I'd never heard of George Gissing before I picked up this book (I'm piggybacking onto a Victorian fin de siécle class), and even then, I assumed the George in the author's name was a pseudonym like George Eliot or George Sand (both women writers). Even though he's not a woman, Gissing is able to write about women in a way that surprised me.
When I finished the book, I originally thought he had done a better job of portraying the women than the men, but after listening to others talk in the class, I realized his men were more complex than I had perhaps at first given them credit for being. Although I still think his women were better characterized (mostly because they get all the interesting plot lines), the gap between how men and women are portrayed in the novel is smaller than I thought at first.
The Introduction of the critical edition that I read describes it as "the novel most fundamentally attuned to late Victorian culture and to the social issues defining that culture" because of its attention to detail (geography, willingness to describe vice) and its depiction of the issues facing women.
Odd Women in the title refers to the excess number of middle class women who had no hope of marrying, hence 'odd' not paired. This was in part due to emigration of men to the colonies, attrition through war, and the variable birth rate of men and women, but in the novel it meant that these women, who traditionally depended on men to support them, were often left in extreme poverty. The book not only discusses marriage, but the training of these odd women for work (other than the badly paid and overdemanded governess and nurse positions). It also presents arguments both for an against the idea of free unions (common-law marriage) which was beginning to emerge during the period, though usually not with favor.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Monday, January 17, 2005
Orlando Virginia Woolf
Wow! Second novel by Woolf in about a month. I guess I'm getting a good dose! This is one book where I liked the movie better.
I saw the movie made of the book, oh, probably a couple of years ago. It was on tv, so I was doing other things at the same time, but I do remember it being a beautifully shot film spanning the decades that Orlando lives through. I found the gender switch quite believable in the film as well.
Not that I had problems with the gender switch in the book, it just was introduced in an odd way with an allegorical "staged" interlude - by that I mean I found the entry of chastity, purity, and modesty that precedes the change to sound very much like the entry of a chorus in a Greek play - to explain or set up the action that's to follow.
Part of the reason the book is so difficult is because it is trying to represent everything. Even with the multitude of detail, there still seems to be more lying beneath the surface and this is confirmed by the narrator's statement that he/she is a biographer, but a biographer who only describes six or seven of the lives of her subject, not the thousands that each person is comprised of.
This narrator is an intrusive presence, not only dictating what a narrator should do, but introducing side stories, stating a refusal to introduce other side stories because they detract from the subject at hand, inserting allegorical sequences, conflating history/story, incorporating excerpts from other texts, and a refusing to finish a list because it takes up too much space (just when he/she gets to the best part of the list).
The text insists that time is subjective as well as that gender is for the most part constructed (clothing creates it), while accepting that there are differences in ways of thinking between the sexes.
Very interesting as a 'project' kind of book.
I saw the movie made of the book, oh, probably a couple of years ago. It was on tv, so I was doing other things at the same time, but I do remember it being a beautifully shot film spanning the decades that Orlando lives through. I found the gender switch quite believable in the film as well.
Not that I had problems with the gender switch in the book, it just was introduced in an odd way with an allegorical "staged" interlude - by that I mean I found the entry of chastity, purity, and modesty that precedes the change to sound very much like the entry of a chorus in a Greek play - to explain or set up the action that's to follow.
Part of the reason the book is so difficult is because it is trying to represent everything. Even with the multitude of detail, there still seems to be more lying beneath the surface and this is confirmed by the narrator's statement that he/she is a biographer, but a biographer who only describes six or seven of the lives of her subject, not the thousands that each person is comprised of.
This narrator is an intrusive presence, not only dictating what a narrator should do, but introducing side stories, stating a refusal to introduce other side stories because they detract from the subject at hand, inserting allegorical sequences, conflating history/story, incorporating excerpts from other texts, and a refusing to finish a list because it takes up too much space (just when he/she gets to the best part of the list).
The text insists that time is subjective as well as that gender is for the most part constructed (clothing creates it), while accepting that there are differences in ways of thinking between the sexes.
Very interesting as a 'project' kind of book.
Monday, January 10, 2005
The Story of an African Farm Olive Schreiner
Coincidentally, this is a re-read book too (no, this won't be a trend), but I didn't pay really close attention to it the first time around, and frankly, I don't think I actually finished it. So in that sense, it's a bit like reading a book for which you've already seen the movie - you've got a basic idea of what's going on in the story, but the details aren't there.
The 'novel' not only tells a story (or more accurately, stories) but also in several chapters, moves into philosophical and aesthetic discussions, something not surprising for a Victorian novel. But this is a novel of the periphery. It's author lived in South Africa before venturing to London to try and sell the book, and the novel features a glossary of Dutch and Afrikan (Boer) terms to help oreint the reader.
What for me was remarkable about this book was the way it dealt with the lives of the characters. Although there was a foray into allegory, into philosophical rants on the rights of women, and even historical asides, what kept me reading was the characters. They all seemed so willing to accept their fate, and even the 'New Woman' at the center of the novel, the one who wants an education and not to be just someone's wife, aspires to more, but accepts that her aspirations don't necessarily match the society she lives in.
This was an unusual book in many ways - not like other Victorian novels, yet not like a contemporary novel either. It anticipates modernist writers, especially feminist ones, but it also contains several formal elements that reminded me more of an eighteenth century novel than one written at the close of the nineteenth.
The 'novel' not only tells a story (or more accurately, stories) but also in several chapters, moves into philosophical and aesthetic discussions, something not surprising for a Victorian novel. But this is a novel of the periphery. It's author lived in South Africa before venturing to London to try and sell the book, and the novel features a glossary of Dutch and Afrikan (Boer) terms to help oreint the reader.
What for me was remarkable about this book was the way it dealt with the lives of the characters. Although there was a foray into allegory, into philosophical rants on the rights of women, and even historical asides, what kept me reading was the characters. They all seemed so willing to accept their fate, and even the 'New Woman' at the center of the novel, the one who wants an education and not to be just someone's wife, aspires to more, but accepts that her aspirations don't necessarily match the society she lives in.
This was an unusual book in many ways - not like other Victorian novels, yet not like a contemporary novel either. It anticipates modernist writers, especially feminist ones, but it also contains several formal elements that reminded me more of an eighteenth century novel than one written at the close of the nineteenth.
The Gunslinger Stephen King
So, in my first post for the 50 book challenge (I won't count Talisman since I began it before the end of the year even though I didn't finish it till last week), I actually have a re-read. But it is an interesting re-read since I have not read it since the late eighties, and I have read the subsequent seven books of the series since then, which lends the first book a whole new flavor.
I understand there is an updated version of the book. I read the original edition, the one that has all the minor inconsistencies and retains the flavor of a serialized production (which is how the stories were first released). Re-reading this book, almost two decades after I first read it, and after having read the rest of the series, restored some of my respect for Mr. King.
I've always liked his writing (and most specifically, his fantasy writing like The Stand or The Eyes of the Dragon), but going back to his early work made me appreciate its relative brevity. The scope of the books to follow doesn't weight heavily upon the first book of the series, and even knowing how many thousands of pages were to follow, I got the sense that the story could end in another couple hundred words. It would be a different story then obviously (and probably not a Stephen King story) but it could be complete in a few more scenes - it would look much more like Browning's poem that inspired it in that case.
The Coda of the final book points back to the beginning of this first book, and I found it interesting to see how the intervening pages changed my perception of Roland when I went back to look at him here at the beginning. And yet, he remained so much the same. I think that's likely because he doesn't remain the hero of the story for the rest of the series, he takes a back seat to other characters for a while. That's probably good, 'cause it would be hard to keep writing about a character like him without sooner or later getting into his head, and then you would ruin the character, because he has no significant psychological depth.
I understand there is an updated version of the book. I read the original edition, the one that has all the minor inconsistencies and retains the flavor of a serialized production (which is how the stories were first released). Re-reading this book, almost two decades after I first read it, and after having read the rest of the series, restored some of my respect for Mr. King.
I've always liked his writing (and most specifically, his fantasy writing like The Stand or The Eyes of the Dragon), but going back to his early work made me appreciate its relative brevity. The scope of the books to follow doesn't weight heavily upon the first book of the series, and even knowing how many thousands of pages were to follow, I got the sense that the story could end in another couple hundred words. It would be a different story then obviously (and probably not a Stephen King story) but it could be complete in a few more scenes - it would look much more like Browning's poem that inspired it in that case.
The Coda of the final book points back to the beginning of this first book, and I found it interesting to see how the intervening pages changed my perception of Roland when I went back to look at him here at the beginning. And yet, he remained so much the same. I think that's likely because he doesn't remain the hero of the story for the rest of the series, he takes a back seat to other characters for a while. That's probably good, 'cause it would be hard to keep writing about a character like him without sooner or later getting into his head, and then you would ruin the character, because he has no significant psychological depth.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
The Talisman Stephen King and Peter Straub
Having read the entire Dark Towerseries, I felt it necessary to read this book, since it seems to anticipate much of what King writes later in the Dark Tower books.
The sense of imitation is eerie at times, and I found myself wondering more than once what Straub's other writing is like (since I've never read anything by him) because the novel felt overwhelmingly King-ish. It is a similar story to Roland's, though the hero in this story is a twelve year old boy (he turns thirteen on the final day). Jack and his mother are escaping his evil 'uncle' and he discovers he must go on a quest to retrieve the talisman of the title in order to save his mother (who is dying of cancer). Most people in the story have a 'twinner' in the 'Territories', another world that is similar to ours and yet much simpler, less poluted, and much more medieval. He 'flips' for world to world as he travels from New Hampshire to California, has many adventures along the way (including befriending a werewolf and being locked up in an 'orphanage'), retrieves the sphere, defeats the bad guy, and saves his mother. The story itself isn't a parallel for the Dark Tower series, but the idea of alternate (and connected) worlds is.
The fact that this book was written part way through the sequence of the first three Dark Tower books leads me to suspect that is was an exercise in which King tries to work out the ideas behind the Dark Tower's alternate worlds (something which I think he does more skillfully in the Dark Tower series than here, but hey, he's working out the kinks, right?)
I wouldn't necessarily recommend it unless you're a big King fan, or a big Dark Tower fan. I don't think it explained the Dark Tower any better than I had already gotten from the series.
The sense of imitation is eerie at times, and I found myself wondering more than once what Straub's other writing is like (since I've never read anything by him) because the novel felt overwhelmingly King-ish. It is a similar story to Roland's, though the hero in this story is a twelve year old boy (he turns thirteen on the final day). Jack and his mother are escaping his evil 'uncle' and he discovers he must go on a quest to retrieve the talisman of the title in order to save his mother (who is dying of cancer). Most people in the story have a 'twinner' in the 'Territories', another world that is similar to ours and yet much simpler, less poluted, and much more medieval. He 'flips' for world to world as he travels from New Hampshire to California, has many adventures along the way (including befriending a werewolf and being locked up in an 'orphanage'), retrieves the sphere, defeats the bad guy, and saves his mother. The story itself isn't a parallel for the Dark Tower series, but the idea of alternate (and connected) worlds is.
The fact that this book was written part way through the sequence of the first three Dark Tower books leads me to suspect that is was an exercise in which King tries to work out the ideas behind the Dark Tower's alternate worlds (something which I think he does more skillfully in the Dark Tower series than here, but hey, he's working out the kinks, right?)
I wouldn't necessarily recommend it unless you're a big King fan, or a big Dark Tower fan. I don't think it explained the Dark Tower any better than I had already gotten from the series.
To the Lighthouse Virginia Woolf
I have to admit that I had never read anything written by Virginia Woolf before I picked up this book. Having said that however, I found the book felt very familiar at times.
The familiarity seemed to stem from a combination of elements: a strong reaction to the stream of consciousness style of writing, and an overpowering awareness of a female voice throughout its narration. Another critical component is gender relations, particularly as experienced by the artist, Lily Briscoe; she has difficulty at times reconciling her creativity with her femininity.
One of the discussion questions for this book was whether it was a triptych, which emphasizes the visual nature of the text. If I remember right, the triptych is frequently associated with religious themes or found above altars and either consists of a single scene spread over three panels, or three separate but interrelated images (i.e. three saints - one per panel). In this novel, the lighthouse would of course have to be represented, but in the background. There's just way too much more going on in the foreground that is integral to the story, mostly to do with character interactions. The placement of the tree that troubles Lily in the first section (and which she solves by moving the salt shaker) would also have a prominent place, since once she 'solves' its placement in the final section, she seems satisfied with the painting (and maybe the reader is thus satisfied with the ending as well?) Perhaps the tree and lighthouse represent two goals/desires in the novel? James is finally praised by his father as they reach the lighthouse and Lily seems to find some inner balance between her role as
artist and as woman in the completion of the painting.
The dinner party scene, emblematic of the relationships in the novel seems central, while the lighthouse and Lily's tree frame these relationships and provide concrete connections to the surrounding social and physical landscape, something lost in the central section of the novel (a section I have difficulty imagining represented in a painting).
Or perhaps Lily's painting is itself a triptych? The ekphrasis is incomplete, but I could also imagine a painting that includes Lily painting the scene in front of her - the artist within the painting. There's a specific term for that, isn't there?
The idea that this book might be represented visually was very thought provoking for me.
Summary:
Three sections: The Window; Time Passes; The Lighthouse
The Window James Ramsey wants to go to the lighthouse but his father (and the annoying dissertation-writing Mr. Charles Tansley) tell him the weather won't be good. Lily Briscoe visits the Ramsey summer house as well and paints (though Tansley claims women can't write or paint). Mrs. Ramsey is deferrential to Mr. Ramsey who needs constant personal assurance even though he's a brilliant philosopher. William Bankes, a widow, is a perfect match for her according to Mrs. Ramsey. Paul Rayley falls in love with Minta while James and Camila are afraid of the dark. Pru is beautiful.
Time Passes is 10 years long (yet the shortest section of the book) Mr.s Ramsey had died, Pru married and died in childbirth; another son Andrew was blown up in the war.
The Lighthouse finds the remainders Mrs. Ramsey, James, camilla, Lily and Mr. Carmichael at the house. Ramsey, Camilla and James go to the lighthouse while Lily continues the picture she began 10 years before. The novel ends with Mr. Ramsey complimenting James's piloting as the reach the lighthouse (something James has wanted from his father since childhood) and Lily successfully finishing her painting.
My favorite quote (probably because I read it so near my holidays): "So coming back from a journey or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then. One could be at one's ease"
The familiarity seemed to stem from a combination of elements: a strong reaction to the stream of consciousness style of writing, and an overpowering awareness of a female voice throughout its narration. Another critical component is gender relations, particularly as experienced by the artist, Lily Briscoe; she has difficulty at times reconciling her creativity with her femininity.
One of the discussion questions for this book was whether it was a triptych, which emphasizes the visual nature of the text. If I remember right, the triptych is frequently associated with religious themes or found above altars and either consists of a single scene spread over three panels, or three separate but interrelated images (i.e. three saints - one per panel). In this novel, the lighthouse would of course have to be represented, but in the background. There's just way too much more going on in the foreground that is integral to the story, mostly to do with character interactions. The placement of the tree that troubles Lily in the first section (and which she solves by moving the salt shaker) would also have a prominent place, since once she 'solves' its placement in the final section, she seems satisfied with the painting (and maybe the reader is thus satisfied with the ending as well?) Perhaps the tree and lighthouse represent two goals/desires in the novel? James is finally praised by his father as they reach the lighthouse and Lily seems to find some inner balance between her role as
artist and as woman in the completion of the painting.
The dinner party scene, emblematic of the relationships in the novel seems central, while the lighthouse and Lily's tree frame these relationships and provide concrete connections to the surrounding social and physical landscape, something lost in the central section of the novel (a section I have difficulty imagining represented in a painting).
Or perhaps Lily's painting is itself a triptych? The ekphrasis is incomplete, but I could also imagine a painting that includes Lily painting the scene in front of her - the artist within the painting. There's a specific term for that, isn't there?
The idea that this book might be represented visually was very thought provoking for me.
Summary:
Three sections: The Window; Time Passes; The Lighthouse
The Window James Ramsey wants to go to the lighthouse but his father (and the annoying dissertation-writing Mr. Charles Tansley) tell him the weather won't be good. Lily Briscoe visits the Ramsey summer house as well and paints (though Tansley claims women can't write or paint). Mrs. Ramsey is deferrential to Mr. Ramsey who needs constant personal assurance even though he's a brilliant philosopher. William Bankes, a widow, is a perfect match for her according to Mrs. Ramsey. Paul Rayley falls in love with Minta while James and Camila are afraid of the dark. Pru is beautiful.
Time Passes is 10 years long (yet the shortest section of the book) Mr.s Ramsey had died, Pru married and died in childbirth; another son Andrew was blown up in the war.
The Lighthouse finds the remainders Mrs. Ramsey, James, camilla, Lily and Mr. Carmichael at the house. Ramsey, Camilla and James go to the lighthouse while Lily continues the picture she began 10 years before. The novel ends with Mr. Ramsey complimenting James's piloting as the reach the lighthouse (something James has wanted from his father since childhood) and Lily successfully finishing her painting.
My favorite quote (probably because I read it so near my holidays): "So coming back from a journey or after an illness, before habits had spun themselves across the surface, one felt that same unreality, which was so startling; felt something emerge. Life was most vivid then. One could be at one's ease"
A Christmas Carol Charles Dickens
Apropos for a December read... But the story was in subtle ways different from what I remembered.
For one thing, I hadn't read the story for many years, and then I watched the Muppet Christmas Carol many times in between (definitely the BEST adaptation of the story and my all time favorite). The major difference between contemporary adaptations of the story and the original was the latter's emphasis on a broad definition of family. Usually at the end of an adaptation, Scrooge goes to Cratchitt's house, or through the town being nice to people, giving away money, smiling, patting little kids on the head, etc. to demonstrate how he is a changed man, and more importantly, a charitable man. The idea that Scrooge now donates cash, his time, and attention to the poor is the biggest 'lesson' at the end of most adaptations.
In the original story, Scrooge doesn't go on a yuletide philanthropy spree (though we are told he does look out for his 'fellow man' in the coda). In Dickens's story, he sends the turkey to the Cratchitt's and sets out in the street where he meets the men he turned away the day before and makes a donation. But he heads out in the street to spend the day with his nephew, not to find random people to be nice to. The story reads "He was at home [in his nephew's house] in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier...Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!" and invokes through its repetition the earlier (long) description (while with Christmas Present) of the celebrations that take place in that house.
In most adaptations, the sequence in which the nephew's party is shown emphasizes the word game where the guests disparage Scrooge as a cranky old man, but in the story, the word game is just a small part of the description of the celebration and the impression is that family time (even if it is with distant family relations and friends instead of a nuclear family) is critical to a festive spirit. Adaptations tend to focus only on the nuclear family of the Cratchitts and because Scrooge does not have a nuclear family (and presumably never will), his charitable acts have to turn to strangers and the people of the town, not to his extended family. I think that says something very interesting about the cult of the family that has grown in our culture in the intervening years.
For one thing, I hadn't read the story for many years, and then I watched the Muppet Christmas Carol many times in between (definitely the BEST adaptation of the story and my all time favorite). The major difference between contemporary adaptations of the story and the original was the latter's emphasis on a broad definition of family. Usually at the end of an adaptation, Scrooge goes to Cratchitt's house, or through the town being nice to people, giving away money, smiling, patting little kids on the head, etc. to demonstrate how he is a changed man, and more importantly, a charitable man. The idea that Scrooge now donates cash, his time, and attention to the poor is the biggest 'lesson' at the end of most adaptations.
In the original story, Scrooge doesn't go on a yuletide philanthropy spree (though we are told he does look out for his 'fellow man' in the coda). In Dickens's story, he sends the turkey to the Cratchitt's and sets out in the street where he meets the men he turned away the day before and makes a donation. But he heads out in the street to spend the day with his nephew, not to find random people to be nice to. The story reads "He was at home [in his nephew's house] in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier...Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, won-der-ful happiness!" and invokes through its repetition the earlier (long) description (while with Christmas Present) of the celebrations that take place in that house.
In most adaptations, the sequence in which the nephew's party is shown emphasizes the word game where the guests disparage Scrooge as a cranky old man, but in the story, the word game is just a small part of the description of the celebration and the impression is that family time (even if it is with distant family relations and friends instead of a nuclear family) is critical to a festive spirit. Adaptations tend to focus only on the nuclear family of the Cratchitts and because Scrooge does not have a nuclear family (and presumably never will), his charitable acts have to turn to strangers and the people of the town, not to his extended family. I think that says something very interesting about the cult of the family that has grown in our culture in the intervening years.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
The Journal of Mortifying Moments Robyn Harding
Fun book and quick read. I would definitely recommend this as a plane ride/road trip/doctor's office wait book - highly immersive novel.
Some of the immersivity created by this novel comes from the straightforward writing, some from the character, and some from the humor in the book. Together, they produce a really pleasant and fun read. I found myself trying not to laugh aloud at times (because it would've been pretty embarassing) and although I've never really been in the situation that the single protagonist is, I still found I could relate very well to her self-deprecation and the (sometimes) ridiculous things she did.
Having read The Quality of Life Report just a short while ago, I found myself comparing this book to that one... and the comparison was favorable to The Journal. I had a harder time relating to the arrogance and cosmopolitanism of the character in Daum's book - her New York disparagement of the Midwest was just too political for me. In Harding's book here, the character's anxiety was more closely aligned with her personal life. It is after all set up as alternating chapters of the "Journal of Mortifying Moments" and narrated action between the writing sections. The character, Kerry, is advised by her therapist to write down her most mortifying sexual/relationship moments in a journal in an attempt to help her see that her relationship difficulties aren't a personal defect but rather these events are just combinations of inexperience, bad luck, and occasional lapses in judgement. The story unfolds as first person narration (the journal) as well as narrated "first person" story that tells of events in Kerry's current life from her point of view.
The character is lovable because she's so much like the rest of us... maybe with a bit more bad luck, but entirely human. What she discovers about herself at the end is just the kind of thing that everyone seeks at some time or another during their life. Sure, the end is a tad sappy, but the book has to end somehow, and a sappy ending is one of the easiest ways of ending the story sometimes.
I won't hold it against this book.
Some of the immersivity created by this novel comes from the straightforward writing, some from the character, and some from the humor in the book. Together, they produce a really pleasant and fun read. I found myself trying not to laugh aloud at times (because it would've been pretty embarassing) and although I've never really been in the situation that the single protagonist is, I still found I could relate very well to her self-deprecation and the (sometimes) ridiculous things she did.
Having read The Quality of Life Report just a short while ago, I found myself comparing this book to that one... and the comparison was favorable to The Journal. I had a harder time relating to the arrogance and cosmopolitanism of the character in Daum's book - her New York disparagement of the Midwest was just too political for me. In Harding's book here, the character's anxiety was more closely aligned with her personal life. It is after all set up as alternating chapters of the "Journal of Mortifying Moments" and narrated action between the writing sections. The character, Kerry, is advised by her therapist to write down her most mortifying sexual/relationship moments in a journal in an attempt to help her see that her relationship difficulties aren't a personal defect but rather these events are just combinations of inexperience, bad luck, and occasional lapses in judgement. The story unfolds as first person narration (the journal) as well as narrated "first person" story that tells of events in Kerry's current life from her point of view.
The character is lovable because she's so much like the rest of us... maybe with a bit more bad luck, but entirely human. What she discovers about herself at the end is just the kind of thing that everyone seeks at some time or another during their life. Sure, the end is a tad sappy, but the book has to end somehow, and a sappy ending is one of the easiest ways of ending the story sometimes.
I won't hold it against this book.