Category: Classics

Dots, not feathers

I picked up A Passage to India for two reasons. 1) Zadie Smith is a big fan of E. M. Forster and 2) it was $3 at Borders.  I am a fan of contemporary Indian literature (Bharati Mukherjee and Arundhati Roy being favorites) and so I am drawn to other works that focus on the area.  I was curious to see what kind of perspective this Englishman – writing in the early 1900s – would have regarding the British Empire and its presence on the sub-continent.

It was interesting how the author portrays some of the social dynamics in the British Raj. Anyone who is new to the country is expected to still care about things like fairness to all people and treating the ‘natives’ as human beings.  But the veterans are quick to tell those newcomers how inappropriate that behavior is.  Anyone who’s been there awhile is unable to resist the social pressures applied to ‘stay true to one’s own people’ and never give the locals a favor they could exploit.  And of course, women cannot socialize with Indian men without an English escort. It ends up sounding like peer pressure in high school.  The new kid has to conform to the clique or else be ostracized.  Boys only want one thing, and a girl could ruin her reputation just by being seen with the wrong guy.  And in the end, everyone who stays – even the man who stood up for Dr. Aziz against every Englishman in the area – behaves like the rest of their English compatriots.

I enjoyed the book, though I wouldn’t put it on any top-ten list.  I liked how the author spent time on the two most popular religions practiced in India at the time – Islam and Hindu.  We experience some of the action through the Muslim doctor, Aziz, and Professor Godbole, a Hindu friend of Dr. Aziz.  But the bulk of the book is described through English eyes – mostly those who were extremely uncomfortable with the negative interaction between Brits and Indians.  It is clear that Forster did not believe that the British Empire was treating India fairly.  If I was giving out stars, I’d give it three out of five.

Adventures on the Mississippi and the U.S. Highway system

I recently moved to the Portland area, which means I can now drive to see my sister in Montana in one day (only 600 miles away – practically next door!).   Having done this drive alone twice before, I knew it could be incredibly long and boring, even with an iPod full of music to keep me company.  I have a friend who listens to audio books while she paints and thought they might be a great way to entertain myself for the 9.5 hour drive. And when I found out that I could get them free from my local library – well, it was all over but the shouting.

For my maiden voyage, I chose The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain – another of those books that I can’t believe I’ve never read.  This recording was about 9 hours long and read by someone named Tom Parker – who did a great job with the accents and didn’t try too hard to be a woman.

I’m sure I’m not the first person to say this – but the characterizations in this book are first-rate.  You know boys like Huck Finn and men like his dad and many of the rest of the people you meet here.  Other than some of the archaic language (and really, there’s not much that isn’t still in use), you have heard people say the very things uttered by characters in this book.  Aunt Polly shows up at the end, and Tom says “What?” all innocent – like my son has done a million times – and she says “Don’t ‘what’ me!” – which is exactly what I say every time.   Cracked me up.  The reality of the characters and dialogue helps to sell the exaggerated, humorous plot.

I laughed out loud a few times at the irony in this book.  The fact that Huck is sure he’s going to hell because he’s freeing a slave, the fact that he thinks less of Tom because he’s willing to help Huck free Jim, his self-deprecation in the face of Tom’s ‘better’ crazy plans – these are just a few of the dozens of things – large and small – that Twain turns on their heads for our amusement.  Of course, Twain was not just trying to amuse people, he was beating up on those who still believed that black people were less than white people.  He constantly talks about how ‘surprising’ it is that black people (whom he refers to as ‘niggers,’ as was typical of the time – and rather jarring to hear) seem to actually care about their families and otherwise behave and think just like white folks when given the chance.  He uses every opportunity to pound home the idea that it is ridiculous to believe anything different.  Twain started writing the novel 10 years after the Civil War, and it was published in 1884.

Twain reminds me of Dickens, with all of the (what I consider) extraneous descriptions of rooms and paintings and physical appearances of minor characters.  He also puts all these vignettes in the book that really have nothing to do with Huck or Jim and – in my mind – distract from the main storyline rather than enhance it.  The drama of breaking Jim out is funny, the story of the feuding families and the chapters and chapters of the con artists were much less interesting.

While the book didn’t keep my legs from stiffening up and making me walk like an octogenarian when I stopped to pee, it did keep me from moaning to myself with boredom until I reached my destination.  And while Huck Finn will never be my favorite book, I enjoyed it enough to consider making The Adventures of Tom Sawyer my next road-trip audio book.

One! One great book! ah ah ah…

As an avid reader, book snob and baccalaureate in English, certain things are expected of me.  One of them is that I’ve read every famous old book written in English. Of course, this is unrealistic and unfair, but there it is.  As a result, books like The Count of Monte Cristo get put on my list by the prissy old-school professor in my head that thinks you can’t call yourself educated if you haven’t read the entire English-language canon.  Moby Dick, Silas Marner, A Tale of Two Cities, Siddhartha, Anna Karenina and others have made it onto the list – and not all of them make it back off fully perused (if you know what I’m saying).

I put TCoMC on my list because my friend, Rita, recommended it.  She paints crystal and glass for a living and – rather than listen to music – she listens to books on tape (or more accurately, on her IPod) while she’s working. She was telling me how much she really enjoyed this book – she didn’t expect she would like it so much.  All I knew about TCoMC before I picked it up (besides the fact that Rita loved it) was 1) it was written by Alexandre Dumas, the same guy that wrote The Three Musketeers, and The Man in the Iron Mask (both movies I had seen, books I had not read) and that Guy Pearce played the count in a recent film adaptation (which I had not seen, I just remember a clip of Pearce escaping from a scary island prison).

I am happy to report that I did indeed finish all 1200+ pages of TCoMC.  In fact, it was difficult to put down.  The intro to the new Penguin Classic translation I got from the library says that the book was written during the time when the modern-day detective novel was being born (it was written 40 years before the first appearance of Sherlock Holmes). It is also among the highest selling books of all time.  Of course, since he was popular, Dumas didn’t get much in the way of critical props (as the intro also informed me. I know I never read Dumas once in any of my lit classes – and that is a LOT of lit classes).

In the story, Edmond Dantes is a poor French sailor who is about to get married and also be promoted to captain of a ship.  Some jealous acquaintances anonymously accuse him as a traitor, and the prosecutor finds him guilty to protect his own interests. This takes place during the post-Napoleon era, before the Emperor returns briefly from Elba.  As a result, Edmond spends 14 years in jail, in solitary confinement, for a crime he never committed.  He escapes with help from a fellow prison, who bequeaths to him a fortune that no one else believes exists.  With this fortune, he becomes the Count of Monte Cristo and patiently sets out to repay those acquaintances for the harm they’ve inflicted as well as repay those who were faithful to him, some to their own detriment.

I’ve read plenty of mystery/detective novels, and most of the time I can figure out what’s going to happen.  The best part of TCoMC was that, while you could see the pieces that the Count was assembling, you couldn’t be sure what he was going to do with them until it was about to happen.  And he never concocted lies to punish the wicked – he merely tempted them, lured them in, then exposed their wickedness to the world.  Nor did he commit violence against any of them.  Those with violent natures turned upon themselves or else were attacked by their fellow villains.  And when the innocent were hurt, he mourned.

I also liked the fact that the ending wasn’t trite and unrealistic. The novel as a whole is over-the-top, but not ridiculous.  There is no possible fairy-tale ending that could have replaced what the Count/Dantes lost, so Dumas does not insult our intelligence by giving us one.  What we get is a happy, believable ending that doesn’t diminish what came before.  And there’s even a gay sub-plot! In 1840!  And while I wouldn’t say that the female characters were positive role models (they are either pure as the driven snow or nasty schemers), they are reasonably intelligent for the most part (the young ones are smart but naïve, the older ones are pure in spirit or conniving but not heartless).  I guess one of the reasons I really liked the book was because the characters were well done, and everyone is human. The villains love their kids and/or wives, the heroes make mistakes, honor is important, but truth and honesty even more so.  Evil is punished, and goodness is rewarded. The Count sees himself as an agent of God/Providence, appointed to punish the wicked and reward the faithful.

If you want a fast-paced (but long) detective/mystery story, it doesn’t get much better than this.  And (most) people will be all impressed because you’re reading high-brow Victorian Literature – two for one!

a tale that begins with two cities

I thought it might be fitting to start a blog about books with a classic.  I just finished reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens.  Though I am an avid reader, have a B.A. in English and considered myself reasonably well read, this was my first time reading AToTC.  Dickens has never been a favorite of mine, nor is the Victorian period one I’m drawn to.  But since I am currently between schools while working on my Master’s, I am trying to keep myself in the loop by reading some of those iconic works that have somehow slipped thru the cracks of my lifelong reading list.   And while taking a Victorian lit class last spring, I came to appreciate the period more (much thanks to the post-modern feminist focus of the course provided by one of my favorite profs, Genie).  So, with all of this as background, when I was watching Flash of Genius, and Bob Kearns (played by Greg Kinnear) reads the first paragraph of AToTC to show that new things could be made from old pieces (words, in Dickens’ case, electrical thingamajigs in the case of Kearns), the book got added to the library book list in my head.  (I have yet to make enough money to afford my reading habit, so the local library is a friend and lifesaver.  I knew that Portland was a good place to be when – on my first trip to a local library – I found five interesting books to read in under 10 minutes, only two of which were on my mental list.)

We’ve all heard those first words – “It was the best of time, it was the worst of times.” But it wasn’t until I read the introduction that I found out that the book was set during the French Revolution, and the ‘two cities’ in the title were London and Paris.  And until I read that intro, I don’t remember ever wondering which two cities the book was about.  And then, of course, I wondered what kind of idiot I must be for not being curious about that before now.

I suppose I should say here that, if you haven’t read this book either, this column contains spoilers.   The intro to the edition that I read talked about how AToTC was the Dickens novel that received the least critical acclaim, while  remaining one of his most popular with readers. And while I am certainly not widely read in the Dickens’ oeuvre, it does move along rather quickly and with less of the obsession with detail I’ve found in other works of his, as the intro suggests.  And the plot is certainly not a mystery (I don’t think many are surprised when the amazingly twin-like men who are morally and psychologically opposite love the same woman and end up switching places at the end), but, as with most great novels IMHO, it is the characters and the masterfully suspenseful writing that keeps you reading long after you should have turned out the light.  It was slow going in the beginning as I accustomed myself to the Victorian syntax and pace, but by half-way thru I was skipping my online viewings of Lost to find out what would happen next.

I knew that when Lorry was going to Paris after the revolution had broken out, that Darnay would not be far behind.  I knew that when a mysterious stranger showed up at Lorry’s flat in Paris, that it was certainly Carton.  But the appearance of Miss Pross’ brother was a complete surprise, as was the real identity of Mrs. Defarge.  Dickens wisely (yes, that’s me, passing judgment on one of the masters of the English novel) chooses to reassure the reader that Lucie will survive the horrors of the revolution, while leaving us hanging as to the fate of the rest until the very end.  We buy into the release of Darnay and are almost as devastated as she when he is re-arrested the same night.

In the end, I enjoyed the novel more than I expected to (which, in all honesty, was true of most of the novels I read in my Victorian lit class).  I’ve tried some older novels on my own in the past (Moby Dick, for instance) that I just never finished.  Maybe what I was missing was a critical perspective – which would give me something to focus on if the story or writing didn’t hold me – but A Tale of Two Cities did not need anything but a little patience to hook me all on its own.

As with everything I do in my life, but particularly in what I read, I try to find the lessons offered by the text.  I didn’t find a lot in AToTC that I didn’t already know (oppression is bad, the reaction to oppression is usually ugly, never lie about who you are, true love will save you in the end – though not usually by providing a body double to die in your place) so it won’t be going on my personal Favorite list.  But if you are looking for a book to read that will impress your cerebral friends at cocktail parties (so, basically, the gay men in your life), A Tale of Two Cities will fit the bill without boring you to tears in the process.