Mary Ann Evans – or George Eliot – said that without Jane Austen, there would have been no George Eliot. This was in evidence to me in this novel moreMary Ann Evans – or George Eliot – said that without Jane Austen, there would have been no George Eliot. This was in evidence to me in this novel more than in her masterpiece, Middlemarch, possibly because the latter is a much later work (but so far it’s the only one I have to compare with). In truth, I liked The Mill on the Floss as much as Middlemarch.
The story revolves around a pair of siblings, Maggie and Tom Tulliver, with Maggie (who reminded me of Molly Gibson in Mrs. Gaskell’s Wives and Daughters) taking centre stage in the story. Young Maggie is a delightful, willful, kind girl with dark skin, of which her silly mother (reminiscent of one Mrs. Bennett) is ashamed. Fortunately she is the apple of her father’s eye (reminiscent, in this respect, of Mr. Bennett), but Maggie’s hero is her older brother, Tom. Maggie’s love of her brother is deeply ingrained in her, something which is sometimes difficult to understand as Tom is selfish to a fault. The times they lived in were such that Tom, despite his practical take on life and a mind which didn’t lend itself to bookish pursuits, was the one given an education, an education which would have far better benefitted his imaginative, inquisitive younger sister, who had a sharp intellect and who loved literature.
The novel was in part a quietly pastoral novel, centering on the Tullivers’ life in the mill on the river Floss with all the monetary and social challenges of the day, and in part a battle of wills: Tom’s vs. Maggie’s, Mrs. and Mr. Tulliver vs. Mrs. Tulliver’s proud sisters, Stephen vs. Philip (the grown Maggie’s suitors), society/decorum vs. individual happiness/freedom and ultimately the inner turmoil of Maggie’s own conscience vs. her heart. Throughout the novel, Maggie finds it difficult to balance her own desires with that of others. It pained me at times to see how her kindheartedness hindered her from pursuing her own happiness despite the zest for life she had exhibited as a child.
The tone was Austen-esque in places, humorous and witty, and some of the portraits drawn – especially that of Maggie’s insufferable aunt Gleg – were straight out of Austen, who didn’t go out of her way to criticize the relatives of her heroines, though they were drawn as expertly by George Eliot. Unlike any of Austen’s novels, this one includes a wonderful and rather lengthy description of childhood – Maggie’s and Tom’s -, much of which was not only deeply authentic but also quite moving.
I first resented the intrusive narrator, who always would butt in with a comment when I was immersed in a scene, but I gradually got to appreciate the little words of wisdom and the author’s keen, sometimes surprisingly profound, psychological insight. Towards the end I positively marvelled at the intellect and humanity expressed by George Eliot in this novel.
My enthusiasm waned somewhat at the very end. In fact, the ending was not what I had expected; it had something of a deus ex machina resolution to it. And in my view, (view spoiler)[ Tom did not deserve redemption in the arms of Maggie, despite the poetic symmetry of their drowning together in the river near their childhood home (hide spoiler)].
There was melodrama, romance, action, coming of age. There was early feminism, Victorian realism, gentle wisdom, gorgeous prose. Highly recommended. ...more
This was an unexpected surprise. I expected sadness and bleakness throughout but found a wonderfully written story that simply pushed all my buttons. This was an unexpected surprise. I expected sadness and bleakness throughout but found a wonderfully written story that simply pushed all my buttons. I came to this classic love story now because of Danish director Thomas Vinterberg’s film adaptation of it (starring Carey Mulligan as Bathsheba Everdene), which is opening in Danish cinemas this week.
I’ve stubbornly (stupidly) avoided Thomas Hardy’s novels since seeing the film adaptation of Jude the Obscure years ago, after which I wept inconsolably for hours and which I thought about for years afterwards. I will never read that book and felt a kind of anger at Hardy for allowing those children to die so horribly. As I mentioned recently in another review, Hardy even trumps Dostoevsky in his ‘weakness for bleakness’, as The Guardian called it. The newspaper had made a sort of statistical survey of the number of deaths and other tragedies to occur in both author’s novels. Hardy wins hands down, and that’s no mean feat when Dostoevsky is the opponent.
So I ‘went in’ expecting only doom and gloom but was absolutely delighted with the story. Yes, there is death and sadness, but there is much more, too. Hardy’s clever humour and gentle irony threw me completely. Take this delightful description of one Maltster Warren:
’The maltster’s lack of teeth appeared not to sensibly diminish his powers as mill. He had been without them for so many years that toothlessness was felt less to be a defect than hard gums an acquisition. Indeed he seemed to approach the grave as a hyperbolic curve approaches a straight line – less directly as he got nearer, till it was doubtful he would ever reach it at all.’ That, to me, is priceless.
The characters were utterly convincing and compelling (I’m wondering, despite the difference in spelling, whether Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games ‘borrowed’ her last name from Bathsheba. Wild gumption seems to be a trait they share).
I marvelled at how this pastoral, Victorian story had drama, striking weather and big feelings and yet was interspersed with philosophical musings ( As without law there is no sin, without eyes there is no decorum etc.)
There was too much dull pub/sheep/farmer talk for my taste, and a bit too much melodramatic pathos here and there (at one point, Boldwood’s fury and speech were positively Shakespearean), but the tone and the heart of the novel grabbed me completely (in part, I think, due to an amazing narrator, one Jamie Parker). There comes a certain point in only a few novels where I’m willing to overlook the parts I don’t love because I the love the rest so much. This was that kind of novel to me – the style, the story, the heart of it.
I will most definitely be reading more of Hardy. But I’m apparently not the only one who has tended to avoid him due to the bleakness of most of his stories: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/bo... I’m already deeply curious to see if the new film will have an impact.
I finally read this classic for a book club recently, my own copy of the novel having languished on my shelves for too many years. I realized, after tI finally read this classic for a book club recently, my own copy of the novel having languished on my shelves for too many years. I realized, after the book club meeting, that I had probably expected it to be a discussion-cum-appreciation session, Tess being after all a cornerstone in English literature. Not a bit of it.
Woman who suggested it: Well, as you know I love the classics, and I think this is a great book. I’ve read it many times.
Me (sitting next to her): I really liked it, too, and was glad to finally read it. It was a tale of woe, to be sure, but I liked it.
A few more comments like that follow, it being the brief introductory round.
New guy: I don’t know if I liked it or not, it was just so looong. I can see similarities with some of Balzac’s works and with Madame Bovary, but there seemed to be something missing in Tess. I don’t know. I agree that Hardy can write, but I really don’t know what I’m supposed to get out of this today. I mean the view of this woman, who’s supposed to be totally pure but doesn’t do anything? She just doesn’t DO anything – what’s that about? I really needed a reason for picking up this book, or you know, I need to know why this is still read. I mean why…
Moderator: Uhm. This is just the brief introductory round, so maybe we can come back to some of this?
Everyone around the table is stunned into silence. Before beginning our discussion of Tess, we had briefly told the new guy our names and how long the group had existed (four years). The feeling was one of welcome goodwill.
Moderator: I think I know what you mean, though. I’m not sure what I thought about it either. Yes, it’s well written, but there seems to be a lot of unnecessary melodrama and one or two situations that I found somewhat unconvincing.
Me: Really? But…
New guy: Yeah, Hardy seems to overdo it sometimes, and then at other times he spends 50 pages just wallowing in thoughts. Nothing happens.
Me: What?! Lots of stuff happens. But it’s not Dan Brown, that’s true. It’s a pastoral, Victorian novel where we follow one woman’s journey and the hardships she goes through.
Communist vegan woman (nodding): In an era when women were still living in a man’s world and struggling to survive.
New guy: But if we’re supposed to read it today, give me a good reason. I mean, Tess is just so whiny and selfish. One minute she’s pure, then she isn’t. Why doesn’t she just get up and leave when she doesn’t like her situation? How is her inability to act even relevant for today’s society? (continues in a similar vein for about a minute)
Communist vegan woman (getting worked up): Listen, Thomas Hardy had a very modern view of women. This story is quite realistic, but you’re taking a very northern view of this. In some countries today, if a woman has been with a man, that’s it; they’re practically married. In the eyes of the surrounding community they are. And remember that scene where she hides her face with a scarf because she’s constantly getting shouted at by men? Tell me that’s not relevant today! We hear news about stuff like that constantly: the women are practically begging to be raped, right?
Me: That’s a good point. Also, it was written in 1891, not in 2016. That’s way before women’s emancipation, which by the way is still going on. But I really don’t see how Tess is selfish. She’s constantly trying to do good and help her family, but she’s let down by everyone around her – her parents, Alec, Angel; society.
New guy: I don’t see how her parents are to blame. She is the one who decides to go here, there and everywhere to get a new job or find Angel’s parents.
Communist vegan woman: Oh, she hardly decides! It’s her parents who push her into contacting the D’Urbervilles in the first place.
Woman who suggested it: And after that it’s poverty!
Me: Exactly. It’s the pastor at the beginning of the novel who gets the ball rolling when he mentions that her family is related to the famous D’Urbervilles. Tess is caught up in her parents’ ambitions to form a connection with them. And later she’s caught in both society’s view of how women should behave and in religious double standards. And poverty is underneath all of it.
Moderator: I see that that’s what Hardy wants us to believe, but I don’t really buy it. I mean why does Tess (view spoiler)[kill Alec at the end? (hide spoiler)] That was very unconvincing to me. She could have just walked out.
New guy: Right, that was totally out of the blue. No reason for it. And similarly: when Tess (view spoiler)[ becomes pregnant and loses the child (hide spoiler)] Hardy spends two or three lines on it, instead of spending some time on it so that we could feel the drama, and the same goes for the ending when (view spoiler)[she kills him and they end up at Stonehenge etc. (hide spoiler)] Most unlikely and really unsatisfying. Why would she do that? I was expecting something else…yadayadayada.
Me: Can we reply?
New guy: Yadayadayada…
Me (again): Can we reply?
New guy looks up, surprised. He clearly didn’t hear me the first time and reluctantly manages to reign in his monologue.
Me: Well, you mention the word ‘expectations’, which is basically your pre-conceived notions of what the novel should have been about. That’s really neither here nor there. This is what the book is like, and we have to discuss it on that premise.
New guy and moderator (taking turns): Yeah, but still, there were pages and pages where we were getting nowhere. You could have cut out 50 pages, and we’d still be left on some farm somewhere.
Woman who suggested it: Yes, but don’t you see that there are two farms and two kinds of moods for Tess? The first one, with the Cricks, where life is looking bright and she meets Angel, and then the second one where she’s working too hard and disappointment kicks in. As someone mentioned, it’s a story about a woman’s hardships in a society that she feels cannot contain her.
Heated comments from the moderator and the new guy ensue. Some of the other group members never manage to get a comment in edgewise, and one girl ups and leaves.
Communist vegan woman: Sounds to me like you just can’t empathize with Tess, which I think is really sad.
I nod vigorously and think, ‘ouch’, while mentally tuning out during their response.
Someone (in a conciliatory manner): I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.
Me: Right. (But really I’m thinking: I’m not sure this book club is big enough for both me and the new guy. The next meeting may tell). ...more
My first encounter with Anthony Trollope required a lot of patience on my part. Not only is the novel over 800 pages long; it also builds so graduallyMy first encounter with Anthony Trollope required a lot of patience on my part. Not only is the novel over 800 pages long; it also builds so gradually and slowly that after 200 pages, I still wasn’t sure that I was prepared to continue. And I certainly wasn’t planning on continuing with the next instalment in the Palliser series. Now I’m not so sure.
Written in 1864, it seems reasonable and obvious to compare Trollope with Dickens. Indeed, there are a few similarities, e.g. in the choice of names like Tombs to indicate personality traits and in the sheer weight of the novel, but apart from those somewhat superficial similarities, I felt the story had more in common with, perhaps, Middlemarch or even, thematically, with Jane Austen’s novels. And though Trollope may not amuse like Dickens (although he certainly does amuse), he paints psychological portraits that are much more complex than many of Dickens’s characters, especially of the three women this novel centers round.
We follow Alice Vavasor (the ‘she’ of the title) and two other women, her aunt, Mrs. Greenhow, and her friend, Lady Glencora Palliser. The latter of the three was forced to marry a powerful politician (with the incredible Christian name of Plantagenet) but hasn’t forgotten her first love. Mrs. Greenhow is pursued by a couple of different men, but being a widow she really doesn’t think she has it in her to love another man. Alice promises herself to one man, then allows herself to be persuaded that someone else deserves her affection, then changes her mind again. And that is essentially the plot, or rather the unravelling of these threads is.
Trollope has invented some really interesting female characters here. In fact, all the characters felt like real people, not caricatures (which is sometimes the case with Dickens). There were many times throughout the book when I felt downright anger at some of them, notably George Vavasor, Alice’s cousin and one of her suitors. Like most of the men in the novel, he never sparked much sympathy, and Trollope’s own affection for his characters clearly lies with the three women. They are all, at times, annoying or too proud or, in Alice’s case, even insufferable (at least I felt so; I couldn’t understand why those men were attracted to her), but they are not only that. And they come alive when they are juxtaposed, particularly Alice and Lady Glencora, the latter of whom was really the life of the party.
The intrusive narrator bothered me in the beginning, especially when he said things like Girls favour spoiling a man rather than being spoiled themselves and when he claimed that people generally think too much about entering into marriage and that generally everything works out because men do their best and sometimes women do too! Well. I could have done with a bit of Austen’s wit there, or Dickens’s irony or Gaskell’s humility. He was too intrusive when on occasion he revealed all Alice’s feelings when I wanted to guess at them myself. But I gradually got used to it, even the direct ‘dear reader’ bits, reminding me, toward the end, of that other line ‘Reader, I married him’.
Despite this Victorian usage of the intrusive narrator and the occasional old-fashioned comments, there were also a surprising number of modern ideas expressed here. But above all, the novel reminded me of how ‘telling’ a story was once the way to go about it and not (only) the whole ‘showing’ mantra which seems to characterize today’s novel writing. To my knowledge, it’s still called storytelling, and not storyshowing, and a novel like this is perfect proof of how those mantras shouldn’t be taken to extremes because in my opinion this is a well-told, if long, story. ...more
Henry James seems to be a writers’ writer: Alan Hollinghurst swears by him and is possibly his biggest fan; Ian McEwan mentions him often and was re-rHenry James seems to be a writers’ writer: Alan Hollinghurst swears by him and is possibly his biggest fan; Ian McEwan mentions him often and was re-reading The Aspern Papers when I heard him give a talk in Oxford last year; Edith Wharton looked up to him and to some extent measured herself by him; Colm Toibin has written a book about him: The Master. This particular novella surely isn’t why they’re all fawning over him.
It wasn’t bad by any means. There just wasn’t much in it. A young man goes to Venice to try to lay his hands on some papers written by the late Jeffrey Aspern, a poet whom this young man is writing about and whom he is pretty nearly infatuated with. He seeks out the woman who was the love object of some of Aspern’s poems and who is, by the time this story takes place, ancient and at death’s door, and he installs himself in her villa in Venice. What follow are his attempts at getting his hands on the papers and getting to know the old lady and her niece, and he will do almost anything. (To me, there were similarities between this young man’s search for the Aspern papers and Roland Mitchell’s search for papers relating to Randolph Henry Ash, in Byatt’s Possession).
I felt that the story kept building up and then, well, nothing much happened. It was fairly dull, moving along at a sedentary pace, and then it was over. Granted there is some beautiful prose here and there, but Hollinghurst’s prose is richer any day on almost any given page, and I prefer the other fan-authors as well to the Master himself, at least judging from this novella. However, as some of my favourite writers are so enamoured by him, I am trying to read my way through some of his works to find out what all the fuss is about. (The movie versions I’ve seen of some of his works have been wonderful so I’m hopeful). ...more
(4.5) This tome of a novel is by many regarded as Dickens’s finest novel, and I can see why. Like many of Dickens’s books, Bleak House is bursting wit(4.5) This tome of a novel is by many regarded as Dickens’s finest novel, and I can see why. Like many of Dickens’s books, Bleak House is bursting with life and brimming with personalities. It is full of heart and humour – two of the traits that I appreciate most in books. Clever is good, too, but if a book doesn’t have a heart, it loses its point for me. Dickens’s books always have a big, beating heart, but are constructed (and written) cleverly, too. What I also value in books, and which Bleak House has in abundance, is exuberant, witty, ironic, insightful, marvellous prose.
Some of the things I loved:
- The girl Charley, the boy Joe (my throat constricted a couple of times when they entered the story).
- Inspector Bucket’s extraordinary conversational skills (he was one of the first detectives in English literature).
- Mr. Jarndyce’s growlery. In fact, I want one and think it reasonable that everyone has one, especially one ensconced in a library.
- Dickens’s exhibition of people’s self-aggrandizing hypocrisy and, in this connection, the way in which he integrates the state of affairs in London’s slums (Tom-all-alones) into his story, and ultimately how this social criticism, specifically of Chancery, helped further legal reforms.
The novel was sometimes too sprawling for me. There were so many characters that I felt I lost hold of the main threads of the story, much like in Our Mutual Friend. I thoroughly enjoyed Esther’s parts and Lady Dedlock’s, but I couldn’t muster as much interest in some of the smaller characters (Mr. Guppy, Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed, Philip and several others). I couldn’t see what they contributed to the overall stories other than acting as fillers, or at least some of them have such small parts and are such caricatures that they could have been put into one character. I was about half way through before I could sort them all out from each other. But that was one of Dickens’s trademarks, too. He treads his ground labouriously and in great detail, which occasionally distracted me from the main story, but of course he ties all those threads together at the end.
I was sometimes lost in his words, at other times marvelling and smiling at his images:
About Lady Dedlock:
She passes close by him with her usual fatigued manner and insolent grace. (…) Lady Dedlock is always the same exhausted deity, surrounded by worshippers and terribly liable to be bored to death even while presiding at her own shrine.
About Sir Leicester Dedlock:
Sir Leicester has magnificently disengaged himself from the subject and retired into the sanctuary of his blue coat.
I bow to Dickens’s story telling abilities, which were very nearly second to none at the time, and to his social commentary and humanity, which is where he differs not only from many of his contemporaries but also from most of the novelists living today whom he has been compared to but who, in my opinion, exhibit none of his acute social awareness.
Oscar Wilde liked Dickens’s caricatures but didn’t care for his moralizing (well, he wouldn’t). In the same vein there is pathos, sometimes drifting into unapologetic sentimentality, in this novel which many modern novelists shy away from, but which I found oddly gratifying. Despite the bleakness that pervades the story, Esther leaves us at the end summarizing what it is to be rich, and we are assured that the wind was never again in the east. Highly recommended for patient readers who like their novels big, sprawling and Victorian and for lovers of language. ...more
This was an unusual reading experience for me. Normally, I cannot bear to read anything about children getting hurt – and a 3½ year-old boy is brutallThis was an unusual reading experience for me. Normally, I cannot bear to read anything about children getting hurt – and a 3½ year-old boy is brutally murdered in this one! – but the almost forensic style in which this account of the Road Hill Murder was written created a distance for me which, on the one hand, enabled me to read it at all but, on the other, did not allow me to invest so much in the characters or even in the crime.
As a mystery and a crime it was interestingly told, much as a police report about a sinister crime would be interesting. It is based on a true story and was known – and thought and written about - throughout England in the 1860s, from the man in the street to all the newspapers of the day and even Dickens (whose writing was influenced by it, notably his last, unfinished novel; but he also commented directly on the crime and nurtured his own suspicions) and Wilkie Collins and Mary Elizabeth Braddon (whose The Woman in White and Lady Audley’s Secret respectively were clearly inspired by it), and many other public figures at the time commented upon it.
The story – insofar as one can call it a story – is the unravelling of the mystery of the child murder, and that part is indeed an absorbing mystery with a family at the centre of the murder who seem to be full of secrets, more and more as one keeps reading. But I had expected more about our detective Mr. Whicher, given the title of the book. We do get various biographical data and suspicions but, due to the genre chosen, not much in the way of characterization, development, personal thoughts etc.
What surprised me and what I liked best about the book was the historical aspects regarding the detective genre, the appearance of certain words for the first time in writing (e.g. ‘clue’) due to the detective fever which hit England at this time and comments from Dickens, Wilkie Collins and others. This made it more than just a murder mystery – indeed a kind of period piece with a specific focus on crime stories, the emergence of a body of detectives for the first time and the public’s view of privacy etc.
Very readable and meticulously researched, but don’t expect the dramatization and characterization of a novel. ...more
There is an element of pure delight in visiting and to some extent re-visiting these adventures about Sherlock Holmes and his trusted sidekick, Dr. WaThere is an element of pure delight in visiting and to some extent re-visiting these adventures about Sherlock Holmes and his trusted sidekick, Dr. Watson. The atmosphere is unmistakably Sherlockian, and throughout these twelve short stories we witness once again Holmes’ skills of observation and deduction.
The stories, in my view, varied a great deal. Some of them were a tad disappointing, possibly because they were solved too easily or were just a bit too unrealistic (reminding me of Borges’ insistence that while Holmes is a believable character, not all the stories about him are). But some of them were terrific. I especially liked the last one – The Copper Beeches – which reminded me not a little of Jane Eyre. There is something gratifying about how these detective stories – some of the first and most original of their genre – were much simpler than what the genre has developed into today. So it goes without saying that some of them might feel a bit formulaic to the modern reader, but they were quite entertaining all the same.
I have to say, though, that it didn’t feel quite as satisfactory to read these short tales compared to the longer novels about Holmes and Watson (this was possibly also why I noticed the overuse of the adjective ‘singular’, a good, Holmesian word, which, however, was used in front of case, chance, problem, features and more, sometimes several times in the same story. But I’m quibbling here).
I felt a rush of satisfaction when in one of the stories, his long grey cloak and cloth cap finally made their entrance, and I suspect a part of the enjoyment is the recognition of things which have become iconic: mysteries of mistaken identities, Holmes’ various disguises, the atmosphere at Baker Street compared to seedy parts of London or sinister country homes, the typical little snippets of dialogue between Holmes and Dr. Watson and much more. ...more
There is a decent enough story at the heart of this novel, but as much as I hate being negative about Elizabeth Gaskell, whose Wives and Daughters I lThere is a decent enough story at the heart of this novel, but as much as I hate being negative about Elizabeth Gaskell, whose Wives and Daughters I loved, this book is much too didactic for my tastes, probably for most modern tastes, I suspect. There were times in the beginning where I felt it was a communist manifesto, only half concealed in the novel form, with an extremely intrusive narrator.
It is the story of a young woman, Mary Barton, and the decisive years of her life in Manchester during which we hear of much grief, many deaths, the woes of factory workers, her budding love life and inherent confusion etc. etc. and, as in the other works I’ve read by Gaskell, human relations, for better or for worse. And there’s a murder as well.
The novel paints an interesting and tragic portrait of the lives of workers in the Victorian age, and it was heartbreaking at times. Elizabeth Gaskell’s storytelling skills are evident here, but there were many times when I felt the story to be overwritten, sentimental melodrama – hence the low rating (which I hate having to give). It was somewhat mitigated (but at times enhanced) by the wonderful narration of Juliet Stevenson, whose Mancunian (or Manchester dialect) sounded most convincing to my ears (mitigated because she made the story come alive; enhanced because there were times when the dialog went on and on). Still, Gaskell, too, had to start somewhere, and her debut novel reveals an unmistakable talent, which she succeeded in honing to near perfection in later novels. 2,5 stars ...more
This is basically a collection of vignettes all describing small aspects of life in the village of Cranford in the middle of the 19th century, notablyThis is basically a collection of vignettes all describing small aspects of life in the village of Cranford in the middle of the 19th century, notably as regards the ladies in the village who are single or widowed. The stories are chronologically ordered, and so the story begins to come together after a while after we’ve met the same people a number of times.
Having seen the BBC production first (which I loved), I was surprised to learn that a number of the characters in the television series don’t actually exist in the book. And parts of the plotline have been changed completely. I felt this was taking some unusual liberties with the original text, but I since found out that the series is apparently also based on two other novellas by Gaskell (My Lady Ludlow and Mr. Harrison’s Confessions, neither of which I’ve read). But it’s still called Cranford.
It was enjoyable although at times also a little twee and dull, but some of the characters made up for that (and I kept seeing Judi Dench as Miss Matty, which was great. She’s out of her usual element in that role). ...more
Phew. This is one the longest book I’ve ever read, but what a tale! It is like a fairy tale or an adventure, and despite some quiet patches here and tPhew. This is one the longest book I’ve ever read, but what a tale! It is like a fairy tale or an adventure, and despite some quiet patches here and there it was thoroughly entertaining in a way that only good, old-fashioned storytelling can be.
Everyone knows the premise, I think, of the Count of Monte Cristo, and I did too because of a film version I saw ages ago. Edward Dantès is wrongly accused of a crime, imprisoned in a dungeon in the Château D’Îf, and let’s just say that the rest is surely the ultimate tale of vengeance, spanning decades and taking off into the corners of Marseille, the mountains of Italy, the mansions of Paris and parts of the Mediterranean.
This is the stuff of a true storyteller, although apparently much credit is due to one Auguste Maquet, who, as Dumas’s unrecognized assistant (unrecognized byline-wise) wrote most of the plot for this novel and a first draft. Well. I enjoyed the novel, regardless of its author, and despite the biblical length (and patience required), it was well worth the effort.
(I have a beautiful, leather-bound version of this door-stopper of a novel, with gold–edged pages, and every night for the past month, after my daily dose of the Count, the tips of my fingers have been covered in a fine gold dust, classic literature leaving its small mark. I almost felt like a monk from The Name of the Rose).
Definitely recommended if you like 19th century adventures with love, pathos, vengeance and a tale which is almost like something out of Arabian Nights. ...more
Middlemarch is, according to Julian Barnes, probably the best novel in the English language. I’ve long wanted to read it because of how authors like BMiddlemarch is, according to Julian Barnes, probably the best novel in the English language. I’ve long wanted to read it because of how authors like Barnes and Virginia Woolf and others have praised this novel and because of its canon status in English literary history. And I did like it a lot, but I wouldn’t go as far as Barnes.
The characters in the book are like real people, fully fleshed out, and I felt I got to know many of them over these many pages. They have their own voices, their own thoughts, and the reader is never for a moment in doubt as to the characters of, for instance, Dorothea Brooke, Rosamond Vincy, Mr. Casaubon (his name is pronounced in two different ways in my audio version and in the BBC production; where DO you put the stress?), Mr. Lydgate, Mary Garth, Mr. Brooke and many others.
The novel is essentially about the ups and downs of these people’s lives in a minor English town (supposedly based on Coventry) in the 1830s (though written three decades later), hence the subtitle A Study of Provincial Life. While following the sub-plots of the lives of the various characters, the author also treats us to her opinion on various topics, e.g. marriage, hypocrisy, religion etc., and this, I have to say, is sometimes done in a preachy kind of way, where the authorial voice interrupts and points her finger at her own characters (and thus at us), in a way also seen in Austen (though Austen’s tone tends to be mocking and never preachy). On the other hand, this is also where we step away from plot to dig a little deeper into the human predicament and people’s motivations.
This novel is like the works of Dickens in its scope, in the number of characters, in the details about these characters and in the author’s tendency to use more rather than fewer words to describe just about everything (I might have preferred fewer words for the situations involving the local politics, for instance). Yet, Middlemarch is more realistic and less satirical than Dickens’ works (at least those I’ve read), and though the characters all have their peculiarities, they never feel caricatured as they often do in Dickens’ novels. Perhaps I would place George Eliot somewhere between Dickens, Gaskell and Austen, though I realize she has entirely her own place in English literature.
I mostly listened to the novel read aloud but sometimes read a section or a chapter, sometimes both, spending weeks on it, partly because of its length (and let’s face it, wordy-ness) and partly because it was originally intended to be read in installments. A satisfying but lengthy read. ...more
This short novel, or novella, is a good example of how our culture and the media have influenced us and imparted knowledge to us about books we haven’This short novel, or novella, is a good example of how our culture and the media have influenced us and imparted knowledge to us about books we haven’t even read. While I haven’t actually seen any movie versions of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, I can’t remember ever not knowing what it was about. This meant that there were no big surprises for me while reading in, and I imagine that a Victorian reader, when the novel came out, would have suffered a much greater (intended) shock upon reading it.
In sum, it is about the duality of man, the struggle between different parts of our being – the civilized vs. the primal, good vs. evil – though the twist in this book is that the good doctor chooses, more or less, to go over to the dark side. It thus also becomes a story of addiction, about the mask that we show others and about self-destruction, ostensibly things we are all capable of but which society, at least Victorian society, represses. It is perhaps thee story about this timeless topic, although for a modern reader and movie-goer the story felt a little quaint and simple at times, but that is no fault of Stevenson’s. The tone, likewise, felt a bit dated at times, certainly inspired by Poe, and yet that was also part of the reason why if felt like one of the true original works belonging to the horror genre. 3,5 stars
I do believe this is the best Dickens novel I’ve read! Granted, I’ve yet to read Bleak House, and it’s been ages since I read David Copperfield, but tI do believe this is the best Dickens novel I’ve read! Granted, I’ve yet to read Bleak House, and it’s been ages since I read David Copperfield, but there was something about this book which made it more convincing to me that Dickens is regarded as one of the best storytellers ever.
I won’t bother with a summary, which you can read in the blurb anyway, but suffice it to say that there is all the (melo)drama – if not more – of a classic Dickens story, the reliable set of good and evil characters and some in between, and there is a lot of social comment again - all set against the French Revolution, or at least against certain aspects of it, not least Madame Guillotine. The tone was less silly to me than the other books I’ve read by him, the characters slightly less caricatured, which I suspect was one of the reasons why I took to it. Another reason was the completely wonderful ending, of course. I have never shed a tear over a Dickens novel before (again, I blame the silliness), but I did this time. A cracking good story, with some pretty wonderful language thrown in. If you haven’t yet read Dickens, this might just be the place to start!
I had embarked on this classic novel twice already – and three times was apparently a charm when it came to audio versions. Whereas the first two narrators ruined it for me, although I persisted up to three hours into the book until I refused to go further, the narrator of the version I finally ended up with improved upon the book to such a degree that it hardly seemed to be the same book. How unfair to Dickens that the other two didn’t do the story justice; how fortunate – for the book and for myself – that I didn’t give up. (Thanks, Simon Prebble!) ...more
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