: "If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people ... would never alter, but grow worse." She later says, "I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained, I am, the more I will respect myself." While aware of her place as a woman, and knowing she is not beautiful, she knows she is equal to any man. Jane states this in Jane Eyre's powerful soliloquy: "Women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts as much as their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer ... . It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them; if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex." Bold words from Charlotte Bronte in 1847.

After leaving Thornfield Hall because her religious beliefs would not allow her to become a paramour, Jane is cast into the wilderness, punished for allowing her love for Rochester to supersede her religion. Then in what later becomes an implausible coincidence (but what's a good Gothic novel without an implausible coincidence or two?), she finds a safe harbor, a refuge, a home. There she also encounters the very antithesis of Mr. Rochester (not so subtly named "St. John"): a stunningly handsome man, young, cold as marble (his most repeated adjective, I'd wager), religious to the point of sainthood (though I think not as saintly as Jane or certainly little Helen at Lowood). But just as Jane would not live with Rochester without marriage, at first she will not marry St. John without love. In both cases we see her struggle mightily and painfully with her religion, and in both cases she does what is right as a devout. Ironically, Jane Eyre was heavily criticized on publication for its irreligious nature, but to me this is a religious book; the Biblical allusions are endless; religion is the foundation of Jane's actions. Mr. Rochester, however, also suffers a severe religious punishment, losing an eye and a hand, as prescribed in the Sermon on the Mount. Only after this retribution can the appropriate ending occur, and God, perhaps, intervene. On this re-read I tried to read carefully and deliberately. Jane Eyre is a classic that deserves to be read slowly, to savor all there is on offer.  [5★]


Tuesday, August 15, 2017

We Were Feminists Once by Andi Zeisler (2016)

A survey of the various ways that the corporate world has exploited, trivialized, and distorted feminism.

Book Review: We Were Feminists Once covers a such a wide range of issues and approaches to feminism that it left me a little breathless. The subtitle is "From Riot Grrrl to Covergirl, the Buying and Selling of a Political Movement." It could also be called "a practical guide to feminism in everyday life." Within her central theme of the many ways that feminism was co-opted by cynical corporate marketers (what she calls "marketplace feminism"), Andi Zeisler covers economics, history, politics, diversity, sociology, psychology, and the incredible array of societal issues facing women today; there's even a well-deserved shout out to John Stuart Mill. The book is well written, with just enough snark to keep the reader entertained, but not so much that you doubt the efforts at objectivity of a writer pushing a certain position. Zeisler writes well, clearly, and to the point. Overall, she is not only convincing but presents as someone you'd love to spend a long afternoon (into evening) with over coffee, solving all the problems of the world (especially if you're a fan of Bikini Kill). The series of issues she discusses could have become any number of magazine articles or at least 10 different books.

We Were Feminists Once includes examples of her theme that are virtually endless: Miss Piggy winning an award previously won by Toni Morrison; feminist yogurt, cigarettes, credit cards, and fashion. Yikes. Among many, Zeisler also has an interesting take on the Bechdel Test, trashing within the community, and recognizes that feminist celebrities can do little in a system in "which gender inequality is ... unquestioned," in industries which make fortunes from "stereotyping and devaluing women." She notes that the commercialization of feminism does nothing to address wage inequality, education, child care, contraception, the pay gap, reproductive freedom, campus sexual assault, and sexist media. There's a lengthy take on "empowerment" (noting that word originated in the African American community) and what it's come to mean. Zeisler's most devastating (and most controversial?) position is that so-called "choice" feminism is not feminism at all: feminism is equality and autonomy, and anything that doesn't forward those goals is not feminism (I may be oversimplifying, but that was my takeaway). We worry way too much over whether certain actions or activities "are feminist," or whether certain of our daily habits make us a "bad feminist." Stop worrying! Zeisler also recognizes the millions of women "who were erased by movement feminism," although that's not the focus of this book. Points that I disagreed with her include that (quoting someone else) she laments that television is becoming more diverse to make money, rather than from a "moral or ethical" obligation -- I see that as a clear win. I also think she was too hard on the (admittedly flawed and too non-diverse) Lilith Fair -- it's wrong to blame the actions of drunken frat boys on a woman-focused festival. She also seems to believe that girls prior to the modern consumer era didn't worry about their looks -- has she read Jane Eyre?

While the reading was easy and interesting, it wasn't a particularly quick read for me, as even Zeisler's breezy manner was filled with thought-evoking statements and issues. I learned more about the intricacies of many topics, and We Were Feminists Once clarified my thinking, developing a more rational, nuanced, and consistent approach to feminism. If there is criticism of the book as light on solutions, my disagreement would be based on the author's stress on logical thinking and clear-cut approaches to issues, that provide all the solutions needed. My criticism of the book is only that more footnotes for information sources would have been invaluable and too often an anecdote stands in for evidence or data; sometimes she relies on "cuz I said so." But other than those quibbles, Zeisler makes clear that wearing a t-shirt reading "feminist" doesn't make the wearer a feminist any more than waving a flag makes the waver a patriot. If you're interested in how feminism has been damaged and deformed by corporate marketing, and learning a lot along the way, We Were Feminists Once is the book for you.  [4★]

Friday, August 11, 2017

Good Readers Reading Good Writers

Well, this post just came out of nowhere! Wasn't planning to post today and then this topic jumped up, waved its arms, and demanded to be validated. So now I'm going to write about some ways in which good readers approach good writers. By good writers I'm mainly thinking of classic authors, but this also applies perfectly to any quality writers (of what we sometimes call "literary fiction"), such as Toni Morrison, Ian McEwan, or Ali Smith, among a seemingly infinite number of others.

Approach #1: Accept the author's language. Many good writers will use elevated or unusual language, quite different than you may usually read in contemporary, genre, or more plot-driven books. One time I was looking at the sentences in The Three Musketeers (I think it was) and became quite cross as I realized I could consistently edit his sentences down to half as long. Or less. What a waste of words, what sinfully sloppy and sprawling wordiness! Obviously Dumas had never heard the excellent axiom to "omit needless words." He had boatloads of needless words! When I encountered A Clockwork Orange, I found Anthony Burgess had invented his own language (called "Nadsat"). Well, this was totally unfair. We had Spanish, not Nadsat, in school. Si? But in a chapter or two I'd caught on and the novel was just as horrifying as it was meant to be, even in its own unique dialect. Don't fight the language (even Jane Austen takes some getting used to). Accept it, assimilate it, learn to read the book in its own way. You'll soon find it's not that difficult. Good readers learn to read the writers' style, and don't expect the writer to change her style for the reader (they're often dead by now, anyway). A handy addendum to this is to get a dictionary app -- it'll make reading easier and quicker.

Approach #2: Read for the time. Here I'm not talking about historical fiction. In such books the author often carefully spoonfeeds the historical bits for the non-historical reader. I'm talking about that Austen wrote in the early 19th Century, Fitzgerald wrote in the 1920s. Times were different then, and the reader will not fully understand such novels without some knowledge of the times in which the books were written. There are many annotated editions of Austen to provide the reader with the secret anachronistic knowledge. Less so for Fitzgerald. So don't expect to fully comprehend The Great Gatsby without some knowledge of American history up to the 1925. Sorry. You may still enjoy it without any knowledge, but more likely it'll be a bit opaque in places as you have no idea what F. Scott is talking about. This is especially true because The Great Gatsby is about the American Dream. The reader needs some of that American stuff. (Just as some knowledge of the British world makes Terry Pratchett much better reading.) Think of books as wee time machines: you're going back in time to the book's writing; life will be a little unusual for you there.

Approach #3: Read for the author's intent. In good literature, sometimes the author is only writing for herself. Don't expect the author to come to you or make it easy. While reading, try to figure out what the author is trying to say, what is the author trying to do, where is the author coming from? Austen can be read as a simple purveyor of romances, the reader can easily just gasp and sigh over Elizabeth and Darcy. But Austen was doing more than that. A good reader will also be looking at what she's saying about society: about the class system, women's rights, economics (and I'm not even talking about those critics who mistakenly argue that our dear Jane was a Tory, Jacobin, radical lesbian, or Brexit supporter). Many good writers write much more than plot, and focus more on the characters -- so what about the people in the book? Many good authors want to talk about psychology, morality, philosophy, religion, and more, and often use their characters to do so. They just often like to put the good stuff between the lines or in the background (lurking in the shadows). Identifying what the author really cares about will make books even more rewarding. Think of the plot as a treat or inducement to listen to what the author really wants to talk about, what the author has on his mind, what the characters are saying or thinking.

These are just a few habits of good readers when faced with a good writer. Another is to slow down. You can't read every book like The Prisoner of Azkaban where you're figuratively dying to get to the next page. Read a little slower, a little more carefully, and see what sinks in to the little gray cells. Accept the book for what it is. So enjoy and good reading! Literally.  🐢


Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Beloved by Toni Morrison (1987)

A runaway slave finds that even when free, the torment of slavery may never end.

Book Review: Beloved should be enshrined as a classic now, but I'll try to curb my enthusiasm and wait the requisite time. This Pulitzer Prize-winning novel has all the unlimited promise of The Bluest Eye and Song of Solomon, without the limitations of those books. This is such a leap forward (I haven't read Sula or Tar Baby yet) that some may wonder if Toni Morrison went to the crossroads at midnight for the ability to create perfection. Here she writes with immense power, but immaculate control. Much of the novel has a modified or muted stream of consciousness to it, until Morrison shows what stream of consciousness really can be. Beloved is not an easy book, it's harsh and difficult although still accessible. Sometimes readers have to work for something really good, and by "good" I mean great. There is an intensity, thought, and density to the writing that rewards re-reading. Even more difficult are the descriptions of the horrors of slavery, the physical, emotional, and mental tortures, and those terrors that linger even after "freedom." The "aftermath" of slavery (mentioned on the back cover) is just a continuation of that bondage, for enslavement never leaves the book's characters. All the main characters are damaged, none of them is whole, and all seek, painfully, slowly, to become whole throughout the novel. This book speaks to slavery as nothing I've ever read: "There is no bad luck in the world but whitefolks" one character says. Beloved is not pretty, sweet, sentimental, romantic, or nice. It may be, just maybe, hopeful. It is a ghost story, folklore and myth, it contains the haunting of memories and the supernatural. Although I would not call this magical realism, some may choose to do so. But if it is, well then Toni Morrison grabbed magical realism, wrestled it away from Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and made it her own. She took it away from him. It's hers, her own magical world, her own thing. But Beloved is more than that. There is the strength of humanity, of community, of motherhood ("She began to sweat from a fever she thanked God for since it would certainly keep her baby warm"). This is a discussion of American history without announcing that it's about "American History," it just is. Morrison writes about a former slave's moment of freedom, that: "... she saw her hands and thought with a clarity as simple as it was dazzling, 'These hands belong to me. These are my hands.'" That even with a "good" slave owner, there is nothing good in slavery. That the original sin of slavery lasts, perhaps even past death. Beloved is a great, if difficult, book. Brilliant. A classic. Right now.  [5★]

Friday, August 4, 2017

Lost for Words by Edward St. Aubyn (2014)

Noted judges bumble and stumble while the great authors of the day crane and strain, all for a certain major British literary prize that hangs in the balance.

Book review: Lost for Words is a darkly and snarkly humorous take on the behind the scenes machinations during the awarding of the famed and coveted Elysian Prize for Literature (the Man Booker in disguise, but not well disguised). Highly enjoyable and entertaining if you enjoy the annual drama and discussion around the literary prize (which you may discussing right now since the Man Booker long list was just released). This novel is all something of a literary in-joke, sure to appeal to writers, would-be writers, insiders, and attentive readers. St. Aubyn is his own writer (I haven't read the Patrick Melrose novels yet), but parts of Lost for Words reminded me of Christopher Buckley, and if you like Buckley's works you're sure to want to read this one. Perhaps this isn't a major literary work (surprisingly, it somehow failed to win the Man Booker when it was published), but it's certainly comedic social commentary happily mixed with satire and evisceration. As the Man Booker hysteria reaches a fever pitch, this is the perfect time to read Lost for Words. If you want to see a brilliant expose of what may be the truth about how literary prizes are awarded (St. Aubyn is one who is in the know), you should check to see if your local library has a spare copy of Lost for Words. Snark alert!  [3½★]

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield (2006)

A young, amateur biographer, hired to write the life of a renowned author, travels to her spooky mansion and listens to her mysterious tales.

Book Review: The Thirteenth Tale is a book to enjoy: drink some cocoa, suspend your disbelief, don't overthink, just go with the flow and get sucked into the mystery. Let yourself be 14 again. This book has two big things going for it. First, most of the story takes place in bookstores or libraries (the big ancestral manor house kind from English films), with many references to novels and reading (Jane Eyre is mentioned enough times I lost count). Second, Setterfield's ghost story deliberately attempts to recreate the feel of Gothic suspense in novels by the Brontes, Wilkie Collins, DuMaurier (and though not quite so obvious, there's a hint of Shirley Jackson as well). Much like Northanger Abbey, The Thirteenth Tale gently teases readers of such authors, "ladies of romantic imagination." Setterfield's writing is lush, evocative, and easy to quote (there are some clunkers, "looking into souls" and such, but that fits our Gothic atmosphere). There are bits of creepiness, but tastefully done. Since I'm not Harold Bloom, my only complaint is that the ending is too neat, too cute, and too quickly wrapped up; there are some who like a tidy conclusion. Our narrator says that she doesn't want to leave "readers pondering what became of" the characters, but she has a last trick up her sleeve: one big mystery is left unresolved. Argh! The Thirteenth Tale is a quick and compelling read, an entertainment. It's fun. Enjoy. [3½★]