I wrote this whole post about two long novels and now I have to come up with a title?! It just never ends

Once upon a time a million years ago, Alice and I were at a bookstore where I was buying a volume or two of Trollope, and she asked me something to the effect of "should I try this author." (I know, I ought to cherish every word from her mouth but it was a long time ago and I can't remember how it was phrased.)

Trollope is an author I enjoy but generally do not recommend. I can appreciate that people could very much not like him and be entirely right. I can pass over his political chapters without letting them get me down, and his ludicrous bourgeois-ness is a bit endearing to me; but I know that these things would be poison to others, and probably they're right. But I like him, so I read his books.

V. comfortable

The Small House at Allington is the exception I would make. I do think Small House at Allington is worth anyone's time. It's a very unusual plot, almost your standard Victorian-novel love story turned inside out. (Note that I will be discussing the plot and its outcomes below.)

Lily Dale is the heroine, and she gets jilted. Her engagement to Adolphus Crosbie almost starts the novel, and then Trollope tells how Crosbie's head gets turned, how he is lured away from Lily, and follows his pride and ambition into marital ruin. Lily's childhood friend John, who has always been in love with her but is something of a late-bloomer*, goes after Crosbie and avenges her. Everyone rallies around Lily and her very public humiliation.

But here's the thing that strikes me: the novel does not end with a wedding for Lily. John has stepped up and become the knight in shining armor, but he does not get the girl. I thought this was just breathtakingly unexpected.

John, rejected, counseled by a neighbor

It doesn't end there, though: in the next novel (and last of the series), John becomes even more of a hero, and Lily sees Crosbie (now widowed) and refuses his return. And yet the novel (and series) ends with Lily rejecting John yet again. Trollope tells us Lily will probably always be an old maid (nice of him to give the romantics an out). Once again: astonishing. I wouldn't be able, as an author, to resist putting John and Lily together. Lily is a really lively, likable person (she shades into being annoyingly perky, very lifelike), and John has clearly grown up so much. But Trollope shows quite masterfully the way particular circumstances can prevent a match that's perfect on paper from being possible.

I've read that Trollope wanted his novels to reflect the "unevenness" of real life, and in Lily's story I think he really knocks it out of the park. The introduction in my edition of Last Chronicle of Barset made me angry on this point:

The suggestion that Lily will not marry John because she is frightened of sex seems so obvious to us...

Dumbass! (ahem.) This is on a par with saying that if a woman won't go out with you she must be a lesbian. Although Lily can see how much John has matured, she stills remembers him as her awkward childhood friend. He's "like a brother" as she herself says many times. And in spite of Victorian novels' assertions that one kind of affection can transform into another easily enough, in this case it can't, very understandably. On top of this, John himself and every one of their relatives and mutual friends pesters Lily directly and indirectly, constantly, about what a great match it would be. Lily isn't puffed up with pride, but she isn't passive and submissive enough to go along with this when her heart isn't in it. Moreover, she's never really given a chance to change the way she feels because she's constantly having to give a decision and/or ward off well-meaning advisors. Meanwhile, while John is a good guy by this point in his life, he still is hanging around with dubious people and, as I said, being something of a pest. So to boil down Lily's fate to a fear of sex is just ridiculous. Aaaaaand it kind of says a lot about you if that's your "obvious" interpretation, Mr Introduction Writer.

Cat gif break

There's a lot else in these two hefty novels besides John and Lily, and I enjoyed all that stuff too for the most part; but this particular storyline I thought was especially noteworthy, particularly since Trollope seems, very often, to be just writing to entertain.


*the word Trollope uses is hobbledehoy. If you want to see the word hobbledehoy used over and over and over read this book.

Let's have a book on a Saturday; why not

Who can resist a Persephone book? Not me, obviously. In my jetlagged state I bought myself a handful of books (yes I know), including this one: High Wages, by Dorothy Whipple.

The inside cover is the important cover

If you've looked into Persephone Books at all, you'll quickly realize that Dorothy Whipple is a kind of crown jewel of their lineup. A female author popular in her own day but overlooked more recently, she and her work are great examples of the value of republishing the kind of titles Persephone does.

Although I have previously fallen victim to Proserpinian charms, I had not bought anything by Dorothy Whipple, so when I decided that, yes, I definitely needed something grey-covered right now, I thought it was as good a time as any to give her a spin.

High Wages is a great read: entertaining, interesting, and not entirely predictable. It's a story about an ambitious and hard-working young woman who gets some -- but not all -- of the things she wants. The romantic side of the story is in some ways a little bland and unconventional -- one romantic interest is the posh and popular Golden Boy of the town, the other is bookish and sensitive -- but the way it plays out is, I thought, not conventional at all. This is not a book that ends with an unambiguous romantic triumph by any means.

Jane, the main character, is a shop girl with a particular genius for women's clothes, so the story follows her from working in a well-established shop for an insecure and stubbornly old-fashioned businessman to opening her own shop, filled with modern ready-made clothing. There's a lot that's interesting here, in relation to the history of women's clothing as well as women's work (more on this note below). By the end of the novel, though, Jane is questioning the way her life has been devoted to women's clothes: is this all so important, really? Granted, she has a lot else on her mind by then to make her feel a little weary, and she doesn't suddenly become some sort of anti-fashion radical or anything (thank goodness), but I thought this little note of ambivalence was great. It's just an example of how Whipple is able to portray a thoughtful character, not to mention the way people change their thinking over time in subtle and sometimes imperceptible ways.

This is an unmistakably feminist novel which succeeds nevertheless in not beating the reader over the head with feminism (a point which is nicely made in the introduction). Whipple is maybe a touch more subtle than Winifred Holtby but both authors successfully show rather than tell what's wrong. Jane is not only mistreated by her employer, but she encounters some really gross salesmen when she sets up on her own. Just as in another novel you might be really angry along with the main character when someone insults her, here you can just feel the ickyness of some of the situations Jane gets into.

My only minor complaint was that the writing seemed a little "simple" and straightforward at times, like being told a bedtime story. But then I read it when I was jetlagged so maybe it was just my ability to process language that was simplified...

Overall, it was a very enjoyable book and absolutely cram-packed with period detail, some more intentional than others. If you want a good representation of some of the new ideas about love and sex between the wars, here you go. This is another one for my theoretical list of books that could be assigned to a class.

Oh crap, there's only one image in this post. Uh, uh, uh.... Amy, help me!

I got yer GIFs right here

*phoo*phoo* Huh, I guess no one comes and dusts in here when I don't do it...

I always thought it was a wise rule not to start posts with "sorry it's been so long" but it's been months, so: yeah. The good news is, it's not like I was ever much of a book blogger to begin with. Low standards save the day!

Learn from teacher, kids.

I'd like to say that I've been reading, just not blogging, but the fact is that I haven't been doing much reading at all except spiritual reading and work reading. Work reading definitely doesn't get a post here, not least because "reading" is kind of an exaggeration in most cases.

"Right, the sooner I can bulk up this footnote, the sooner I can go take a nap"

Spiritual reading is a mild temptation because I do a fair amount of it, and I do love me some Catholic books, but then again I realize that's a limited audience (LOL, as if I had any audience). The thing is, spiritual reading is so personal: I like things because they help me with whatever I'm struggling with. Plus, I tend to dip in and out of things, and/or read three or four pages at a time. So really, bottom line, spiritual reading does not help me here and it would need its own blog.

Yeah, that's right: I need two blogs.

Anyway, the bottom line is: I feel like my fiction-reading is on its way back, and this blog with it, now that the Worst Time of the Year is almost behind us.

I'm not just saying that: just as crocuses suggest the changing seasons, I have had signs and portents indicating a revitalization of my reading habit. Namely: feeling stuck about what to read. I have a lot of unread books hanging around, however I am leaving the country (yes, again) in a week and I don't want to take up room in my luggage for what will be deadweight coming back (unless a book is really awful I want to keep it, for hoarding purposes).

We all come back!

"That's easy," you say, "buy ebooks." YOU THINK YOU'RE REALLY SMART, HUH. Last time I used my Kindle, I felt like its age was starting to show and the whole thing was feeling kind of buggy. The magic is gone there, I'm afraid, and I'm honest and shallow enough to acknowledge that I just don't wanna. And what puts the kibosh on basically any solution to this problem is that I've given up buying books for Lent.

Second Catholic reference in the post: I'm not sorry

"Well that was stupid," you say, and I ignore your sarcasm because I had a very good reason. I was giving up buying clothes and makeup and shoes, since those are my usual mindless frittering purchases, and it struck me that books were also a problem. In fact, possibly even more of a problem because while at least I know I'm mindlessly frittering when I buy a new blush on a whim, when I books I tend to justify it as... well... it's a book, of course I need it! When in fact I not infrequently spend sums on books as a way of scratching that spending itch in just as mindless a fashion. So it seemed like a very good candidate, in itself, but also as a way of closing a loophole.

Now I just cut checks for charities, which is better for all concerned.

So anyway, the bottom line is, I'm sort of weirdly between various things at the moment, but I'm fairly sure things will be moving again shortly.

And hey! I've just used up almost an hour I was supposed to be spending dissertating on this post! Ah, blog, I forgot just how great you are.

Odi et amo

This book fascinates me because it is such a perfect example of why I love my Kindle and also why I so often neglect it.

It's a huge, heavy book that's available for free as an eBook. Instant travel companion! Thanks Kindle!

But just look at that gorgeous cover! Clothbound, yum yum. And a well-regarded translation besides. Thanks Penguin!

Sorry, wallet.

(Yes, I am actually going to read this. I was much surprised by friends who liked the movie but insisted the book was better. I didn't think anyone would compare the movie to anything but the musical. And I really didn't think anyone outside a French literature class actually read Hugo... but I'll save all that for the post...)

Aaaaaand that's me

Womp womp. Next and last Readathon post.

Ethan Frome
Mini, you say? How so? This is one of the smallest books I own, physically, that isn't some kind of novelty book. It's one of those cheapie Signet Classics editions I bought a lot of in high school.

So, I read Age of Innocence, not that you'd know because I think I still have not posted about it, which reminded me of this book which I hated with all the hate I could muster in high school. Ethan Frome was THE WORST OMG. But Age of Innocence wasn't bad, and it made me curious to re-read this one and see what the deal was.

Unsurprisingly: no, I cannot read a whole book in an hour, and I really only got through a couple of chapters, but it's not as terrible and boring and pointless as it seemed back in junior year. (Or it might have been senior year, which would also explain a lot.) It does have as its theme "New Englanders have sucky lives" however. Edith Wharton, ladies and gentlemen.

This copy is indeed the exact copy I had in high school, meaning that I have circled the characters' names and highlighted all the most obvious descriptors of them. I also have a sentence written at the end of each chapter summarizing it, which I vaguely recall the teacher requiring us to do. Apparently as late as this I had trouble distinguishing the author from a first-person narrator, because in the frame chapter I have written "The author tells of her 'discovery' of the troubles of Ethan Frome and sets depressing beginning." Extra points deducted for that "tells of" nonsense. So even after reading only a couple of chapters of Ethan Frome it has already taught me humility.

And now I guess I have to read the whole thing, like, on my own time. Oh, these cruel burdens that we unwittingly call down upon ourselves!

Have fun with the rest of the Mini-Readathon, mini-readers!

The Mini-Readathon (now even minier)

I don't really know about Readathons as an organized blog thing. (As you can tell, I'm kind of a sucky blogger.) Alice always wants to do them and can't, that's what I know. But I do love a theme, and the GIF Admiration Society, so here we are!

Now, I'm already Doin It Rong in two ways. First, I will be carrying our awesome theme to a self-defeating extreme by quitting at noon CST. My workload tripled on January 1st, you guys, and I've been freaking out about it all week, which wouldn't be so bad if "freaking out" including "actually doing some of the work".

Yeah, yeah

Anyway, so that's one thing. The other is that I started reading early, just to compensate. Which is maybe a violation of the rules or something? But then I burned up any advantage I may have had with getting dressed. Anyway.

So

The First Book of Mini-Readathon:

Nancy Drew #8: Nancy's Mysterious Letter
Mini, you say? How so? This is a children's book, written for mini people, which I myself enjoyed as a mini person. Also it requires mini effort.

I read a lot of Nancy Drew as a kid so I was glad to have an excuse/opportunity to revisit
the series and see what they were about. One of the things that struck me in reading this this morning is how little personality Nancy (or really anyone) in the book has. Everything's written in such simple language and there's very little in the story that doesn't relate to the mystery. Kid's books, eh!

The part where Nancy, Bess, and George go to visit their boyfriends at college was the most entertaining from a kitsch perspective. I remembered that Ned was the star of the football team but not that Bess and George's boys are on the second string! Haha. Actually the boys are always referred to as "friends" or "dates" which is sort of interesting -- as well as the fact that the author does not hesitate to put in six pages describing the progress of the Big Game in (what seems to me) play-by-play detail.

There is also a sailor character who says things like "she's gone to the chandler's for supplies and will be back at six bells. Haul your anchor and sit down, lass!" Oh dear oh dear.

Alright, I'll check back in in an hour and we'll see if I manage to read two whole books in my mini-Mini-Readathon.

In which I fulfill my contractual obligations

Bel Canto easily wins the prize for the book I have most often put in my suitcase or purse with the intention of reading it, but then not reading it, and even buying other books to read instead. I threw it into my box at the Open Books warehouse sale with Alice because she said she liked it and the box was one flat price. Since then it's done a lot of traveling. But I have finally, at last, read it, and I thought it was therefore appropriate to make it the book post that breaks my not-posting spell, even though I have four (I know, I KNOW) other books that I could potentially write about. (The other ridiculous thing about the non-posting spell is that I made a special effort to post even when I was travelling for two weeks, and then promptly dropped the ball as soon as I got back home.)

So, Bel Canto is a focused sort of book. An opera singer, a Japanese businessman, and a hodge-podge of international guests are taken hostage in an unnamed Latin American country. As the days and weeks go by, relationships start to break down barriers and suddenly potential for life and happiness is everywhere despite the outwardly desperate circumstances. In the end, the "crisis" is more like an unreal, almost magical, moment outside of time -- although, of course, it has to end eventually, in a sudden burst of tragedy.

"Telling detail" is a difficult thing to achieve in writing -- everyone wants to be able to throw in that one little action or trait, wrapped in the perfect bit of language, that will instantly transmit the author's vision to the reader. Patchett is very good at using detail to convey a lot of information, and her descriptions of characters and events and motivations really sucked me in. Every character is distinctly, recognizably a person (well, except for the thirty or so hostages who pretty much don't get mentioned, but that seems inevitable). Once I started the book, it was very easy to keep going to the end. This is really good fiction: enjoyable, engrossing; not overly serious but full of enough humanity to feel worthwhile in some deeper sense.

Ugh, that was so many words that I had to type with my poor little fingers. Is there something else I'm supposed to put in a post? Whatever. Here, it's broadly opera: a bit of The Messiah.

MUSIC, feel its POWER.