1871, 1986 Signet Classic edition
Louisa May Alcott
Little Men
Bought new for $4.50
Somewhat worn paperback
B-
This sequel isn't as good as Little Women, but it's not bad. Alcott still has a Rowlingesque level of math. (In the very same chapter, the twins are 10 and Meg has been married ten years, when it's established that she was married a year before the double blessing came along.) The littler women feel like lesser versions of the first batch and are even compared to them. (Daisy /= Meg, Nan /= Jo, Bess /= guess who?) The little men include some forgettable members in the dozen or so. Signet, again showing a talent for typos, miscalls Ned "Neil" at one point, and I almost thought this was a separate boy, because Ned had made so little impression on me.
All that said, it is nice to catch up with "Mrs. Jo" at the age of about 30, as she helps her husband run the school mentioned in the last chapter of Little Women. Amy and Meg play much lesser parts (Beth is still dead), and John Brooke shows up only to die beloved by everyone he ever met. "Uncle Teddy" though has made the transition to adulthood in a convincing manner, still loving fun and Jo (you know he's sort of pining for her, it shows in their scenes together), but also a responsible businessman, father, and I guess husband.
This book feels more nakedly didactic than Little Women, sometimes with characters coming right out with asking for or offering moral little stories. I actually read Jo's Boys before Little Men, of course wondering who all these grown-up "boys" were, but the main spoiler I remember is actually the fault of Anita Loos. In one of her introductions (to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes maybe), she says something about children in Little Women putting beans up their noses after being told not to. This actually happens to children in a story Mrs. Jo tells in this novel, and then she tells of putting stones up hers. Oh, that irrepressible Jo!
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
An Old-Fashioned Girl
1870, 1928 Saalfield edition
Louisa May Alcott
Illustrated by Frances Brundage
An Old-Fashioned Girl
Original price unknown, bought very used for $8.20
Poor condition hardcover
B-
I remember reading this when, like Polly, I was an old-fashioned 14-year-old who didn't want to "paint" (wear make-up) or get my ears "bored" (pierced). Yet I never took to this book like I did to Little Women. The characters are less appealing and the scrapes they get into less interesting. I do like the big city (Boston?) setting, with its "ice cream saloons" and its wild plays under the influence of France and "Negroes." I really like the theme of women earning their own living, even if it's a bit heavy-handed in the chapter "The Sunny Side," which features some career girls, including Kate the writer, who's clearly Alcott's representative. "Woman's Rights" campaigners get some gentle teasing, but it's clear that Alcott would've identified with some of Wollstonecraft's writings, particularly the part about women not living just to be pretty and frivolous.
The illustrations by Brundage are so-so. My main complaint is that the characters never look the right age. This is especially true of Maude in the second part, where she's supposed to be 12 but still looks 6. Like Laurie, Tom is supposed to have a mustache, but he's clean-shaved until the last picture, where he does have the "whiskers" mentioned in the text. His suits always looks more 1920s than 1870s. I do like the picture of Polly sitting before the fire, a cat in her lap, musing.
I have to note that in this blog I mostly try to ignore phrases that have different connotations these days (like Wickham "making love" to the entire Bennet family), but I did snicker at Tom's description of an argument with his fiancee: "[T]o-day Trix gave it to me hot and heavy, coming home from church."
Louisa May Alcott
Illustrated by Frances Brundage
An Old-Fashioned Girl
Original price unknown, bought very used for $8.20
Poor condition hardcover
B-
I remember reading this when, like Polly, I was an old-fashioned 14-year-old who didn't want to "paint" (wear make-up) or get my ears "bored" (pierced). Yet I never took to this book like I did to Little Women. The characters are less appealing and the scrapes they get into less interesting. I do like the big city (Boston?) setting, with its "ice cream saloons" and its wild plays under the influence of France and "Negroes." I really like the theme of women earning their own living, even if it's a bit heavy-handed in the chapter "The Sunny Side," which features some career girls, including Kate the writer, who's clearly Alcott's representative. "Woman's Rights" campaigners get some gentle teasing, but it's clear that Alcott would've identified with some of Wollstonecraft's writings, particularly the part about women not living just to be pretty and frivolous.
The illustrations by Brundage are so-so. My main complaint is that the characters never look the right age. This is especially true of Maude in the second part, where she's supposed to be 12 but still looks 6. Like Laurie, Tom is supposed to have a mustache, but he's clean-shaved until the last picture, where he does have the "whiskers" mentioned in the text. His suits always looks more 1920s than 1870s. I do like the picture of Polly sitting before the fire, a cat in her lap, musing.
I have to note that in this blog I mostly try to ignore phrases that have different connotations these days (like Wickham "making love" to the entire Bennet family), but I did snicker at Tom's description of an argument with his fiancee: "[T]o-day Trix gave it to me hot and heavy, coming home from church."
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Little Women
1868, 1990 Dell Yearling Classic edition
Louisa May Alcott
Little Women
Bought new for $3.99
Worn paperback with spine starting to break
A-
Reading Little Women right after Alcott's weak "adult" novel, I appreciate this story more than ever. Amusingly, there's a passage about the various ethnicities in Nice, including "ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans," that's lifted right out of A Long Fatal Love Chase. There's also a servant named Baptiste, although presumably not one who helps his master stalk his estranged "wife."
It is weird to see how Jo is scolded, by her future husband and by the narrator, for writing "sensation stories." Was Alcott feeling guilty for her own sensation stories? (Some of them, unlike LFLC, were published at the time.) Or is this part of the moralizing of what she herself called "moral pap for the young"? The thing is, Little Women, despite the overt Christianity and the constant urging to be submissive (to God, to your parents, to your husband, to your temper), is a fun, lively, and complex novel. Alcott and Jo shouldn't have wasted their time on sensation stories when they're so good at the children's fiction.
This is a children's book, despite taking the "little women" from adolescence into adulthood. There is death (more on that below), but there's nothing inappropriate for a reader above say nine or ten. The exact number of years covered is fuzzy, because Alcott suddenly loses control of her math skills in Part Second. Is Amy really away in Europe for three years? How is Laurie a 21-year-old college graduate a few months before he's 23? How is it that 6-month-old Demi can walk downstairs and speak in complete (if cutesy) sentences? Why is Jo suddenly pushing 25 when by my math she's 22? Of course, Part First has the will that Amy dates 20 November 1861, even though the previous Christmas her father had gone away to the war, and the Civil War broke out in April 1861.
Math aside, there's a realism to this novel that continues to startle. With Jo in particular, these are believable girls. Jo uses slang, loses her temper, and is clumsy. Even saintly Beth (actually called an "angel in the house," which has strong Victorian resonance) has faults. Heck, even Marmee is "angry every day of her life."
Yet, yes, she urges submission. To some extent, this makes sense. There are things you can't change, particularly if you're a girl in the 1860s. But it does hurt to see all the March girls, and Laurie, give up their dreams. Even Beth, who wants to just stay at home, do housework, and take care of her pets and dolls, has to give up what she wants because, well, she dies.
Apparently, it has always been a great shock to readers to get up to the part where Beth dies. That is, unless they got spoiled like I did when I was 12 and read an article on dyslexia, where the writer tells of how her sister accidentally spoiled that plot twist. This isn't like (forgive me if you didn't know) hearing that Rosebed was the sled. You can enjoy Citizen Kane with having that McGuffin ruined for you. But Beth dying, and all the things related to her death, before and after, is central to Little Women. And yet, I decided to read Little Women anyway. And here I am reading it for the umpteenth time more than 30 years later. I know what happens to these characters, but I still care.
The other thing about many readers and this story is that starting at the time the first part was published, Jo/Laurie shippers came into being, much to Alcott's annoyance. I can't remember ever shipping them myself. (And remember, I shipped grown-up Heidi/Peter, so it doesn't take much.) Jo seemed asexual or maybe lesbian, and she didn't love Laurie the right way. I sort of hoped for Beth/Laurie, if she hadn't died I mean. They both like music, and he's sweet to her. But Amy/Laurie, shrug, I don't mind it. I used to think Mr. Bhaer was too old for Jo, but I guess it's not any worse than Emma/Knightley.
I do remember thinking it weird on the first reading that Laurie doesn't like to be called Theodore, because the fellows call him Dora, so he goes by Laurie Laurence. Um, Laurie is a girls' name, like Laurie Partridge. Maybe it wasn't in the 19th century, like Shirley.
There have been several adaptations of Little Women over the years of course. I like the Katherine Hepburn 1933 one best, although I still need to see the Winona Ryder version. As far as I know, none of the adaptations has included my favorite sequence, where Amy makes Jo pay calls on the neighbors, and Jo acts inappropriately, including doing a spot-on imitation of a girl they just visited. Jo's disastrous dinner party is also good but omitted, although the "salt for sugar" mistake has definitely passed into cliche, if it hadn't already at the time.
Since today is Dickens's 200th birthday, I should note that the March girls adore Dickens, and he's referred to as a celebrity that Amy sees in Nice. I think Alcott owes an equal debt to Austen, conscious or not. Austen had paved the way in portraying sets of very different but loving sisters, as well as in showing that young women needed to cultivate their hearts and minds. There are some interesting cultural differences between 1810s England and 1860s America, such as that handshaking is still considered masculine but in a much more negative way. (It's part of Jo's gauche boyishness, rather than Marianne's gesture of friendship.) There's more acceptance of women working for a living, even if it's still considered as inferior to keeping the homefires burning. I was pleased in reading the sequels to see that, even after becoming a wife and mother, Jo didn't give up her writing. And yes, Little Men and Jo's Boys are on their way, along with less well-known Alcottian pap for the young....
Louisa May Alcott
Little Women
Bought new for $3.99
Worn paperback with spine starting to break
A-
Reading Little Women right after Alcott's weak "adult" novel, I appreciate this story more than ever. Amusingly, there's a passage about the various ethnicities in Nice, including "ugly Russians, meek Jews, free-and-easy Americans," that's lifted right out of A Long Fatal Love Chase. There's also a servant named Baptiste, although presumably not one who helps his master stalk his estranged "wife."
It is weird to see how Jo is scolded, by her future husband and by the narrator, for writing "sensation stories." Was Alcott feeling guilty for her own sensation stories? (Some of them, unlike LFLC, were published at the time.) Or is this part of the moralizing of what she herself called "moral pap for the young"? The thing is, Little Women, despite the overt Christianity and the constant urging to be submissive (to God, to your parents, to your husband, to your temper), is a fun, lively, and complex novel. Alcott and Jo shouldn't have wasted their time on sensation stories when they're so good at the children's fiction.
This is a children's book, despite taking the "little women" from adolescence into adulthood. There is death (more on that below), but there's nothing inappropriate for a reader above say nine or ten. The exact number of years covered is fuzzy, because Alcott suddenly loses control of her math skills in Part Second. Is Amy really away in Europe for three years? How is Laurie a 21-year-old college graduate a few months before he's 23? How is it that 6-month-old Demi can walk downstairs and speak in complete (if cutesy) sentences? Why is Jo suddenly pushing 25 when by my math she's 22? Of course, Part First has the will that Amy dates 20 November 1861, even though the previous Christmas her father had gone away to the war, and the Civil War broke out in April 1861.
Math aside, there's a realism to this novel that continues to startle. With Jo in particular, these are believable girls. Jo uses slang, loses her temper, and is clumsy. Even saintly Beth (actually called an "angel in the house," which has strong Victorian resonance) has faults. Heck, even Marmee is "angry every day of her life."
Yet, yes, she urges submission. To some extent, this makes sense. There are things you can't change, particularly if you're a girl in the 1860s. But it does hurt to see all the March girls, and Laurie, give up their dreams. Even Beth, who wants to just stay at home, do housework, and take care of her pets and dolls, has to give up what she wants because, well, she dies.
Apparently, it has always been a great shock to readers to get up to the part where Beth dies. That is, unless they got spoiled like I did when I was 12 and read an article on dyslexia, where the writer tells of how her sister accidentally spoiled that plot twist. This isn't like (forgive me if you didn't know) hearing that Rosebed was the sled. You can enjoy Citizen Kane with having that McGuffin ruined for you. But Beth dying, and all the things related to her death, before and after, is central to Little Women. And yet, I decided to read Little Women anyway. And here I am reading it for the umpteenth time more than 30 years later. I know what happens to these characters, but I still care.
The other thing about many readers and this story is that starting at the time the first part was published, Jo/Laurie shippers came into being, much to Alcott's annoyance. I can't remember ever shipping them myself. (And remember, I shipped grown-up Heidi/Peter, so it doesn't take much.) Jo seemed asexual or maybe lesbian, and she didn't love Laurie the right way. I sort of hoped for Beth/Laurie, if she hadn't died I mean. They both like music, and he's sweet to her. But Amy/Laurie, shrug, I don't mind it. I used to think Mr. Bhaer was too old for Jo, but I guess it's not any worse than Emma/Knightley.
I do remember thinking it weird on the first reading that Laurie doesn't like to be called Theodore, because the fellows call him Dora, so he goes by Laurie Laurence. Um, Laurie is a girls' name, like Laurie Partridge. Maybe it wasn't in the 19th century, like Shirley.
There have been several adaptations of Little Women over the years of course. I like the Katherine Hepburn 1933 one best, although I still need to see the Winona Ryder version. As far as I know, none of the adaptations has included my favorite sequence, where Amy makes Jo pay calls on the neighbors, and Jo acts inappropriately, including doing a spot-on imitation of a girl they just visited. Jo's disastrous dinner party is also good but omitted, although the "salt for sugar" mistake has definitely passed into cliche, if it hadn't already at the time.
Since today is Dickens's 200th birthday, I should note that the March girls adore Dickens, and he's referred to as a celebrity that Amy sees in Nice. I think Alcott owes an equal debt to Austen, conscious or not. Austen had paved the way in portraying sets of very different but loving sisters, as well as in showing that young women needed to cultivate their hearts and minds. There are some interesting cultural differences between 1810s England and 1860s America, such as that handshaking is still considered masculine but in a much more negative way. (It's part of Jo's gauche boyishness, rather than Marianne's gesture of friendship.) There's more acceptance of women working for a living, even if it's still considered as inferior to keeping the homefires burning. I was pleased in reading the sequels to see that, even after becoming a wife and mother, Jo didn't give up her writing. And yes, Little Men and Jo's Boys are on their way, along with less well-known Alcottian pap for the young....
Sunday, February 5, 2012
A Long Fatal Love Chase
1866, 1997 Dell (Random House) edition
Louisa May Alcott, edited by Kent Bicknell
A Long Fatal Love Chase
Original price $6.99, bought used for $3.50
Slightly worn paperback
C
I decided not to use "British" and "American" tags for my posts because almost everything I reread will be one or the other. This is a very strange first American entry though, for several reasons.
1. While written in 1866, the novel wasn't published in Alcott's lifetime, in fact not till 1995.
2. Alcott is of course best known for Little Women and other children's books.
3. I purchased this copy in the last couple years and have read it only once before, as opposed to Little Women, which I've gone through a few copies of in the last 30 or so years.
4. The story, instead of being an uplifting tale of family and friendship, is a melodrama about a heartless grandfather, a false marriage, near bigamy, divorce, the ugliest custody battle I've ever heard of, unconsummated love between a non-virginal woman and a priest, stalking across Europe over a few years, murder and faked deaths, and of course the accidental death of the heroine.
5. It's written in a style and with plotting much clumsier than in Alcott's published works.
6. Alcott stereotypes nationalities just as much as Charlotte Brontë does, but Brontë definitely never claimed that Englishmen are usually shy and awkward around women.
All that said, it's not a terrible book. There are moments when it's laughably bad, mostly the one-note cliff-hangers. "It was Philip Tempest!!! Again." However, the story does move along and I liked that so many people were willing to help Rosamond, even if they're no match for devilish Tempest. I don't get the hype about the novel, particularly that it's supposed to be "erotic," but maybe critics got swept up as Rosamond does.
A note about her name. She goes by Rosalie for awhile but Philip calls her Rose. This leads to the fourth chapter "Rose in Bloom," and in 1876 Alcott published Rose in Bloom, the sequel to Eight Cousins. I've read both but only own Eight Cousins. It'll be amusing to compare Rosamond Vivian Tempest to Rose Campbell.
Louisa May Alcott, edited by Kent Bicknell
A Long Fatal Love Chase
Original price $6.99, bought used for $3.50
Slightly worn paperback
C
I decided not to use "British" and "American" tags for my posts because almost everything I reread will be one or the other. This is a very strange first American entry though, for several reasons.
1. While written in 1866, the novel wasn't published in Alcott's lifetime, in fact not till 1995.
2. Alcott is of course best known for Little Women and other children's books.
3. I purchased this copy in the last couple years and have read it only once before, as opposed to Little Women, which I've gone through a few copies of in the last 30 or so years.
4. The story, instead of being an uplifting tale of family and friendship, is a melodrama about a heartless grandfather, a false marriage, near bigamy, divorce, the ugliest custody battle I've ever heard of, unconsummated love between a non-virginal woman and a priest, stalking across Europe over a few years, murder and faked deaths, and of course the accidental death of the heroine.
5. It's written in a style and with plotting much clumsier than in Alcott's published works.
6. Alcott stereotypes nationalities just as much as Charlotte Brontë does, but Brontë definitely never claimed that Englishmen are usually shy and awkward around women.
All that said, it's not a terrible book. There are moments when it's laughably bad, mostly the one-note cliff-hangers. "It was Philip Tempest!!! Again." However, the story does move along and I liked that so many people were willing to help Rosamond, even if they're no match for devilish Tempest. I don't get the hype about the novel, particularly that it's supposed to be "erotic," but maybe critics got swept up as Rosamond does.
A note about her name. She goes by Rosalie for awhile but Philip calls her Rose. This leads to the fourth chapter "Rose in Bloom," and in 1876 Alcott published Rose in Bloom, the sequel to Eight Cousins. I've read both but only own Eight Cousins. It'll be amusing to compare Rosamond Vivian Tempest to Rose Campbell.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Our Mutual Friend
1865, 1973 Penguin English Library edition
Charles Dickens
Our Mutual Friend
Original price unknown, bought used for $3.95
Falling apart, including broken spine
B+
Dickens's last completed novel is my favorite. The various storylines are interesting and for the most part successfully used. From the Thackerayan satire of the shallow Veneerings and their innumerable dearest, closest friends (they'd love Facebook!), to the Wrayburn-Lizzie-Headstone tragic triangle, Dickens uses a variety of tones.
As for the "mutual friend" plot, I have mixed feelings. Topping the two Martin Chuzzlewits, this novel has three John Harmons. The oldest is a cruel father who disinherits his children, his daughter permanently since she predeceases him, his son John more ambiguously. The youngest John Harmon is the little boy that the Boffins try to adopt before he dies in poverty. The Boffins have inherited the Harmon estate, which is made up of dust heaps, a source of wealth in the Victorian period apparently. The living John Harmon fakes his death in order to see if Bella Wilfer, the young woman whom his father has semi-betrothed him to, would care for him if he weren't rich and if she didn't feel obligated to marry him. He assumes the name Julius Handford, and then becomes John Rokesmith for most of the novel. Then Mrs. Boffin, who knew him and loved him as a little boy, discovers who he is, and Rokesmith and the Boffins concoct a scheme in which Mr. Boffin pretends to be mean in the senses of cruel and stingy, in order to bring out the best in spoiled but good-hearted Bella. When all this is revealed to Bella, who has indeed redeemed herself and married Rokesmith, she seems fine with it, although she expresses some frustration and confusion by using her baby, also named Bella, as a ventriloquist dummy.
As you can see, there are several parts to that main plot. The faking his death part is kind of contrived but OK. The Boffins inheriting, and Mr. Boffin pretending to be a miser, relate to the Wegg section and I'm ambivalent about that. I like Wegg's misquotations of songs, poetry, and plays but I'm not sure if I buy him as the stupidly manipulative villain. Mr. Boffin's scam is both unpleasant and implausible. As Stephen Gill notes in the introduction, Boffin's transformation is more believable than the big reveal. I just can't believe that nice, not very bright people like the Boffins, especially Mrs. Boffin, would deceive Bella for a couple of years without giving themselves away.
I'm not sure how I feel about Bella herself. In a way, I like her combination of conceit and self-scolding. She feels real and modern. But she also has a twee side, as expressed with her Cupid-like father, Rokesmith once they're in love, and her namesake child. I actually like her kid sister, "irrepressible" Lavvy, better in that she's bluntly honest throughout, even if it makes her obnoxious.
It's a strange novel in that a schoolteacher is the cruelest villain, and his pupil Charley, Lizzie's brother, is the most heartless. Even more than Martin Chuzzlewit, this story is about selfishness and self-centredness. I'm not sure I can say I fully liked anyone except for "Jenny Wren," the quirky dolls' dressmaker, and yet I kept reading, wanting to see what happened next to this cast of characters. As in David Copperfield, there are Dickensian coincidences and reunions (Rokesmith lampshades this in one of the last chapters), but there's much more depth and realism than in that work from 15 years earlier.
The unintentionally funniest moment for a modern reader is when Dickens refers to L.S.D. a few times. He doesn't mean "Luxury, Sensuality, Dissoluteness," or lysergic acid diethylamide for that matter. He's using an abbreviation for "librae, solidi, denarii," meaning "pounds, shillings, pence." It was usually written as "£sd," but was sometimes written and pronounced as L.s.d.
This edition has a number of typos, if not so bad as Villette. Some of these seem to be typesetting errors, as when there's a white gap where part of a word should be. The most memorable typo is "lesss." Yes, sometimes less is more, even with Dickens.
And, hey, three B+s in a row! This won't last, but it's a pleasant surprise.
Charles Dickens
Our Mutual Friend
Original price unknown, bought used for $3.95
Falling apart, including broken spine
B+
Dickens's last completed novel is my favorite. The various storylines are interesting and for the most part successfully used. From the Thackerayan satire of the shallow Veneerings and their innumerable dearest, closest friends (they'd love Facebook!), to the Wrayburn-Lizzie-Headstone tragic triangle, Dickens uses a variety of tones.
As for the "mutual friend" plot, I have mixed feelings. Topping the two Martin Chuzzlewits, this novel has three John Harmons. The oldest is a cruel father who disinherits his children, his daughter permanently since she predeceases him, his son John more ambiguously. The youngest John Harmon is the little boy that the Boffins try to adopt before he dies in poverty. The Boffins have inherited the Harmon estate, which is made up of dust heaps, a source of wealth in the Victorian period apparently. The living John Harmon fakes his death in order to see if Bella Wilfer, the young woman whom his father has semi-betrothed him to, would care for him if he weren't rich and if she didn't feel obligated to marry him. He assumes the name Julius Handford, and then becomes John Rokesmith for most of the novel. Then Mrs. Boffin, who knew him and loved him as a little boy, discovers who he is, and Rokesmith and the Boffins concoct a scheme in which Mr. Boffin pretends to be mean in the senses of cruel and stingy, in order to bring out the best in spoiled but good-hearted Bella. When all this is revealed to Bella, who has indeed redeemed herself and married Rokesmith, she seems fine with it, although she expresses some frustration and confusion by using her baby, also named Bella, as a ventriloquist dummy.
As you can see, there are several parts to that main plot. The faking his death part is kind of contrived but OK. The Boffins inheriting, and Mr. Boffin pretending to be a miser, relate to the Wegg section and I'm ambivalent about that. I like Wegg's misquotations of songs, poetry, and plays but I'm not sure if I buy him as the stupidly manipulative villain. Mr. Boffin's scam is both unpleasant and implausible. As Stephen Gill notes in the introduction, Boffin's transformation is more believable than the big reveal. I just can't believe that nice, not very bright people like the Boffins, especially Mrs. Boffin, would deceive Bella for a couple of years without giving themselves away.
I'm not sure how I feel about Bella herself. In a way, I like her combination of conceit and self-scolding. She feels real and modern. But she also has a twee side, as expressed with her Cupid-like father, Rokesmith once they're in love, and her namesake child. I actually like her kid sister, "irrepressible" Lavvy, better in that she's bluntly honest throughout, even if it makes her obnoxious.
It's a strange novel in that a schoolteacher is the cruelest villain, and his pupil Charley, Lizzie's brother, is the most heartless. Even more than Martin Chuzzlewit, this story is about selfishness and self-centredness. I'm not sure I can say I fully liked anyone except for "Jenny Wren," the quirky dolls' dressmaker, and yet I kept reading, wanting to see what happened next to this cast of characters. As in David Copperfield, there are Dickensian coincidences and reunions (Rokesmith lampshades this in one of the last chapters), but there's much more depth and realism than in that work from 15 years earlier.
The unintentionally funniest moment for a modern reader is when Dickens refers to L.S.D. a few times. He doesn't mean "Luxury, Sensuality, Dissoluteness," or lysergic acid diethylamide for that matter. He's using an abbreviation for "librae, solidi, denarii," meaning "pounds, shillings, pence." It was usually written as "£sd," but was sometimes written and pronounced as L.s.d.
This edition has a number of typos, if not so bad as Villette. Some of these seem to be typesetting errors, as when there's a white gap where part of a word should be. The most memorable typo is "lesss." Yes, sometimes less is more, even with Dickens.
And, hey, three B+s in a row! This won't last, but it's a pleasant surprise.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
1865
Lewis Carroll
Illustrated by John Tenniel
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
B+
This is one of those books that I can't remember first reading, which isn't true of all the children's books I own. It's just one of those stories that's always been in my life, and so many other lives. This is the first time I've read it in the midst of Dickens and all the other mid-1800s authors, so I was more aware of the way that eccentric and/or unpleasant people (and creatures) are presented. Compared to later children's books, it's striking that Alice doesn't really meet anyone sympathetic. Dorothy has her posse in Oz, but Alice wanders alone, continuously offending and being offended. In fact, the only way she gets out of her dream (nightmare) is to tell off a whole court (royal and judicial).
I can remember not getting all the puns as a child, like the one about the "soles and eels" of shoes. I like that the king/judge angrily makes the court laugh at his pun. Some of the wordplay is lost because I didn't grow up with Victorian poetry, although I've always enjoyed Carroll's version of "Father William."
I think the story by itself would only get a B, but the Tenniel drawings remain both beautiful and disturbing. I remember preferring the text of Through the Looking-Glass to Wonderland, so we'll see if that still holds true.
Lewis Carroll
Illustrated by John Tenniel
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
B+
This is one of those books that I can't remember first reading, which isn't true of all the children's books I own. It's just one of those stories that's always been in my life, and so many other lives. This is the first time I've read it in the midst of Dickens and all the other mid-1800s authors, so I was more aware of the way that eccentric and/or unpleasant people (and creatures) are presented. Compared to later children's books, it's striking that Alice doesn't really meet anyone sympathetic. Dorothy has her posse in Oz, but Alice wanders alone, continuously offending and being offended. In fact, the only way she gets out of her dream (nightmare) is to tell off a whole court (royal and judicial).
I can remember not getting all the puns as a child, like the one about the "soles and eels" of shoes. I like that the king/judge angrily makes the court laugh at his pun. Some of the wordplay is lost because I didn't grow up with Victorian poetry, although I've always enjoyed Carroll's version of "Father William."
I think the story by itself would only get a B, but the Tenniel drawings remain both beautiful and disturbing. I remember preferring the text of Through the Looking-Glass to Wonderland, so we'll see if that still holds true.
Journey to the Centre of the Earth
1864, 1973 Penguin Book edition
Jules Verne
Translated by Robert Baldick
Journey to the Centre of the Earth, originally published as Voyage au Centre de la Terre
No American price listed but $1.50 for Canada, bought used for $1.50 (American)
Roughed up paperback
B+
What a fun page-turner! I don't read Verne very often, but when I do, I'm always pleasantly surprised at how accessible his fiction is. In this case, part of the secret is the everyman narrator, who gets roped into (sometimes literally) going with his eccentric scientist uncle on the journey of the title. Nineteen-year-old Axel is understandably skeptical and yet young enough to be swept up in Professor Lidenbrock's enthusiasm at times. I do have to say that I enjoy the journey to the centre more than the actual arrival, and the escape via a volcano does feel as if Verne wrote the story into a corner (yes, again literally). I most enjoyed the visit to Iceland, so I'm much looking to Around the World in Eighty Days.
I must note that for a modern reader, the reference to Pluto as a hypothetical "star" is the most dated aspect. The future ex-planet wouldn't even be discovered till 1930.
And, yes, fewer than 150 years left of this blog.
Jules Verne
Translated by Robert Baldick
Journey to the Centre of the Earth, originally published as Voyage au Centre de la Terre
No American price listed but $1.50 for Canada, bought used for $1.50 (American)
Roughed up paperback
B+
What a fun page-turner! I don't read Verne very often, but when I do, I'm always pleasantly surprised at how accessible his fiction is. In this case, part of the secret is the everyman narrator, who gets roped into (sometimes literally) going with his eccentric scientist uncle on the journey of the title. Nineteen-year-old Axel is understandably skeptical and yet young enough to be swept up in Professor Lidenbrock's enthusiasm at times. I do have to say that I enjoy the journey to the centre more than the actual arrival, and the escape via a volcano does feel as if Verne wrote the story into a corner (yes, again literally). I most enjoyed the visit to Iceland, so I'm much looking to Around the World in Eighty Days.
I must note that for a modern reader, the reference to Pluto as a hypothetical "star" is the most dated aspect. The future ex-planet wouldn't even be discovered till 1930.
And, yes, fewer than 150 years left of this blog.
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