January 27, 2016 by sydneyreadseverything

The Poetry of Robert Browning

my last duchess

I wish I had ordered two sets of Robert Browning’s poetry so I could rip the pages out of one set and roll around in them like a villain in a pile of money.

Mmm, Robert Browning. He wrote poetry for the prose lover. His best poems are puzzles with intricate settings, characters and plot twists. In his most famous poem, My Last Duchess, an Italian nobleman talks to a marriage broker. While contemplating a painting of his last wife, he inadvertently reveals his possessive and controlling nature. Or does he do it on purpose to ensure that the marriage broker advises the new wife to never arouse any slight feeling of jealousy in the Duke? I dunno, but I sure enjoy speculating.

I see Browning’s poems as precursors to Modern stream of consciousness novels. He takes readers on brief journeys into the minds of medieval monks, Renaissance painters, and mad lovers. He uses psychological intimacy to tell stories and I love it. Yes, please, I would like to read a monologue by a monk who has been arrested for drunkenness, and all the other dramatic monologues you have for me, Robert. I’ll read them all.

Browning is a unique poet. His wife, Elizabeth Barret Browning, asked him to write from his own point of view. She valued “true” expressions of a poet’s thoughts and personal reactions to the world. But, Robert wasn’t into that. He wrote characters with complex personalities. He envisioned dramatic events and romantic scenery. He imagined psychological responses to places and events he never experienced. You will find no Romantic odes to daffodils among his poems. Instead, he offers twisted love stories; brilliant lives stifled by outward circumstances; humorous and exotic anecdotes.

I really don’t have that much else to tell you about Robert Browning. He’s one of my absolute favorite poets, if not my very favorite. His poetry isn’t exactly easy, but it’s definitely fun. You should read some, you won’t regret it. I feel a little bad that I’m not writing more about him, but my feelings are simple. He’s wonderful! One of the greatest. There’s no one like him.

Here is a partial list of my favorite Robert Browning poems:

Fra Lippo Lippi
My Last Duchess
Andrea del Sarto
Soliloquy of a Spanish Cloister
Porphyria’s Lover
In a Gondola
The Statue and the Bust

You might like Robert Browning’s poetry if:

you understand what things are good in this world
you’re a history nerd
you like puzzles

You might not like Robert Browning’s poetry if:

you’re foolish

Final Thoughts: All of those poems fill my heart with joy and make me glad to be alive on this earth. Don’t get me wrong, they are mostly tragedies, but tragedies so beautifully executed they make you exult in your existence.

Congratulations! You are a literate human living after Robert Browning wrote poems. You can read them. You can read them right now! Go forth, appreciate the glory of his words! I’m excited for you.

February 27, 2014 by sydneyreadseverything

The Sick, Sad World of Oliver Twist

Oliver Twist, Charles Dickens, 1838

I read Oliver Twist as rapidly as I read The Hunger Games. That’s how caught up I was in the plot of Oliver Twist. Dickens creates a web of immoral, malicious schemers around his sweet, innocent protagonist. Oliver is a bright light in a dark, sordid world. I was driven to keep reading by a sense that danger lurked behind every lamppost. I needed to know if Oliver would escape the traps laid for him or be irrevocably lost to a life of crime.

I’ve noticed that morally ambiguous characters with complex, ever-changing personalities are popular in contemporary TV, movies and novels. You won’t find that in Oliver Twist. Oliver is completely good and naïve. Bill Sykes the housebreaker is coarse, self-interested and mean. Each character stays true to a relatively simple set of traits. Which is fine, because this is a plot driven novel and the seedy underbelly of London provides ample space for the characters to interact with each other in complex ways.
The only personage who shows any character development is Nancy, literature’s first tart-with-a-heart. I’m pretty sure about that. Oh, wait. Mary Magdalene? Anyway, Nancy starts to lose her loyalty to her little gang of criminals. Unlike the rest of that gang, she starts to act selflessly. Nancy’s attempts to find a semblance of love and morality in her dark, dysfunctional world are more pitiable even than Oscar’s trials as a beleaguered orphan on the streets of London.

Overall, I loved reading Oliver Twist and I heartily recommend it. I did have two problems with it; one major and one minor. The anti-Semitism in this book hit me like a punch in the gut every 50 pages or so. The character Fagin is depicted as a greedy, cowardly, deceitful, hook-nosed Jew worthy of the utmost scorn. Dickens rarely uses Fagin’s name, but refers to him instead as “the Jew.” Dickens describes Fagin as more of an animal than a man.

Proof:
“The mud lay thick upon the stones, and a black mist hung over the streets; the rain fell sluggishly down, and everything felt cold and clammy to the touch. It seemed just the night when it befitted such a being as the Jew to be abroad. As he glided stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the walls and doorways, the hideous old man seemed like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime and darkness through which he moved: crawling forth, by night, in search of some rich offal for a meal.”

Doesn’t that just turn your stomach? Worthy of the pages of Mein Kampf. When I came to passages like this, I felt like a terrible person for enjoying other parts of this book.

My other, much less disturbing complaint about Oliver Twist is classism. The implicit reason that Oscar is able to stay good and pure throughout his trials and in spite of his exposure to corrupted people like Sykes and Fagin is the genteel blood secretly coursing through his veins. How silly of Dickens to think that a well-born mother can save a child from perdition when the mother died in childbirth and cannot influence the child. Oh well, if there’s one thing the British gentility are good at, it’s thinking well of themselves.

You might like Oliver Twist if:

You like your novels to have plot, tension and a sense of urgency.
You don’t mind well-worded if long-winded descriptions of setting and characters interspersed with your urgent, tense plot movement.

You might not like Oliver Twist if:

You like a lot of character development in your novels.

Final Thoughts: I love Nancy. The fallen woman, forced by poverty into bad company. Her sad, misguided attempts to find affection and worthiness in her dark world will break your heart. In a good way. The way literature should.

February 5, 2014 by sydneyreadseverything

The Pickwick Papers: The Lighter Side of Charles Dickens

The Pickwick Papers, Charles Dickens, 1836

Dear readers, I must confess that I am far behind on my blogging. Seven books behind, to be exact. It can be quite difficult to find the time to take photos for each post, especially in winter when daylight is limited. I have a number of posts written in advance that are just waiting for pictures. I truly thought that I had written a post for The Pickwick Papers. . .but I can’t find it. It’s been a while since I read the book. So, here are my thoughts on The Pickwick Papers, as I remember them.

The Pickwick Papers launched Dickens’ career. Everybody in immediately-pre-Victorian England just loved them. However, he went on to write many novels that earned more critical acclaim. So, I probably could have skipped Pickwick and satisfied myself with the 5 other Dicken’s novels on my list, right? Wrong! The Pickwick Papers is an influential novel. Victorian authors read it and referenced it. My heart swells with gratification when I read a reference to an earlier novel and I totally get the reference. Conversely, I get enraged when I don’t know the reference. Look at my reading list! I should know every literary reference. All of them!

Anyway, I am reading Vanity Fair now. Thackeray has been lambasted for his copious obscure references. In one chapter he briefly alludes to a character from The Pickwick Papers. Instead of being confused and annoyed, I found the reference sweet and touching, because I, like Thackeray, have affection for that character. Also, the sisters in Little Women read The Pickwick Papers and it it’s good enough for Jo March, it’s good enough for me.

I’ve written a lot already and you’re probably still wondering what The Pickwick Papers is about. Samuel Pickwick is a jolly, but distinguished (by his own estimation) old gentleman who leads a gentlemen’s club called “The Pickwick Club.’ He leads a small group of gentlemen around the country on academic expeditions. Knowledge is the stated purpose of their expeditions, but they mostly seem to ride about in carriages, drinking and getting into trouble.

Eventually, Mr. Pickwick hires a cockney manservant, Samuel Weller, who is one of my favorite characters I’ve encountered during this project. He has a quaint way of expressing himself, but is quite down to earth. So, he’s both pragmatic and hilarious. Mr. Pickwick and Sam Weller have a very Bertie and Jeeves relationship. Pickwick gets into trouble; Sam Weller gets him out of it.

The book is a bit too long, but I really enjoyed it overall. It’s quite lighthearted and entertaining for Dickens who later moved on to more serious subjects than the follies and foibles of self-important English gentlemen.

Here’s a quote for you to appreciate:

‘The gout, Sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘the gout is a complaint as arises from too much ease and comfort. If ever you’re attacked with the gout, sir, jist you marry a widder as has got a good loud woice, with a decent notion of usin’ it, and you’ll never have the gout agin. It’s a capital prescription, sir. I takes it reg’lar, and I can warrant it to drive away any illness as is caused by too much jollity.’ Having imparted this valuable secret, Mr. Weller drained his glass once more, produced a laboured wink, sighed deeply, and slowly retired.

You might like The Pickwick Papers if:

you like P. G. Wodehouse.
you like the British trope of the valet who is wiser than his “betters.”

You might not like The Pickwick Papers if:

you’re not an Anglophile.
you don’t have the attention span for Victorian Literature.

Final Thoughts:

It’s rare and refreshing for a British author to treat a servant character with respect and admiration. Dickens himself in other books can be uncomfortably condescending. I l liked it. That’s all.

December 13, 2013 by sydneyreadseverything

White Men Shoot Bear, Indians, Mexicans

Lady Crockett

A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett, David Crockett, 1834 and The Big Bear of Arkansas, T. B. Thorpe, 1836

Today, I bring you two stories of ego-maniacal white men exploiting the riches of North America! The Big Bear of Arkansas is a short story in which a man entertains his fellow steamboat riders with a tale of hunting bear in Arkansas. The Narrative of the Life of David Crockett is an autobiography written by Crockett to increase his popularity heading into a presidential campaign. Why did I choose to review these two items of literature together? Because I figured you only need to hear me rant about wanton, excessive bear slaughter once on this blog.

The Big Bear of Arkansas is a “big fish” story, but about a bear. This short story features a man bragging about the bounteous game and fertile soil of Arkansas. He then describes in detail his hunting of a semi-mystical bear. That’s all there is to it. It has a proto-Mark Twain vibe. The story also contains one of the most sickeningly racist metaphors I have ever heard. I won’t repeat it here, because it’s disgusting.

A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett was also disturbingly racist, which I’ll address in a moment. Crockett talks about his wild upbringing in Tennessee. He was the son of a dirt poor farmer, who hired young David out to neighboring farmers and traveling salesmen to help pay off his debts. Crockett describes his misadventures and hardscrabble lifestyle with colorful, folksy colloquialisms—really the only worthwhile element in this narrative.

As a young man, Crockett joined Andrew Jackson’s militia to fight the Creek Indians. If his callous description of the slaughter of Creek warriors doesn’t turn your stomach, this excerpt will:

We now shot them like dogs; and then set the house on fire, and burned it up with the forty-six warriors in it. I recollect seeing a boy who was shot down near the house. His arm and thigh was broken, and he was so near the burning house that the grease was stewing out of him. In this situation he was still trying to crawl along; but not a murmur escaped him, though he was only about twelve years old. So sullen is the Indian, when his dander is up, that he had sooner die than make a noise, or ask for quarters.

[…] We went back to our Indian town on the next day, when many of the carcasses of the Indians were still to be seen. They looked very awful, for the burning had not entirely consumed them, but given them a very terrible appearance, at least what remained of them. It was, somehow or other, found out that the house had a potatoe cellar under it, and an immediate examination was made, for we were all as hungry as wolves. We found a fine chance of potatoes in it, and hunger compelled us to eat them, though I had a little rather not, if I could have helped it, for the oil of the Indians we had burned up on the day before had run down on them, and they looked like they had been stewed with fat meat.

Now, I don’t know if that really happened. But I do know that Davy Crockett chose to include this in his autobiography, so he must have thought this charming detail would win hearts and minds and help him get the presidency.

The rest of the book consists of Crockett bragging about how much smarter he is than his political opponents and how great he is at hunting. He dedicates many pages to describing his bear hunts. He actually boasts that he could shoot so many bear in a day that he had to leave much of the meat to rot.

Crockett’s autobiography consists almost entirely of the egotistical ramblings of an entitled white man. His argument for why he deserves the presidency boils down to “I am great at slaughtering bear and Indians.” It’s nauseating.

You might like The Big Bear of Arkansas and A Narrative of the Life of David Crocket if:

you’re really into hunting.

You might not like The Big Bear of Arkansas and A Narrative of the Life of David Crocket if:

you’re disgusted by the worldview of settlers who not only felt entitled to shoot everything they saw whether man or beast, but felt that their skill as slaughterers was ennobling.

Final thoughts:

David Crockett was neither noteworthy nor admirable. He represents some of the worst, most destructive American ideals. Ideals that lead to cruelty and oppression. It’s completely ridiculous that we make a hero out of this guy. There are plenty of forgotten Americans who achieved more and lived more commendable lives. He died at the Alamo and he’s very quotable. That’s all.

Listen, it’s good to question the foundation of American values. If you’re on a mission to indulge your bitter skepticism and growing sense of dissatisfaction with the U.S.A., Crockett’s autobiography will help. Godspeed.

October 30, 2013 by sydneyreadseverything

The Mummy: A Steampunk Adventure Story

The Mummy, Jane C. Loudon, 1828

I need to borrow a line from one of my favorite poets A. E. Housman. “It is in truth inequity on high” that Jules Verne is considered the father of steampunk, when Jane C. Loudon published The Mummy the same year that Verne was born. The Mummy out steampunks Verne’s entire oeuvre, and no one has even heard of it, not even fervent steampunk enthusiasts.

This book has it all. It’s a neo-Victorian, futuristic, sci-fi, political thriller, romance. A mummy steals a dirigible. A MUMMY STEALS A DIRIGIBLE. That plot element alone gives Loudon all the steampunk and sci-fi cred one can have. But if you need more proof that she’s the mother of the genre, know that steam driven technologies abound in The Mummy, including mechanisms that harness clouds to water crops and odd communication devices.

Like a lot of science fiction, this book is really silly. It takes place in the 22nd Century. Loudon’s ideas of the political climate in the future are hilarious. To summarize: the people revolt against the aristocracy and establish universal education. Once they are educated they feel like they shouldn’t have to do manual labor. With no laborers, there is no food. England is plunged into anarchy and, to escape the turmoil, the people seek out the former aristocrats and beg them to take back their ancestral homes and roles, because with no one to work for, no one will do any work. . . . So they establish a matrilineal monarchy. Now that the lower classes are educated, education is no longer fashionable. So, Loudon’s servant characters speak in unbearably pretentious monologues while the bluebloods speak plain English. Which is pretty funny the first time, but becomes wearisome.

The characters have amazing romantic names, including Edmund, Edric, Roderick, Elvira and Rosabella. Elvira and Rosabella engage in political intrigues; both are in line to become Queen. Roderick is the king of Ireland and the world’s most powerful imperial monarch. How hilariously Anglo-centric is that? Edric is essentially Victor Frankenstein. Obsessed with reanimating a corpse, he travels to Egypt in an airship with a galvanic battery and reanimates the pharaoh Cheops. Just like good old Victor, Edric’s success causes him to faint, and the mummy runs off. The mummy steals the airship and somehow sails it to England, where he becomes deeply involved in the dispute over the succession. I have no idea why a reanimated Egyptian pharaoh would spend his time on British political intrigues. Interestingly, everyone is afraid of the mummy, because he’s scary looking, but he’s actually a wise, benevolent character.

The book is far too long and has too many characters, but overall it’s a fun romp. I enjoyed it.

Other than prejudice against women, I can’t imagine why The Mummy is not recognized today as a pioneering work of science fiction and the beginning of the steampunk genre.

You might like The Mummy if:

· you like science fiction.

· you like steampunk.

· you don’t mind long books.

You might not like The Mummy if:

· you’re a very serious person who likes tight plots and fast action.

Final thoughts: Anyone interested in steampunk or early science fiction should read this book and give Jane C. Loudon her due.

August 5, 2013 by sydneyreadseverything

Percy Shelley’s Gender-bending Pagan Fantasy

The Witch of Atlas, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1820

Shelley dedicated this poem to his wife and the ungrateful sow told him it was no good, because it “contains no human interest.” More evidence that Mary Shelley knew nothing about literature. She didn’t like that the poem has no plot. Shelley simply describes his character, her home, and gives a few examples of how she spends her time.

The unnamed witch lives in a cave illuminated by magic baubles. She is beautiful and compassionate. All the creatures in the forest, including the dryads, naiads, satyrs and so on want to live with her and dedicated their lives to following her. She refuses, because she knows she’ll grow affectionate towards them and mourn them when they die.

What does she like to do with the endless days of her immortality? Well, her mystical ancient forefathers left her a supply of magical trinkets and tools; she uses their power to amuse herself. She starts off by making herself a non-gendered flying creature to ride around on:

Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow
Together, tempering the repugnant mass
With liquid love—all things together grow
Through which the harmony of love can pass;
And a fair Shape out of her hands did flow—
A living Image, which did far surpass
In beauty that bright shape of vital stone
Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion.

A sexless ting it was, and in its growth
It seemed to have developed no defect
Of either sex, yet all the grace of both,—
In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked;
The bosom swelled lightly with its full youth,
The countenance was such as might select
Some artist that his skill should never die,
Imaging forth such perfect purity.

From its smooth shoulders hung two rapid wings,
Fit to have borne it to the seventh sphere,
Tipped with the speed of liquid lightenings,
Dyed in the ardours of the atmosphere

Soon, she decides she doesn’t want to live in a cave anymore. She summons a troop of minions to build her a dome carved of ivory and hung with silks. But, her favorite pastime is messing with sleeping humans. She has the ability to mingle her souls with the souls of sleeping mortals and she uses this power to play pranks on them, such as making a king abdicate in favor of his pet monkey. Pretty neat.

Mary was right; the poem doesn’t have a plot. It’s not a story, but a detailed fantasy. It’ll go straight to the pleasure centers of those who like the sorcery part of the sword and sorcery genre.

Byron’s Don Juan: Origin of the Rap Battle?

Don Juan, Lord Byron, 1820

In his long poem “Don Juan” Byron reimagines the legendary Latin Lover as a luckless young man, tossed about by circumstance in 1820s Europe. Highly susceptible to feminine charms, he falls in love over and over again. We tend to think of Don Juan as a scheming seducer. Byron turns him into a well-intentioned, affectionate chap who inspires consuming passions in the opposite sex. Those passionate females create a lot of trouble for Juan.

As you might imagine, Don Juan has a number of lovers. Byron describes intimate scenes with more detail than previous poets dared to use. The poem was declared immoral by many critics. Byron’s publisher often hesitated to publish new installments and some of Byron’s friends begged him to stop writing it. However, many of his fellow poets declared it a work of genius and it was popular with the public.

I agree that it has elements of genius. When Byron manages to stay focused on his plot, the poem is amazing. His passages about falling in love are breathtaking. I read from one of them during my brother’s wedding ceremony:

     They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow
       Spread like a rosy ocean, vast and bright;
     They gazed upon the glittering sea below,
       Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight;
     They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low,
       And saw each other's dark eyes darting light
     Into each other—and, beholding this,
     Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss;

     A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love,
       And beauty, all concentrating like rays
     Into one focus, kindled from above;
       Such kisses as belong to early days,
     Where heart, and soul, and sense, in concert move,
       And the blood 's lava, and the pulse a blaze,
     Each kiss a heart-quake,—for a kiss's strength,
     I think, it must be reckon'd by its length.

He really captures the gigantic, encompassing feelings born of little, intimate moments between two people. No?

Byron very successfully describes these things too:

The bittersweet feeling of leaving your home behind to go on an adventure.
The charms of Middle Eastern women.
Don Juan’s courage in battle or when sparring with a lover’s huband/father.
Petty jealousies.
Scenery.
Unhappy marriages.

Unfortunately, he grants an enormous number of lines to insulting other poets, insulting social institutions and rambling on about his personal philosophy. I think satire is most effective, not to mention entertaining, when contained within the plot. When Byron directly attacks society, the quality of his poetry diminishes. Fact: philosophy is boring. Don Juan is over 16,000 lines long, but to me it only drags when Byron goes off on philosophical tangents.

Bryon dedicated Don Juan to Robert Southey. Sounds nice, right? I like Southey. Byron didn’t. The caustic, ironic dedication sets the tone for Byron’s other acerbic digressions. Byron’s good friend Shelley escapes his harsh pen, but the Lake Poets take a beating, in verse of course. He tears into Wordsworth, Coleridge and Keats. As far as I’m concerned, he can have at Wordsworth, but Coleridge? Keats? Back off Byron; those guys are paragons. At first, the idea of viciously attacking other artists in your genre seemed really odd to me. Also, it’s a precarious perch for Byron, who was far from perfect. Then I thought of rap battles. We certainly have a contemporary equivalent of abusing your artistic competition in rhyme. Let’s pretend that Byron originated the rap battle, shall we?

You might like Don Juan if:

you want to read beautiful verse about the misadventures of a dashing young man as he’s tossed across Europe by Lady Fortune.

You might not like Don Juan if:

you don’t want to dig through Byron’s philosophy, social commentary and bile to get to the adventure story.

Final thoughts: I loved/hated Don Juan, but mostly I loved it. When it is good, it is very, very good. When it is bad, it is boring. The story is gripping and told so incredibly well, that I got really annoyed with Byron for all his digressions. I am very glad I read it. To me it was worth the long slog. However, I hesitate to recommend it. Realistically, most readers will not have the requisite patience

July 16, 2013 by sydneyreadseverything

Washington Irving

Did you know that Washington Irving was one of the first American prose writers to gain any respect abroad? British readers condescended to read his book of short stories The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon. I will review his two most popular and enduring stories Rip Van Winkle and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow for you today. Both stories are set in Dutch communities in the Catskill mountains of New York. If you haven’t tried to read English literature in chronological order, you may not be able to appreciate how happy a story set in the Americas makes me. Familiar landscapes! I am from the Appalachian region in Virginia and Irving’s mention of that mountain chain in his introduction to Rip Van Winkle made my heart sing:

Whoever has made a voyage up the Hudson must remember the Catskill Mountains. They are a dismembered branch of the great Appalachian family, and are seen away to the west of the river, swelling up to a noble height, and lording it over the surrounding country. Every change of season, every change of weather, indeed, every hour of the day, produces some change in the magical hues and shapes of these mountains, and they are regarded by all the good wives, far and near, as perfect barometers. When the weather is fair and settled, they are clothed in blue and purple, and print their bold outlines on the clear evening sky; but sometimes, when the rest of the landscape is cloudless, they will gather a hood of gray vapors about their summits, which, in the last rays of the setting sun, will glow and light up like a crown of glory.

Ah, isn’t that lovely? Irving’s description establishes the Catskills as a place of mysterious beauty. Later, our main character will have a magical misadventure in these mountains. Rip is something of a loveable layabout. Everyone in the town loves him, except his shrew of a wife. Rip Van Winkle is one of the classic henpecked husbands in literature. Can you feel a feminist rant coming? Let’s start with a quote:

The great error in Rip’s composition was an insuperable aversion to all kinds of profitable labor. It could not be from the want of assiduity or perseverance […] The women of the village, too, used to employ him to run their errands, and to do such little odd jobs as their less obliging husbands would not do for them; in a word, Rip was ready to attend to anybody’s business but his own; but as to doing family duty, and keeping his farm in order, it was impossible.

Imagine with me for a minute that you are a small town wife in the mid-1700s. You rely on your husband to keep yourself and your children sheltered and fed. If your husband fails to feed you, you will starve. There is no divorce. Now, every day you see your partner in life shuffle off into town with his dog to sit on the bank of the river with his pole all day, but he never brings home a single fish to eat. He puts up other wives’ barns while your fence falls into disrepair. Your children run about in rags, because you have no money to clothe them properly and the neighbors laugh at your pathetic, ramshackle farm. In these circumstances, would you be an affectionate, tender wife? Would you sing your husband’s praises? Not even for a second. You would be a stressed out, angry, exhausted wreck of a person. You would curse your husband out every day, because every single day that he lolled about not providing for his family, your rage would be renewed in full. My sympathy lies entirely with the “termagant wife” not with the henpecked husband. She is stuck in a terrible situation and it’s surprising that she doesn’t just murder him. Rant over. Well, rant paused.

One day Rip goes off into the Catskills to escape his wife and has a strange encounter with some men wearing old-timey Dutch clothing. As you probably know, he falls asleep against a tree and wakes up in a strange world. His beard has famously grown very long. Unbeknownst to Rip, the American Revolution has come and gone and that lucky dog slept through the whole thing. Not a bad deal at all for someone of his indolent disposition. Ultimately, Rip Van Winkle is the story of a man who cannot handle the duties and responsibilities in his life. He fails to support his family and he sleeps through the turmoil of war. Loser. However, Rip’s awakening is quite surreal and has captivated the imaginations of readers for hundreds of years.

The Headless Horseman that terrorizes Ichabod Crane in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is a similarly enduring character in American literature. Briefly, large-nosed, lanky schoolmaster Ichabod Crane lives in the town of Sleepy Hollow. He is self-interested, and superstitious enough to fear the local legend of the Headless Horseman, the ghost of a decapitated Hessian—German soldier hired by the English army. Ichabod finds himself competing for the hand of rich and voluptuous Katrina. His rival is a large, handsome local bully. Tension and terror ensue.

I thoroughly enjoyed both of these stories. Irving has a mellow, richly descriptive style and a sly, but good natured humor that made me feel like I was hearing a story told by someone’s funny, clever grandpa. His characters are unique and so well-defined that they have become legends in their own right in American culture. Here’s an example of how excellent Irving is with characterization and imagery:

The revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda.

Why do we read, if not to encounter phrases like “dilating powers of an anaconda?” Ichabod Crane is an Epicurean and an opportunist. Through his eyes we see the town of Sleepy Hollow as an American Elysium, a land of milk and honey bursting with pastoral delights. The images Irving conjures up when Ichabod goes to dinner at Katrina’s house are out of control.

You might like these two short stories if:

you love America. Not the nation, but the geographical region.
you are like me and excellent descriptions of pastoral scenery really rev your engine.
you are interested in American folklore.
you like some surrealism, mysticism, humor or horror mixed in with your classic literature.

You might not like these two short stories if:

you’re foolish.

Final thoughts: Both of these stories are delightful. If you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in a while, they are definitely worth your time. Also, you can read them free online. Rip Van Winkle. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is more fun, so if you’re only going to read one, pick that one.

June 5, 2013 by sydneyreadseverything

Persuasion

Persuasion, Jane Austen, 1818

Here it is, the last Jane Austen novel on the list. Persuasion is the last book that Jane Austen wrote. It was published posthumously very shortly after her death at age 41. Some scholars consider it her most autobiographical book, because the love interest is a sailor, just like Jane’s real life love interest. Our leading lady, Anne Elliot, is the younger daughter of an aristocrat who possesses more land and ostentatious pride than sense. Anne, however, is a mellow, obedient, sensible young woman who tries to rein in her father and sister’s excessive spending. She fails because those swine don’t appreciate her pearls of wisdom or her pearlescent personality for that matter. Anne is mortified by her relation’s lack of grace. They are imperious and awkward socially, and their extreme sense of entitlement prevents them from doing anything to prevent their financial ruin. Only Lady Russel, the bosom companion of Anne’s deceased mother, recognizes Anne’s true value.

Persuasion holds no surprises for the Jane Austen fan. It contains the typical Austen elements:

the frivolous relatives of Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park paired with an obedient, sensible, long-suffering daughter; Jane and Fanny respectively and Elinor from Sense and Sensibility.
the silly, flirtatious, social-climbing rivals of S+S, P+P and Mansfield.
the disposal of said rivals in unexpected marriages.
the delayed romance of every Austen novel except Northanger Abbey.
the chronic misunderstanding between lovers caused by social conventions that require women in particular to be extremely reserved.
a moral about the consequences of abstract elements of human nature.

The abstract element in question is persuasion or being persuadable. At a tender age, Anne allows Lady Russel and her father to dissuade her from marrying Captain Frank Wentworth, a dashing young sailor. They object to Wentworth’s lack of name or fortune. Anne would have married him for love and with hope and faith that he would improve his circumstances by distinguishing himself in the Royal Navy. He does earn fame and fortune and turns up in Anne’s part of the country again. Tension ensues.

Anne is a serene character and the tone of Persuasion is correspondingly tranquil. I found it a bit dull at first. Austen spends a good while setting up the Elliot family dynamic and describing the personalities found in their neighborhood before the men arrive. This being said, I was happy with the pacing overall. The novel has a maturity not found in Austen’s earlier work in terms of tone, material, plot and even character. Anne is the only Austen heroine past her prime marrying off years.

I suppose I should summarize my feelings about Jane Austen now. That’s a large unwieldy task, though. I reviewed all six of her novels on this blog, so if you want my thoughts on her, they are available. Instead here is my ranking of her books from my favorite to my least favorite:

Pride and Prejudice

Northanger Abbey

Persuasion

Emma

Sense and Sensibility

Mansfield Park

You might like Persuasion if:

you love Austen.
you are ready for a heroine who is out of her teens.
you like a maritime setting.

You might not like Persuasion if:

you are bored of/by Austen.

Final thoughts: I liked it.

June 3, 2013 by sydneyreadseverything

Northanger Abbey

Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen, 1817

Catherine Morland starts life as a plain, tomboyish child not at all suited to the life of a romantic heroine. Nevertheless, she blossoms into a not unattractive young woman with a “mind about as ignorant and uninformed as the female mind at seventeen usually is.” In this precarious state of naiveté she sets off for Bath to be introduced to society. Sounds like every single previous novel with a female main character, huh? Well, yes, excepting Austen’s other books. The most common premise for early English novels is the young woman’s first season in town, an excellent setting in which to portray the corrupting and confusing influence of society on the female character. Austen typically breaks away from this model to focus on familial relationships, typically in a rural setting. Think about it, all of Austen’s other characters have experience in society prior to the time when Austen begins chronicling their stories. In Northanger Abbey she uses this more common premise in order to parody other novelists.

When Catherine arrives in Bath she starts reading The Mysteries of Udolpho, my least favorite book in the history of literature! Austen continually contrasts her relatively mundane and realistic character, setting and plot with the exaggerated romanticism of Udolpho and other Gothic literature. Catherine becomes so obsessed with Udolpho that she interprets her surroundings as if they were part of a Gothic mystery. She expects danger at every turn. She even begins to suspect that the father of the young man she admires is a villain on par with Montoni of Udolpho. Her absurd fantasies almost ruin her chances with the young man in question.

Northanger Abbey is not Jane Austen’s most popular novel, probably because the narrative relies on knowledge of a book that most modern readers have not read. I found Northanger Abbey simply delightful. The element of satire adds complexity and extra humor to Austen’s work. It is really funny to see a literary heroine get so swept up by the ideas and ideals of another novel that she almost ruins the plot of her own book. The constant contrast between the Gothic literary tradition and Austen’s own literary style serves to highlight Austen’s merit. I love that she interrupts her narrative to give a spirited defense of the novel form. In Austen’s time it was perfectly acceptable for a young lady to read poetry, but novels were considered trifling and perhaps even dangerous. She defends Catherine’s habit of reading novels by saying “if the heroine of one novel be not patronized by the heroine of another, from whom can she expect protection and regard?” A bit rich, considering that Austen is raking fellow lady novelist Ann Radcliffe over the coals, but a cute statement nonetheless.

Northanger Abbey stands out to me, because in it Austen comes closest to social commentary. In her other novels she delineates the flaws in her characters and explains how their upbringing allowed their undesirable traits to emerge and flourish. The blame falls soundly on the parents every time. Emma is vain and self-important, because her father is over-indulgent. Lydia Bennet is silly and boy-crazy, because her mother is silly and boy-crazy. Fanny is unassuming, because she is treated as a second class member of her own family. Austen does not aim her arrows directly at the effete, indulgent Regency society very often, but in Nothanger Abbey she constructs the argument (if you look for it) that Catherine is so very silly, because social norms prevent her from accumulating any wisdom. Well, that might be a bit of a stretch, but she fairly clearly demonstrates that the social practice of “retirement from the world” for young women, makes them silly.

Thank goodness an author finally makes that connection. All the naïve, bumbling Charlotte Temples, Evelinas and Catherines get into trouble, because they have no experience of the world. Early English novelists just loved to show how dangerous entering society is for a young woman. Well, duh! If you were shut away from people for your entire youth, it would be dangerous to send you to a debutante ball. People have to learn how to interpret human behavior. If women are locked away from men, they will have no idea who is a decent, reasonable person and who is philanderer or potential murderer. It’s not shocking that Catherine can’t tell fiction from reality. There’s almost no reality in her life. Experience makes humans wise and she has had no experiences. She comes off as incredibly foolish, but is it really surprising that someone who was only allowed to experience the world through books would interpret their surroundings as if they were the setting of a novel? I think not.

You might like Northanger Abbey if:

you have read Mysteries of Udolpho or at least one Gothic novel written before 1820.
you love Jane Austen.
you like satire.
you like meta-fiction.

You might not like Northanger Abbey if:

you haven’t read Mysteries of Udolpho or at least one Gothic novel written before 1820.
you just can’t stand it when the author inserts her own voice and opinions into the narrative. I must insert my voice here to give the opinion that readers everywhere should ditch this particular pet peeve.

Final thoughts: Northanger Abbey is an atypical Austen novel, which I like. I rank it second after Pride and Prejudice.