bookinginheels

I have to admit to not really enjoying The Old Man and the Sea much. For one thing, I don't like fish in the slightest. I once had a panic attack in a pet shop because I felt like they were crowding me. And yes, yes - a story about a fisherman has fish in it!? I know, I was as surprised as you... Normally I can deal with them in literature, but this has some fairly graphic fishness that I Really Did Not Like. At one point Santiago has his head stuck inside a gutted dolphin.

Fish aside, as I understand that not everybody is as broken as me, it's still just an alright story. It does tell a story at least - there's a beginning, a middle and an end - and it's not some rambling diatribe on the meaning of life. The ending is rather anti-climactic, rendering the whole novella almost pointless.

Basically, I doubt that you'll genuinely enjoy this unless you a) enjoy fishing or b) want to search for hidden meaning. I know that I've come across as quite disparaging, but The Old Man and the Sea just wasn't for me.

The plot of the novel isn't much explained on the blurb - it explains Hester's situation, but not the emotional journey she faces throughout. In fact, it's not even primarily about her. The point of view stays mostly with the father of the child, with a little about Pearl and less about her mother. I won't mention who the father actually is, although he's identified to the reader fairly early on. Regardless of his identity, the novel narrates his struggle with the burden of his sin - he has not been punished as Hester has and so feels the weight more heavily.

I had steeled myself for a novel-length lecture on weakness and untrustworthiness of women, while men are strong but are tempted to sin by those evil women. In fact, I found it fairly pro-women. A lot of reviews have slated it as anti-feminist but I really, really don't see it. Obviously Hester is spurned by her village (it's set in the 1640s, after all) for her adultery, but she is ordered several times to name the father so he can be adequately punished also. It's mentioned several times they're both condemned, not just her. The narrative seems to pity her somewhat - she always holds herself with dignity and fervently tries to repent for her sin. The reader's attention is often drawn to this in an attempt to make us feel for her what her village cannot.

My copy of The Scarlet Letter has a huge red 'A' stamped on the front, but it would be impossible to forget it regardless. Mr. Hawthorne calls attention to it frequently so Hester is somehow embodied by that one red patch of colour. It almost has a life of its own - it's what the townsfolk see when they look at her and Pearl can't quite get past the symbol embroidered on her mother's chest. It's a very moving piece of imagery.

It's not really light reading. It's taken me a good few days to struggle through, to be honest. The story is wonderful, but the prose and dialogue can be a bit... stodgy. Although it was written in 1850, it's set two hundred years earlier and the syntax reflects that. It's rather preachy and moralistic, but that's only to be expected. I'd only recommend picking it up if you're willing to exert a lot of time and effort into it. It's definitely worth it, but it's a slog.

I really liked the ending, although it's not what I would have expected. It's not happy nor sad, but it is a fitting conclusion. It was especially clever how the townsfolk each adapted the spectacle to suit their own beliefs and wishes. That's what the book was about, for me - about the emotion and judgement of regular people, and how sin can more easily be borne when it's not kept to yourself.

I just couldn't get into Lord of the Flies at first, but I'm not sure if that was due to an actual slow beginning in the novel or my preconceptions caused by well-meaning family members. Regardless, at first I found it incredibly hard work. Not a lot happened, other than being introduced to the characters and getting profoundly irritated with their arrogance and superiority. Piggy is clearly the most sensible and logical of the lot, but he is ignored and ridiculed even when he's clearly trying to help. Understandably he gets frustrated, and so did I. Their behaviour irritated me so much I almost couldn't bear to read it any longer.

However, by about page 85 I was completely and irretrievably hooked. There's just something about the atmosphere William Golding creates that meant I wouldn't have put the book down if the house was on fire. The island itself has a very heady, muggy aura that seems to permeate through the pages until you swear you can feel the sun soaking through your skin. Other times, the terror and panic described on the pages is so real, and the difference between these two, although written by the same author, is immense. I've never, ever read an author with such a talent for atmosphere.

The first rhythm that they became used to was the slow swing from dawn to quick dusk. They accepted the pleasures of morning, the bright sun, the whelming sea and sweet air, as time when play was good and life so full that hope was not necessary and therefore forgotten.

The physical description of the island is also wonderful - it creates a picture so vivid that your imagination barely has to work. That said, there were a few times when I struggled to understand the layout of the island. I'm not sure if Golding uses topographical terms or whether I just couldn't follow it, but various ridges, canyons and slopes seemed to pop up without me really understanding what they were doing.

The characterisation is especially clever - throughout the book, Ralph is forced to grow in ways different to the other boys. As Chief, he struggles with having to make difficult decisions and constantly has to remind the other boys to do their chores - without them, their fragile civilisation will fall apart and Ralph knows that. The change in him by the end of the book is almost tangible, and the relationships between the boys undergoes a lot of different alterations. I can't wait to reread this book knowing what I do about the characters now.

In a moment the platform was full of arguing, gesticulating shadows. To Ralph, seated, this seemed the breaking-up of sanity. Fear, beasts, no general agreement that the fire was all-important: and when one tried to get the thing straight the argument sheered off, bringing up fresh, unpleasant matter.

It's quite a gruesome book. There's violence, disturbing dreams and animal slaughter and it doesn't skimp on the details either. Still, I really do think it was necessary in this case. Nothing annoys me more that unnecessary gore, but here the entire point of the novel is the boys' descent into savagery. The 'Lord of the Flies' himself is a gross concept, but a very clever one. Again, disturbing but necessary.

For me, the message wasn't that everybody is evil deep down, it was that everybody is selfish deep down. When thrust into a situation like this one, it's human nature to think only of your own survival. Everybody goes about that in a different way, which is obvious from the behaviour of both Ralph and Jack - one is being more selfish and obstinate than the other, but ultimately they're both doing what they think is right, regardless of how it may affect other people.

I absolutely loved Lord of the Flies, which is great as I completely wasn't expecting to. The atmosphere, the tension, the terror... it doesn't surprise me that William Golding won the Nobel Prize for literature. I can't really see the movie or stage adaptation working, but this book has shot straight up to being one of my all-time favourites.

I think the key to getting along with Cold Comfort Farm is accepting it as a parody. It's not really meant to be a serious work of fiction. Instead, it's a send-off of the earlier rural novels like those by D.H. Lawrence and Thomas Hardy. Now, I do like what I've read of Lawrence so far, but I still appreciate what Stella Gibbons was trying to do. More than that, it's actually funny. Flora's well-intentioned contempt for her family's bad habits shows itself in dry, sarcastic comments which even made me snort at one point. Perhaps I should be next in line for fixing up by Flora...

That's basically the plot of the book. Flora is suddenly forced to live on a meagre income after the death of her parents, and so decides to reside with her distant family, the Starkadders, at Cold Comfort Farm. On arrival, she sees her cousins for exactly what they're intended to me - exaggerated, cartoonish cliches of all those rural novels. There's Amos who's obsessed with religion, Judith and her profound depression, the over-sexed Seth, the contraceptionally unaware and therefore always pregnant Meriam and the commoner in love with the gentry plot-line of Elfine. They're all so loveable in their extremes that you can't help but wish for a happy ending.

It's a very accessible book - it flew by in a matter of hours for me. It takes a few pages to get used to the heavy accents of the Starkadder family but it's not really much of a problem after that.

'I ha' scranleted two hundred furrows come five o'clock down i' the bute.'
It was a difficult remark, Flora felt, to which to reply. Was it a complaint? If so, one might say, 'My dear, how too sickening for you!' But then, it might be a boast, in which case the correct reply would be, 'Attaboy!' or more simply, 'Come, that's capital.' Weakly she fell back on the comparatively safe remark:
'Did you?' in a bright, interested voice.

The literary influences are quite obvious. As well as the afore-mentioned Lawrence and Hardy (Huh. Unintentional, but vaguely amusing regardless...), Flora reminds me strongly of Emma Woodhouse with her insistence on 'fixing' the problems of everybody herself. Then there are a number of discussions between Flora and Mr. Mybug regarding the true author of Jane Eyre - whether it be Charlotte herself or Branwell Bronte. Flora becomes understandably quite irritated at this and calms herself by quoting Mansfield Park when she returns home.

Not only did I enjoy Cold Comfort Farm, I also read and enjoyed the introduction, and seriously - who does that? It's by Lynne Truss in my edition, which is the Penguin Modern Classics version with the cow pictured above (incidentally, the cows in the book are called Graceless, Pointless, Feckless and Aimless, which amused me no end). I don't normally bother with the introductions to classics, but I gave the first few pages a quick scan and liked what I read. Instead of a long, dreary introduction about the symbolism and hidden messages as usual, Ms. Truss briefly talks about how she was introduced to the book and what it means to her now. I love hearing personal reminisces of reading - to me it's much more interesting that critical interpretation.

Long story short, I really enjoyed this book and I can't wait to start tracking down some of Stella Gibbons' other books.

It really is so good though. I mean, it's hardly action packed as it's mostly about four sisters and their struggles to conquer their own flaws. Meg is vain about her looks, Jo is a bit of a tomboy and has a temper, Beth is shy and Amy is selfish and spoilt. It's more interesting than that though - it's about their relationships, feelings and little dramas as they struggle to grow up and improve themselves.

It just seems to involve you somehow. The characters are all so real, each with their own personalities that jump off the page that you care deeply about what happens to each and every one. It's weird though - I don't like Jo much and everybody else seems to. There isn't a main character exactly, but it's told from her POV more than any other and she just... irritates me. She's always being petted, much more than Amy who's meant to be the spoilt one, and never gets in trouble for anything, however dangerous her prank may have been.

I do like Beth though, she's by far my favourite. She's so gentle and sweet and never gets the recognition for it. Also, for some reason I keep picturing Amy as a very young Kirsten Dunst. Oh. I've just gone and researched the film and Amy is played by Kirsten Dunst. Huh. To be fair though, I didn't picture her as she looked in the film, more as Dunst a la Interview with a Vampire.

I could still do without the preachiness as it dates the book a little, but the sisters' genuine affection for each other is still wonderfully touching.

My copy of the book told me that Louisa May Alcott didn't actually want to write the book in the first place and didn't like it when it was finished. She was pressured by a publisher to do so and she consented in order to have a book of her short stories published also. 'I don’t enjoy this sort of thing. Never liked girls or knew many, except my sisters.'

Mmm. This is a bit dated but I do really recommend reading it. It's so nice that it can't help but cheer you if you're feeling low.

You'd be amazed how hard it was to find a plot summary that didn't make it feel like an 800 page 19th Century Russian classic... oh wait. That's the thing though - it really doesn't feel like that. It shocked me how easy it was to get into the story and how accessible the language was. I wouldn't have said it was an easy read, but I didn't even have to refer to the list of characters at the front - somehow my head managed to keep the characters and their relationships straight without any trouble at all. It was a nice surprise.

Speaking of characters, I had the Wordsworth edition, translated from the Russian by Louise and Aylmer Maude. Story good, translation not so good. They tend to change the characters names as well as the prose, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Surely names are names, regardless of language? As an illustration - the bloke down the road is called Steve. The mechanic in the shop is called Steve. My best friend's Dad is called Steve. The Russian Prince Stephen Arkadyevich Oblonsky, however, should not be called Steve.

Seriously, they translated it as 'Steve.' A minor point in the whole grand scheme of things, but come on. It went 'clunk' in my head every time I read it. Idiots.

I do seem the have got the whole character thing backwards though. I read a lot of the other bloggers' Read Along posts, I noticed that the vast majority didn't really like Anna herself as a person while I really, really did. She actually reminded me of myself quite a lot. I don't mean her circumstances, because obviously I've never abandoned my husband and child to run off with another man, but we just seem to have vaguely similar thought patterns. Not necessarily in a good way - she 'mind-reads' and works herself round in circles to end up at the worst possible result. I don't know, I just kind of felt for her. A lot of her situation was her own doing, but if this happened in modern society she would clearly be on some sort of medication.
It did surprise me how the novel isn't actually that much about Anna herself, considering that she's the title character. Obviously she's a part of it, but the other five or so main characters just have as much 'screen-time' as she does, if not more. The narrative changes whose point of view it follows regularly, but Anna and Vronsky's situation can be left alone for many chapters at a time.

A lot of the other bloggers seem to have a thing for Levin, which I don't really understand. I mean, he's acceptable as a secondary character but I just didn't think he stood out in any way. He seemed fairly flat, and a lot of the parts in his POV involved huge ranty monologues about farming or politics.

Good Lord, the farming. The huge majority of Part Three is just Levin talking with his acquaintances about farming, and it was fairly disheartening to fall in love with the book during Parts One and Two and then have to skim 80 pages about crop rotation. Then again, much later in the book, Levin goes on a field trip to an election and I once again wanted to hurl the book at Leo Tolstoy's head. Even he didn't understand what was going on, so how was I meant to!?

I really can't emphasise enough how tedious these parts are, but it's partly because the interesting parts of the book are so accessible that these stand out even more. The experiences of Anna, Vronsky, Kitty and a few others are fascinating and the author writes in such a way that you may as well be in their head. There's a lot of description, but it doesn't really halt the flow of the book.

And the ending, oh the ending. I still think that Parts Seven and Eight should have been the other way round - finishing off the 800 page novel with a stodgy Levin chapter just doesn't make a whole lot of sense - but the real ending was marvellous. I mean, it hurt me to my very core, but it's one I'll definitely remember for a long, long time. I suppose it does fit in with the message Tolstoy was trying to convey about adulterous women getting their comeuppance. Still, like I said above, I liked Anna!

So, to finally wrap-up a whole month of reading Anna Karenina... I really liked this book. I'm 100% positive it didn't need to be anywhere near that long, nor did it need such lengthy, dry conversations about farming and politicals (or, in occasional and suicide-inducing moments, both), but I felt that the other parts more than make up more it. It's actually a surprisingly accessible lengthy classic about a woman who gives up everything for love.