1929, from the same Rutgers University Press edition as Quicksand
Nella Larsen
Passing
B
Although this story is told in the third-person, the protagonist, Irene, does qualify as an unreliable narrator. She imagines that she knows everyone's motives, even when it's things like imagining her unflirtatious husband having an affair with her friend Clare. Irene apparently murders Clare by pushing her out a window, but she can't quite admit this to the reader or herself.
As the labels indicate, this short novel is notable in both African-American and LGBT literary history, although the latter is often missed by critics. Hypocritical Irene passes as white in restaurants and theaters, but she disapproves of the level that one-quarter white Clare passes at, with Clare having married a bigoted white man who's so ignorant of her background that he affectionately nicknames her "Nig." Clare and Irene run into each other after many years, and it starts a hunger in Clare for the company of blacks, particularly Irene. She's playing with fire (Larsen uses fire imagery often), but sensible, safe Irene seems worried beyond sense.
Even if you don't buy that Irene has an unspoken desire for Clare, there is something off about her reactions to Clare. In the quite good Introduction, Deborah E. McDowell points out the distance between what Irene says about everything, including her own motives, and what the reality is. She also underscores passages where Irene is drawn to Clare's beauty. McDowell argues that the entire novel is passing, pretending to be just a novel about pretending to be another race, while it's also a novel about pretending to be straight. When I read the novel in a college course, taught by an awesome lesbian professor, I wrote a paper arguing that Irene is afraid of all passion and desire, and not just sexual. She's also afraid of her husband's longing for Brazil.
In any case, Passing is an interesting read however you take it and, unlike with some of Woolf and Colette, the ambiguity enhances the story.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
"Look!"
1929
Colette, translated by Enid McLeod
"Look!"
B-
A very short, well, look at how children see the world differently from adults.
Colette, translated by Enid McLeod
"Look!"
B-
A very short, well, look at how children see the world differently from adults.
"The Savages," from "Sido"
1929
Colette, translated by Enid McLeod
"The Savages" from Sido
B
In this excerpt from another book about Colette's mother, the focus is on the two elder brothers. As always, I like these stories of her family in the country. Here, she contrasts her brothers in adolescence with them as middle-aged or elderly men. The younger brother tells her of a recent visit to their hometown and his surprise at all the changes after more than 40 years. I also like the tale of how the boys reacted to the oldest sister's wedding. Sido is more of a supporting character, although she of course has some funny moments, like her answer about who the groom is: "Oh, some wretched upstart or other."
Colette, translated by Enid McLeod
"The Savages" from Sido
B
In this excerpt from another book about Colette's mother, the focus is on the two elder brothers. As always, I like these stories of her family in the country. Here, she contrasts her brothers in adolescence with them as middle-aged or elderly men. The younger brother tells her of a recent visit to their hometown and his surprise at all the changes after more than 40 years. I also like the tale of how the boys reacted to the oldest sister's wedding. Sido is more of a supporting character, although she of course has some funny moments, like her answer about who the groom is: "Oh, some wretched upstart or other."
Orlando: A Biography
1928, 1960 Signet Classics edition
Virginia Woolf
Orlando: A Biography
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.95
Worn and waterlogged paperback
B-
This is a "biography" in the sense that there are elements of the life of Virginia's lover Vita Sackville-West, although Vita never changed her sex or lived in four different centuries. The novel is lighter and more humourous than usual for Woolf, although still a bit too "artistic" (obscure and meandering, like Break of Day by Colette) for me. I think that it generally improves as it goes along, and the description of the over-fecundity of Victorian England, where ivy grows everywhere and every woman has fifteen to eighteen children by age 30, is great.
The book is of course most notable in the history of LGBT fiction. (The Afterword by Elizabeth Bowen, understandably for that time period, doesn't dwell on this, beyond saying that the story was inspired by a "romantic friendship.") Published the same month that copies of The Well of Loneliness were seized (with an obscenity trial the next month), it dares to show a character who, with no guilt and few repercussions, changes from male to female and then alternately assumes either identity through clothing. Orlando also has affairs with both men and women throughout her long life. (She's 16 in 1588, 36 in 1928.) Perhaps because the novel is fantasy rather than reality, or perhaps because Woolf has more prestige, she and Orlando get away with it.
Virginia Woolf
Orlando: A Biography
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.95
Worn and waterlogged paperback
B-
This is a "biography" in the sense that there are elements of the life of Virginia's lover Vita Sackville-West, although Vita never changed her sex or lived in four different centuries. The novel is lighter and more humourous than usual for Woolf, although still a bit too "artistic" (obscure and meandering, like Break of Day by Colette) for me. I think that it generally improves as it goes along, and the description of the over-fecundity of Victorian England, where ivy grows everywhere and every woman has fifteen to eighteen children by age 30, is great.
The book is of course most notable in the history of LGBT fiction. (The Afterword by Elizabeth Bowen, understandably for that time period, doesn't dwell on this, beyond saying that the story was inspired by a "romantic friendship.") Published the same month that copies of The Well of Loneliness were seized (with an obscenity trial the next month), it dares to show a character who, with no guilt and few repercussions, changes from male to female and then alternately assumes either identity through clothing. Orlando also has affairs with both men and women throughout her long life. (She's 16 in 1588, 36 in 1928.) Perhaps because the novel is fantasy rather than reality, or perhaps because Woolf has more prestige, she and Orlando get away with it.
Saturday, April 28, 2012
The Giant Horse of Oz
1928, undated but probably 1941 Reilly & Lee edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Giant Horse of Oz
Original price $1.75, bought used for unknown
Surprisingly good condition hardcover, although the dust jacket is frayed
B
I'll deal with the simpler question of chronology first. The dust jacket says, "There are now thirty-four of the Delightful Stories of the Wonderful Land of Oz," but they omit Wizard, which I think was still owned by another publisher. The last book on the list is [The] Scalawagons of Oz, which came out in '41, while Lucky Bucky was published in '42. The end papers seem to be Scarecrow-era though, with a line of characters that includes Pon the Gardener's Boy but not Betsy.
As for the chronology within the book, I hope you're sitting down. We're three books past Lost King, but only two years have passed. And Kabumpo and Gnome King were five years apart. Let's call this 1828 O.Z., since in Cowardly Lion we learned that it was seven centuries since 1120 O.Z.
1822 O.Z. Kabumpo
1826 Lost King
1827 Gnome King
1828 Giant Horse
Now, within this story it seems that 25 years ago (1803 O.Z.), Orin was a "Princess of the North," daughter of King Gil of Gilkenny. Gil ruled some of the northern land, but Mombi was the supreme ruler of all the North, while the nameless King of the Munchkins had a son named Cheeriobed, who fell in love with Orin. Mombi later fell for Cheeriobed, who of course spurned her, so she swore revenge. She waited three years though to kidnap Orin, by which point Cheeriobed and Orin were happily married, with a two-year-old son named Philador. This was twenty years before our story begins, so Cheeriobed and Orin's engagement must've lasted a couple years.
1803 O.Z. Cheeriobed meets Orin, and they fall in love
1805 They get married, infuriating Mombi
1806 Philador born
1808 Mombi kidnaps Orin
1828 "Present-day"
Philador is now "ten," but that's because it turns out that people can stay the same age as long as they want. Trot is also ten now. This means that she was no more ten when she arrived. This is what I wrote on the subject for Lost Princess: "Baum tells us that Betsy is a year older than Dorothy, who's a year older than Trot. He hasn't yet explained that people have stopped aging in Oz, but it's starting to be implied. Button-Bright is younger than Ojo, and we know he's younger than Trot and Dorothy. In Road, he seemed to be about half Dorothy's age, say 4 or 5 to her 8 or 9. He was half a head shorter than Trot in Scarecrow. If I remember correctly, Thompson will make Trot 9, I think in Giant Horse, so when we get to that point, I'll try to approximate the other kids' ages." Trot probably was nine at most, since she, like Philador, "likes being ten, so I've been ten for ever so long." I don't think she could've been less than seven, if she was taller than Button-Bright.
To return to the Oz history, it sort of works for the North, with Mombi turning Orin into Tattypoo, the Good Witch of the North, who conquers Mombi and rules the Gillikins. (I refuse to misspell that word like Thompson does.) We still don't know what was up with the "King" of the Gillikins in Road, but that's not Thompson's problem. The chronology here is more of a problem for the Munchkins, although at least their land is now back where it belongs, in the East.
The story opens on the Ozure Isles, in the Lost Lake of Orizon, definitely one of my favorite Thompsonian kingdoms. The lake became lost after Mombi kidnapped Orin. And yet, there's an "old history book" that tells of Ozma and "the three little mortal maids that have come to live in the Emerald City." The book would have to be at least twenty years old, since the 1807 Ozurians have lost contact with the outside world. But there is no way that more than twenty years have passed since Betsy and Trot arrived. That would give us a chronology something like this:
1805 Mombi still rules the North
1806 Betsy arrives
1807 Trot arrives
1808 Ozure loses contact with outside world
1808 or later Tattypoo conquers Mombi
1809 or later Land of Oz is set
1828 "Present-Day"
Maybe the sea gulls brought the book from the mainland, but I'm still calling shenanigans. My guess, Betsy, Trot, and even Dorothy arrived during the "lost time." Of course, there's still the problem of the King of the Munchkins mentioned in Ozma and Road. I'll go into this more when we get to Ojo.
The backstories, confusing though they are, do raise this above the average Thompson story. There are as usual two parties trying to get to the Emerald City, this time Philador and the two friends he meets along the way, and Trot with the Scarecrow and an animated statue from Boston, this last character falling through the earth to Oz, where it's apparently day when it's night in Boston, lending support to the Oz = Australia theorists. The two friends of Philador are the title character from Up Town (not to be confused with Down Town in Hungry Tiger), one of Thompson's better animals, and Herby the Medicine Man, who prescribes pills like they're candy. So, yeah, this time we have drug abuse rather than innuendo, thanks, Plumly!
I'd remembered Neill as having more obviously 1920s illustrations than he does, but this is the book with "flapper Dorothy." On p. 36, she's shown with feathers in her now dark bob. (Neill, as you may've noticed by now, is pretty casual about hair color, sometimes changing it from light to dark and back for a character within one book, although he's usually consistent about Ozma, who's had black hair since the third book.)
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Giant Horse of Oz
Original price $1.75, bought used for unknown
Surprisingly good condition hardcover, although the dust jacket is frayed
B
I'll deal with the simpler question of chronology first. The dust jacket says, "There are now thirty-four of the Delightful Stories of the Wonderful Land of Oz," but they omit Wizard, which I think was still owned by another publisher. The last book on the list is [The] Scalawagons of Oz, which came out in '41, while Lucky Bucky was published in '42. The end papers seem to be Scarecrow-era though, with a line of characters that includes Pon the Gardener's Boy but not Betsy.
As for the chronology within the book, I hope you're sitting down. We're three books past Lost King, but only two years have passed. And Kabumpo and Gnome King were five years apart. Let's call this 1828 O.Z., since in Cowardly Lion we learned that it was seven centuries since 1120 O.Z.
1822 O.Z. Kabumpo
1826 Lost King
1827 Gnome King
1828 Giant Horse
Now, within this story it seems that 25 years ago (1803 O.Z.), Orin was a "Princess of the North," daughter of King Gil of Gilkenny. Gil ruled some of the northern land, but Mombi was the supreme ruler of all the North, while the nameless King of the Munchkins had a son named Cheeriobed, who fell in love with Orin. Mombi later fell for Cheeriobed, who of course spurned her, so she swore revenge. She waited three years though to kidnap Orin, by which point Cheeriobed and Orin were happily married, with a two-year-old son named Philador. This was twenty years before our story begins, so Cheeriobed and Orin's engagement must've lasted a couple years.
1803 O.Z. Cheeriobed meets Orin, and they fall in love
1805 They get married, infuriating Mombi
1806 Philador born
1808 Mombi kidnaps Orin
1828 "Present-day"
Philador is now "ten," but that's because it turns out that people can stay the same age as long as they want. Trot is also ten now. This means that she was no more ten when she arrived. This is what I wrote on the subject for Lost Princess: "Baum tells us that Betsy is a year older than Dorothy, who's a year older than Trot. He hasn't yet explained that people have stopped aging in Oz, but it's starting to be implied. Button-Bright is younger than Ojo, and we know he's younger than Trot and Dorothy. In Road, he seemed to be about half Dorothy's age, say 4 or 5 to her 8 or 9. He was half a head shorter than Trot in Scarecrow. If I remember correctly, Thompson will make Trot 9, I think in Giant Horse, so when we get to that point, I'll try to approximate the other kids' ages." Trot probably was nine at most, since she, like Philador, "likes being ten, so I've been ten for ever so long." I don't think she could've been less than seven, if she was taller than Button-Bright.
To return to the Oz history, it sort of works for the North, with Mombi turning Orin into Tattypoo, the Good Witch of the North, who conquers Mombi and rules the Gillikins. (I refuse to misspell that word like Thompson does.) We still don't know what was up with the "King" of the Gillikins in Road, but that's not Thompson's problem. The chronology here is more of a problem for the Munchkins, although at least their land is now back where it belongs, in the East.
The story opens on the Ozure Isles, in the Lost Lake of Orizon, definitely one of my favorite Thompsonian kingdoms. The lake became lost after Mombi kidnapped Orin. And yet, there's an "old history book" that tells of Ozma and "the three little mortal maids that have come to live in the Emerald City." The book would have to be at least twenty years old, since the 1807 Ozurians have lost contact with the outside world. But there is no way that more than twenty years have passed since Betsy and Trot arrived. That would give us a chronology something like this:
1805 Mombi still rules the North
1806 Betsy arrives
1807 Trot arrives
1808 Ozure loses contact with outside world
1808 or later Tattypoo conquers Mombi
1809 or later Land of Oz is set
1828 "Present-Day"
Maybe the sea gulls brought the book from the mainland, but I'm still calling shenanigans. My guess, Betsy, Trot, and even Dorothy arrived during the "lost time." Of course, there's still the problem of the King of the Munchkins mentioned in Ozma and Road. I'll go into this more when we get to Ojo.
The backstories, confusing though they are, do raise this above the average Thompson story. There are as usual two parties trying to get to the Emerald City, this time Philador and the two friends he meets along the way, and Trot with the Scarecrow and an animated statue from Boston, this last character falling through the earth to Oz, where it's apparently day when it's night in Boston, lending support to the Oz = Australia theorists. The two friends of Philador are the title character from Up Town (not to be confused with Down Town in Hungry Tiger), one of Thompson's better animals, and Herby the Medicine Man, who prescribes pills like they're candy. So, yeah, this time we have drug abuse rather than innuendo, thanks, Plumly!
I'd remembered Neill as having more obviously 1920s illustrations than he does, but this is the book with "flapper Dorothy." On p. 36, she's shown with feathers in her now dark bob. (Neill, as you may've noticed by now, is pretty casual about hair color, sometimes changing it from light to dark and back for a character within one book, although he's usually consistent about Ozma, who's had black hair since the third book.)
Friday, April 27, 2012
The House at Pooh Corner
1928, 1970 Dell Yearling edition
A. A. Milne
"Decorations by Ernest H. Shepard"
The House at Pooh Corner
Original price $3.25, bought used for unknown
Very worn paperback
B
I didn't own the Pooh books as a child, although I think I read at least one. I did watch the Disney movies though, and while I think they're good adaptations, there's something special about the surface simplicity of the original text and illustrations. I especially like how sometimes a sentence will be split into parts, with illustrations in between. The animals are recognizable types, such as Eeyore the pessimist, and it's fun to see them interact. (I probably most identify with Piglet, small and fretful but loyal to my best friends.) Christopher Robin, who in this book is beginning to go to school, is the "adult" here, kind and wise. It's a gentle, cuddly but still stressful world, the Hundred Acre Wood. Tigger is introduced in this book and Rabbit's plot to abandon and thus humble him seems cruel. Luckily, Tigger is able to thrive as his vibrant self, unlike Helga Crane in Passing.
A. A. Milne
"Decorations by Ernest H. Shepard"
The House at Pooh Corner
Original price $3.25, bought used for unknown
Very worn paperback
B
I didn't own the Pooh books as a child, although I think I read at least one. I did watch the Disney movies though, and while I think they're good adaptations, there's something special about the surface simplicity of the original text and illustrations. I especially like how sometimes a sentence will be split into parts, with illustrations in between. The animals are recognizable types, such as Eeyore the pessimist, and it's fun to see them interact. (I probably most identify with Piglet, small and fretful but loyal to my best friends.) Christopher Robin, who in this book is beginning to go to school, is the "adult" here, kind and wise. It's a gentle, cuddly but still stressful world, the Hundred Acre Wood. Tigger is introduced in this book and Rabbit's plot to abandon and thus humble him seems cruel. Luckily, Tigger is able to thrive as his vibrant self, unlike Helga Crane in Passing.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Quicksand
1928, 1994 Rutgers University Press edition, with Passing in the same volume
Nella Larsen
Quicksand
Original price unknown, bought used for $7.50
Worn paperback
B
Imagine if Carol Kennicott had been half Danish, half Negro. Further imagine that instead of marrying a doctor who believes in birth control she had wed a preacher who believes that large families are sent by God. And finally, imagine that she was less pretentious and more sensual. Then you'd have the tragedy of Helga Crane, who fits in nowhere and eventually sinks into the quicksand of the place she's least suited for. When I first read the book, I hoped that Helga would return to Denmark. She's treated as an exotic there but at least she's closer to happiness than at the Naxos (anagram for "Saxon") school or in the upper-class Negro set in Harlem, let alone her final destination. One of the bleakest final sentences in women's fiction is this one, after Helga's gone through a rough childbirth and wonders how she can escape her marriage without abandoning her children, as her father abandoned her: "And hardly had she left her bed and become able to walk again without pain, hardly had the children returned from the homes of the neighbors, when she began to have her fifth child."
While it's clear that Helga's life is sad and wasted, Larsen, herself the daughter of a Danish mother and a black father, is tougher on her than Lewis was on Carol. She's honest about it when Helga Crane (she often uses the full name) is vain, shallow, or inconsiderate. The narrator doesn't have to say anything, but Helga's own thoughts accuse her. I appreciate that Helga doesn't have to be a saint to be oppressed. Whether it's bigotry, assimilationism, or Christianity, Larsen opposes the forces that want to mute Helga's vibrancy.
I think the thing that's most remarkable about this book is how it describes color, not just the wide range of "blackness," but the hues of clothing and furnishings. The stages of Helga's life are shown in the colors she wears, with the bright hues of Denmark too loud for New York. Ironically, her husband is named Pleasant Green. And of course Helga must deal with being both black and white, and somehow neither.
Nella Larsen
Quicksand
Original price unknown, bought used for $7.50
Worn paperback
B
Imagine if Carol Kennicott had been half Danish, half Negro. Further imagine that instead of marrying a doctor who believes in birth control she had wed a preacher who believes that large families are sent by God. And finally, imagine that she was less pretentious and more sensual. Then you'd have the tragedy of Helga Crane, who fits in nowhere and eventually sinks into the quicksand of the place she's least suited for. When I first read the book, I hoped that Helga would return to Denmark. She's treated as an exotic there but at least she's closer to happiness than at the Naxos (anagram for "Saxon") school or in the upper-class Negro set in Harlem, let alone her final destination. One of the bleakest final sentences in women's fiction is this one, after Helga's gone through a rough childbirth and wonders how she can escape her marriage without abandoning her children, as her father abandoned her: "And hardly had she left her bed and become able to walk again without pain, hardly had the children returned from the homes of the neighbors, when she began to have her fifth child."
While it's clear that Helga's life is sad and wasted, Larsen, herself the daughter of a Danish mother and a black father, is tougher on her than Lewis was on Carol. She's honest about it when Helga Crane (she often uses the full name) is vain, shallow, or inconsiderate. The narrator doesn't have to say anything, but Helga's own thoughts accuse her. I appreciate that Helga doesn't have to be a saint to be oppressed. Whether it's bigotry, assimilationism, or Christianity, Larsen opposes the forces that want to mute Helga's vibrancy.
I think the thing that's most remarkable about this book is how it describes color, not just the wide range of "blackness," but the hues of clothing and furnishings. The stages of Helga's life are shown in the colors she wears, with the bright hues of Denmark too loud for New York. Ironically, her husband is named Pleasant Green. And of course Helga must deal with being both black and white, and somehow neither.
Excerpt from "Break of Day"
1928
Colette, translated by Enid McLeod
Excerpt from Break of Day
B-
At 55, Colette looks back at how her romances have caused her friends and pets to think less of her, but she hopes she's getting to the stage where she can enjoy men as just friends. (Spoiler, she'd marry her third husband in '35.) Some of this excerpt is too vague and meandering. I like the concrete details and the humor better. And as always, her mother, even in just a brief letter, is a scene-stealer.
Colette, translated by Enid McLeod
Excerpt from Break of Day
B-
At 55, Colette looks back at how her romances have caused her friends and pets to think less of her, but she hopes she's getting to the stage where she can enjoy men as just friends. (Spoiler, she'd marry her third husband in '35.) Some of this excerpt is too vague and meandering. I like the concrete details and the humor better. And as always, her mother, even in just a brief letter, is a scene-stealer.
The Gnome King of Oz
1927, 1985 Del Rey edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Gnome King of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B-
The title is interesting for a few reasons. To begin with, Thompson is using the correct spelling of "gnome," with the G, as she usually does, unlike Baum trying to simplify things for the kiddies. The king is "of" rather than "in" Oz, unlike Kabumpo and Grampa, even though they're Oz natives and Ruggedo is not. He again hopes to conquer Oz, so he might become the king of Oz, but he of course fails. The same number of years have passed in Oz as in the real world, so he's been on his island for the five years since Kabumpo. He escapes thanks to an earthquake and a boy named Peter.
Peter is an all-American lad who plays baseball and would rather live in Philadelphia than Oz, unlike Button-Bright, who also hails from that city. Neill draws Peter as more modern-looking than Button, or even than orphan Bob in Cowardly Lion. He's nine years old, so we'll see how much he ages when he returns a couple books later.
The story doesn't get to Peter and Ruggedo till Chapter Four. The first three chapters deal with the succession in Patch, which is the 705th small country within Oz. The current population of the Emerald City is 57,318 "gay Ozites" and "nearly a hundred celebrities." The 57,318 figure is identical to that in the sixth book, but Baum didn't count the celebrities separately. Still, a pretty stable population.
The new queen of Patch, which, like Ragbad and Kimbaloo, is another country with a very specific economy, appears to be Scraps. Thompson does better with and by her this time, although Peter is the real hero of the book. The two parties going to the Emerald City team up, as usual, although Ruggedo uses a magic cloak of invisibility and transport to go off on his own and try to conquer E.C. Peter uses his baseball pitching skills to vanquish the gnome, who's again dunked in the Fountain of Oblivion and granted his freedom. You'd think Ozma or somebody would know better by now, but this is one villain that the Royal Historians like to keep around. As for Peter, he becomes a prince, like Dorothy becoming a princess long ago.
Unlike my other 1927 books, there are no lesbians in this story, unless you count bob-haired, short-skirted Queen Jazzma of Tune Town admiring Scraps's doggerel and serenading her, "Maiden stay, you are so gay, I'd like to look at you all day." Actually, other than the recurring use of "gay," the main Plumly innuendo this time is "As for Peter, he was so excited over the adventure with Kuma's hand, he could think of nothing else."
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Gnome King of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B-
The title is interesting for a few reasons. To begin with, Thompson is using the correct spelling of "gnome," with the G, as she usually does, unlike Baum trying to simplify things for the kiddies. The king is "of" rather than "in" Oz, unlike Kabumpo and Grampa, even though they're Oz natives and Ruggedo is not. He again hopes to conquer Oz, so he might become the king of Oz, but he of course fails. The same number of years have passed in Oz as in the real world, so he's been on his island for the five years since Kabumpo. He escapes thanks to an earthquake and a boy named Peter.
Peter is an all-American lad who plays baseball and would rather live in Philadelphia than Oz, unlike Button-Bright, who also hails from that city. Neill draws Peter as more modern-looking than Button, or even than orphan Bob in Cowardly Lion. He's nine years old, so we'll see how much he ages when he returns a couple books later.
The story doesn't get to Peter and Ruggedo till Chapter Four. The first three chapters deal with the succession in Patch, which is the 705th small country within Oz. The current population of the Emerald City is 57,318 "gay Ozites" and "nearly a hundred celebrities." The 57,318 figure is identical to that in the sixth book, but Baum didn't count the celebrities separately. Still, a pretty stable population.
The new queen of Patch, which, like Ragbad and Kimbaloo, is another country with a very specific economy, appears to be Scraps. Thompson does better with and by her this time, although Peter is the real hero of the book. The two parties going to the Emerald City team up, as usual, although Ruggedo uses a magic cloak of invisibility and transport to go off on his own and try to conquer E.C. Peter uses his baseball pitching skills to vanquish the gnome, who's again dunked in the Fountain of Oblivion and granted his freedom. You'd think Ozma or somebody would know better by now, but this is one villain that the Royal Historians like to keep around. As for Peter, he becomes a prince, like Dorothy becoming a princess long ago.
Unlike my other 1927 books, there are no lesbians in this story, unless you count bob-haired, short-skirted Queen Jazzma of Tune Town admiring Scraps's doggerel and serenading her, "Maiden stay, you are so gay, I'd like to look at you all day." Actually, other than the recurring use of "gay," the main Plumly innuendo this time is "As for Peter, he was so excited over the adventure with Kuma's hand, he could think of nothing else."
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Unnatural Death
1927, 1987 Perennial Library edition
Dorothy L. Sayers
Unnatural Death
Original price $4.95, bought used for 25 cents
Worn paperback
B-
I think I've only read this once before. It's entertaining and reasonably plausible, but it didn't stick with me enough to reread it, or to search out other Peter Wimsey mysteries. And yes, Lord Peter is whimsical, particularly with his literary quotes.
Continuing 1927 as the first Official Year of Lesbians in Straight Literature, we have two probably sapphic couples in this novel. Two young women born in the 1850s decide to never marry and instead spend their lives together, which indeed happens. The brother of one marries the sister of the other, and that couple has a granddaughter Mary, who ends up killing both great-aunts. Mary also uses the crush, or schwärmerei (extreme enthusiasm), of an adoring younger woman, for her nefarious schemes. I've read but don't own The Well of Loneliness, and it is notable that it didn't come out till the following year. Clearly though, more sophisticated heterosexual writers were aware of, if not exactly tolerant of, lesbians.
Also notable is this sentence: "His jaw slackened, giving his long, narrow face a faintly foolish and hesitant look, reminiscent of the heroes of Mr. P. G. Wodehouse." The Jeeves stories had been appearing for a decade at that point, although I won't be reviewing them till we get to 1931, for reasons I'll explain at that time.
Dorothy L. Sayers
Unnatural Death
Original price $4.95, bought used for 25 cents
Worn paperback
B-
I think I've only read this once before. It's entertaining and reasonably plausible, but it didn't stick with me enough to reread it, or to search out other Peter Wimsey mysteries. And yes, Lord Peter is whimsical, particularly with his literary quotes.
Continuing 1927 as the first Official Year of Lesbians in Straight Literature, we have two probably sapphic couples in this novel. Two young women born in the 1850s decide to never marry and instead spend their lives together, which indeed happens. The brother of one marries the sister of the other, and that couple has a granddaughter Mary, who ends up killing both great-aunts. Mary also uses the crush, or schwärmerei (extreme enthusiasm), of an adoring younger woman, for her nefarious schemes. I've read but don't own The Well of Loneliness, and it is notable that it didn't come out till the following year. Clearly though, more sophisticated heterosexual writers were aware of, if not exactly tolerant of, lesbians.
Also notable is this sentence: "His jaw slackened, giving his long, narrow face a faintly foolish and hesitant look, reminiscent of the heroes of Mr. P. G. Wodehouse." The Jeeves stories had been appearing for a decade at that point, although I won't be reviewing them till we get to 1931, for reasons I'll explain at that time.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes
1927, 1963 Curtis Books edition
Anita Loos
But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes: The Illuminating Diary of a Professional Lady
"Intimately Illustrated by Ralph Barton"
Original price $1.25, bought used for unknown
Worn paperback
B
This is obviously a sequel, from its clause title to its cover (an exact copy of GPB, except with brown hair instead of yellow). Even the subtitle is the same as before, although it's not in diary format this time but just rambling chapters. The chronology in GPB was muddled-- the March dates are screwy and Griffith's Intolerance came out in 1916, more than seven years before '25-- but for the most part it's pretty clear what happened when. It's next to impossible to figure out where Dorothy's story fits in with Lorelei's, particularly the marriage to Lester. That aside, it's another bubbly story about misfortune, with a happily-ever ending with the wrong man. (At least Dorothy sort of loves Charlie, which is more than you can say about Lorelei and Henry.)
Again, a comparison and contrast to Mr. Lewis is in order. Both Gantry and BGMB mock "Sinclare," as Lorelei spells it. In this story, he's one of the intellectuals who drink beer in Jersey. In both novels, the hypocrisy of some pious men is pointed out, particularly how they like to seduce teenaged girls. (Dorothy gets seduced when and by whom she wants to be, but it's a close call when she's 16 and living with the sheriff.) One of the girls Gantry seduces is Lulu, and Dorothy meets a prostitute named Lulu. (It's unclear if this is the same Lulu that was Lorelei's maid in GBP.)
Both novels feature stereotypical homosexual characters, surprisingly more so in BGMB. In Gantry, the schoolgirl crushes are mentioned in passing, and the pansies are effeminate but not necessarily gay. In BGMB, Muriel Devanant definitely and Lorelei's sister-in-law probably are lesbians. And Dorothy's first husband, after developing a cocaine habit, gets a boyfriend. Lester's funeral has to be one of the queeniest in fiction. (Hence the LGBT label, even if it's not sympathetic or central, it does affect the plot.)
A brief trip to Europe also appears in each novel. Elmer travels in order to seem more sophisticated and to be able to say that the U.S. is superior, which is not unlike Lorelei and Dorothy's reasons for travel in GPB. Here, Dorothy goes to France with a different friend, and mostly so she can get a Paris divorce. Marriage definitely isn't sacred in either novel, but since Gantry is a prominent minister, he can't divorce his wife and instead hopes for her eventual death.
Dorothy obviously is a more likable character than Elmer, but I have issues with her always preferring men who treat her like dirt. (Charlie has to not only quit drinking but start insulting her and ordering her around in order for her to be "intreeged.") Yes, it's more pleasant than to read of Elmer's relationships, but a smart cookie like Dorothy should have more self-respect. Still, there's more of a story here than in the earlier Loos novel, so, even though the illustrations sometimes have a cartoonish garishness that Barton didn't show in GPB, I'd put this sequel on about a level with the original.
Anita Loos
But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes: The Illuminating Diary of a Professional Lady
"Intimately Illustrated by Ralph Barton"
Original price $1.25, bought used for unknown
Worn paperback
B
This is obviously a sequel, from its clause title to its cover (an exact copy of GPB, except with brown hair instead of yellow). Even the subtitle is the same as before, although it's not in diary format this time but just rambling chapters. The chronology in GPB was muddled-- the March dates are screwy and Griffith's Intolerance came out in 1916, more than seven years before '25-- but for the most part it's pretty clear what happened when. It's next to impossible to figure out where Dorothy's story fits in with Lorelei's, particularly the marriage to Lester. That aside, it's another bubbly story about misfortune, with a happily-ever ending with the wrong man. (At least Dorothy sort of loves Charlie, which is more than you can say about Lorelei and Henry.)
Again, a comparison and contrast to Mr. Lewis is in order. Both Gantry and BGMB mock "Sinclare," as Lorelei spells it. In this story, he's one of the intellectuals who drink beer in Jersey. In both novels, the hypocrisy of some pious men is pointed out, particularly how they like to seduce teenaged girls. (Dorothy gets seduced when and by whom she wants to be, but it's a close call when she's 16 and living with the sheriff.) One of the girls Gantry seduces is Lulu, and Dorothy meets a prostitute named Lulu. (It's unclear if this is the same Lulu that was Lorelei's maid in GBP.)
Both novels feature stereotypical homosexual characters, surprisingly more so in BGMB. In Gantry, the schoolgirl crushes are mentioned in passing, and the pansies are effeminate but not necessarily gay. In BGMB, Muriel Devanant definitely and Lorelei's sister-in-law probably are lesbians. And Dorothy's first husband, after developing a cocaine habit, gets a boyfriend. Lester's funeral has to be one of the queeniest in fiction. (Hence the LGBT label, even if it's not sympathetic or central, it does affect the plot.)
A brief trip to Europe also appears in each novel. Elmer travels in order to seem more sophisticated and to be able to say that the U.S. is superior, which is not unlike Lorelei and Dorothy's reasons for travel in GPB. Here, Dorothy goes to France with a different friend, and mostly so she can get a Paris divorce. Marriage definitely isn't sacred in either novel, but since Gantry is a prominent minister, he can't divorce his wife and instead hopes for her eventual death.
Dorothy obviously is a more likable character than Elmer, but I have issues with her always preferring men who treat her like dirt. (Charlie has to not only quit drinking but start insulting her and ordering her around in order for her to be "intreeged.") Yes, it's more pleasant than to read of Elmer's relationships, but a smart cookie like Dorothy should have more self-respect. Still, there's more of a story here than in the earlier Loos novel, so, even though the illustrations sometimes have a cartoonish garishness that Barton didn't show in GPB, I'd put this sequel on about a level with the original.
Elmer Gantry
1927, 1967 Signet edition
Sinclair Lewis
Elmer Gantry
Original price 95 cents, bought used for unknown
Paperback in terrible condition
B-
In this novel, Lewis presents one of the most unappealing protagonists in American fiction, so it's not exactly an enjoyable book. I would argue the fact that Gantry is so horrible, without any redeeming feature, makes the novel also less well-written. And it's not as if any of the other characters, except perhaps Frank Shallard, are drawn with any complexity. It's mostly Lewis telling us of the havoc that Gantry wreaks across several denominations. New Thought also comes in for satire, and even paganism isn't spared. At least Voltaire allowed a moment of hope, a message to "cultivate our garden." This is Lewis's bleakest book yet.
Babbitt again makes a guest shot, briefly, and his minister, Reverend John Jennison Drew, understandably gets more to do here than in the earlier novel. There's also a sympathetic Christian character who mocks Main Street. There's another non-Hispanic Juanita, after Mrs. Haydock in Main Street, this time the blonde that Gantry's involved with early on.
It feels strange to keep calling him Gantry, because more than with Babbitt and Arrowsmith, or with Dodsworth coming up, Lewis calls the main character by the first name. Usually, this would suggest an intimacy and/or fondness, but clearly Lewis would not want to identify too closely with Elmer. I do notice though that Carol, Martin, and Elmer all have black hair. Lewis's own hair was red, but perhaps that seemed less heroic.
Sinclair Lewis
Elmer Gantry
Original price 95 cents, bought used for unknown
Paperback in terrible condition
B-
In this novel, Lewis presents one of the most unappealing protagonists in American fiction, so it's not exactly an enjoyable book. I would argue the fact that Gantry is so horrible, without any redeeming feature, makes the novel also less well-written. And it's not as if any of the other characters, except perhaps Frank Shallard, are drawn with any complexity. It's mostly Lewis telling us of the havoc that Gantry wreaks across several denominations. New Thought also comes in for satire, and even paganism isn't spared. At least Voltaire allowed a moment of hope, a message to "cultivate our garden." This is Lewis's bleakest book yet.
Babbitt again makes a guest shot, briefly, and his minister, Reverend John Jennison Drew, understandably gets more to do here than in the earlier novel. There's also a sympathetic Christian character who mocks Main Street. There's another non-Hispanic Juanita, after Mrs. Haydock in Main Street, this time the blonde that Gantry's involved with early on.
It feels strange to keep calling him Gantry, because more than with Babbitt and Arrowsmith, or with Dodsworth coming up, Lewis calls the main character by the first name. Usually, this would suggest an intimacy and/or fondness, but clearly Lewis would not want to identify too closely with Elmer. I do notice though that Carol, Martin, and Elmer all have black hair. Lewis's own hair was red, but perhaps that seemed less heroic.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The Hungry Tiger of Oz
1926, 1985 Del Rey edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Hungry Tiger of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B-
Except for Ozma being kidnapped by an "airman" (balloon-like man from the sky), this story is mostly about how the title character, Betsy, and a man made out of vegetables help the young Prince of Rash regain his throne. (Chapter 19 is called "Reddy Restored to the Throne," so this isn't much of a spoiler if you read the List of Chapters first.) Rash is a small pink kingdom on the edge of Ev, and, yes, the name leads to lots of puns.
There are surprisingly few if any innuendos, but to make up for this, the Del Rey cover (by Michael Herring I've discovered via the Internet) looks like this:
An exciting ride for Betsy!
|
Ahem. Moving on, there are also a couple of egregious typos. I haven't commented on this I believe, but nearly every Oz book contains some typos, no matter what edition. Usually I ignore them, but this time we've got "shudddered" with three D's and a chapter called "The Vegetable Man of Ox."
Neill's work continues to be mostly unimpressive in the 1920s. He misses chances to offer the Rash palace, or much of Down Town, the place run by King Dad and Queen Fi Nance. With the latter, I kept thinking how this is three years before the Great Crash.
I do have to say that the androgyny of the illustrations of the child characters has reached a new height. For over 20 years, Neill has been drawing most of the boys and many of the girls with that same Prince-Valiant-ish hairdo, so Dorothy and the rest have transitioned well into the 1920s. But here Betsy, whom he used to show with long blonde hair, to help distinguish her from Dorothy's blonde bob, is also sporting a blonde bob. The problem is, Prince Reddy is as well. This leads to the picture on p. 191, where it looks like a tiny Betsy is standing on a giant Betsy's shoulder. In fact, Reddy should be wearing one of the big wigs. On p. 207, it looks like Betsy is at the coronation of her older sister, when it's Reddy in his crown. Not only their hair but their eyes, noses, and mouths are similar.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
Excerpt from "The Last of Chéri"
1926
Colette, translated by Roger Senhouse
Excerpt from The Last of Chéri
B-
This is one of the later chapters of the sequel to Chéri (1920), which I haven't read. In isolation, it tells of the reunion of two lovers after five years, he having lived through the Great War and a loveless marriage, she having happily surrendered to an old age of fat and wrinkles. He expects her to be unchanged, while she's much more realistic. As a dual character study, it's pretty good, but not enough to make me want to read more. (And from the Wikipedia description of the first novel and its 2009 movie version, I suspect that it's Claudine-level twisted sexuality.)
Colette, translated by Roger Senhouse
Excerpt from The Last of Chéri
B-
This is one of the later chapters of the sequel to Chéri (1920), which I haven't read. In isolation, it tells of the reunion of two lovers after five years, he having lived through the Great War and a loveless marriage, she having happily surrendered to an old age of fat and wrinkles. He expects her to be unchanged, while she's much more realistic. As a dual character study, it's pretty good, but not enough to make me want to read more. (And from the Wikipedia description of the first novel and its 2009 movie version, I suspect that it's Claudine-level twisted sexuality.)
The Lost King of Oz
1925, 1985 Del Rey edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Lost King of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B
This is Thompson's best so far. The main plot deals with pre-wizard history, as she tries to resolve a loose end that Baum left. That she doesn't do so completely satisfactorily is not entirely her fault, since, as we know, Baum contradicted himself. In DatW, Ozma had claimed that both Ozma's nameless grandfather and Ozma's father were prisoners of Mombi, and then "When I was born she transformed me into a boy." Baum had named Ozma's father Pastoria for the 1902 musical of The Wizard of Oz, which carried over to the book of Land, where Mombi confessed that the Wizard gave her the baby princess.
In Thompson's version, it's not only acknowledged that the Wizard helped Mombi, which Baum ignored after the Wizard's return to Oz, but the Wizard shows genuine remorse. Thompson does, however, have Ozma remember her father and their old hunting lodge, implying that Ozma was older than a baby. Thompson doesn't reconcile how Ozma is descended from both a long line of fairies and Pastoria, although she does mention the fairy queen Lurline. Perhaps Ozma's mother was queen, and Pastoria the consort and then regent. (I loathed Wicked, so I haven't read Son of a Witch, but I will admit that the theory, as described in Wikipedia, sounds plausible.) After all, Ozma says in DatW, that all rulers of Oz once it became a fairyland were named Oz if male, Ozma if female, and "Pastoria" doesn't fit that.
In any case, the lost king is found but he abdicates so he can continue his career as tailor. There's no long-range impact, other than an old mystery being cleared up. And we do get to see Mombi again, before she's wiped out by water. She's lost her magic because of Glinda, but she's still a mean old broad. I like how Neill draws her Gillikin ex-witch costume to look old-fashioned among the simpler fashions around her.
Mombi journeys to the Emerald City accompanied by a goose she was going to cook for dinner (she's had to become a cook) and Snip, a button-boy of Kimbaloo. The goose is actually the Prime Minister Pajuka. (I kept thinking of the song "Paducah" from 1943's The Gang's All Here.) She transformed him years ago and he demands to know what she did with the king, but she lost much of her memory when she lost her magic. The three travelers pass through Catty Corners, so of course Thompson uses the word "pussy." Then Snip finds Tora the Tired Tailor, who's also lost his memory, and no one yet realizes he's Pastoria.
The Dorothy subplot this time isn't as pointless as usual, for two reasons. When she accidentally wishes herself to Hollywood, California, she ages all the years she's been in Oz, and then this is reversed when she returns to Oz, which resolves a bit the question of aging in Oz. (Not entirely, since Thompson will add a proviso to this later.) More importantly, Dorothy discovers a moving-picture stunt dummy that she brings to life, and his robe has a clue that helps restore Pastoria.
She and the dummy, whom she's named Humpy (oh dear), run into Kabumpo, whom I still don't like, even if Thompson assures us he's kind under his gruffness. Kabumpo says that Kimbaloo is near Pumperdink, but that's not how it looks on the map. (Kimbaloo by the way has an economy built on buttons and bouquets, and they seem to be doing better than Ragbad in these post-utopian times.) The two parties who are going to the Emerald City team up.
Meanwhile Ozma and some of her friends have gone to Morrow, today. This is mainly so Ozma can remember her father, and be away when he returns. It also leads to what may well be the worst Scraps-bashing. Ozma hushes her, Trot calls her a goose, Sir Hokus commands, "Silence, wench!", Betsy "looks shocked at the Patch Work Girl's heartless speech," and I think there's even a moment when the Scarecrow gets annoyed with her, although I can't find it now.
Still, flaws and all, this is an improvement on the first four Thompsons, and luckily not the last time she'll delve into Ozian pre-history.
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Lost King of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B
This is Thompson's best so far. The main plot deals with pre-wizard history, as she tries to resolve a loose end that Baum left. That she doesn't do so completely satisfactorily is not entirely her fault, since, as we know, Baum contradicted himself. In DatW, Ozma had claimed that both Ozma's nameless grandfather and Ozma's father were prisoners of Mombi, and then "When I was born she transformed me into a boy." Baum had named Ozma's father Pastoria for the 1902 musical of The Wizard of Oz, which carried over to the book of Land, where Mombi confessed that the Wizard gave her the baby princess.
In Thompson's version, it's not only acknowledged that the Wizard helped Mombi, which Baum ignored after the Wizard's return to Oz, but the Wizard shows genuine remorse. Thompson does, however, have Ozma remember her father and their old hunting lodge, implying that Ozma was older than a baby. Thompson doesn't reconcile how Ozma is descended from both a long line of fairies and Pastoria, although she does mention the fairy queen Lurline. Perhaps Ozma's mother was queen, and Pastoria the consort and then regent. (I loathed Wicked, so I haven't read Son of a Witch, but I will admit that the theory, as described in Wikipedia, sounds plausible.) After all, Ozma says in DatW, that all rulers of Oz once it became a fairyland were named Oz if male, Ozma if female, and "Pastoria" doesn't fit that.
In any case, the lost king is found but he abdicates so he can continue his career as tailor. There's no long-range impact, other than an old mystery being cleared up. And we do get to see Mombi again, before she's wiped out by water. She's lost her magic because of Glinda, but she's still a mean old broad. I like how Neill draws her Gillikin ex-witch costume to look old-fashioned among the simpler fashions around her.
Mombi journeys to the Emerald City accompanied by a goose she was going to cook for dinner (she's had to become a cook) and Snip, a button-boy of Kimbaloo. The goose is actually the Prime Minister Pajuka. (I kept thinking of the song "Paducah" from 1943's The Gang's All Here.) She transformed him years ago and he demands to know what she did with the king, but she lost much of her memory when she lost her magic. The three travelers pass through Catty Corners, so of course Thompson uses the word "pussy." Then Snip finds Tora the Tired Tailor, who's also lost his memory, and no one yet realizes he's Pastoria.
The Dorothy subplot this time isn't as pointless as usual, for two reasons. When she accidentally wishes herself to Hollywood, California, she ages all the years she's been in Oz, and then this is reversed when she returns to Oz, which resolves a bit the question of aging in Oz. (Not entirely, since Thompson will add a proviso to this later.) More importantly, Dorothy discovers a moving-picture stunt dummy that she brings to life, and his robe has a clue that helps restore Pastoria.
She and the dummy, whom she's named Humpy (oh dear), run into Kabumpo, whom I still don't like, even if Thompson assures us he's kind under his gruffness. Kabumpo says that Kimbaloo is near Pumperdink, but that's not how it looks on the map. (Kimbaloo by the way has an economy built on buttons and bouquets, and they seem to be doing better than Ragbad in these post-utopian times.) The two parties who are going to the Emerald City team up.
Meanwhile Ozma and some of her friends have gone to Morrow, today. This is mainly so Ozma can remember her father, and be away when he returns. It also leads to what may well be the worst Scraps-bashing. Ozma hushes her, Trot calls her a goose, Sir Hokus commands, "Silence, wench!", Betsy "looks shocked at the Patch Work Girl's heartless speech," and I think there's even a moment when the Scarecrow gets annoyed with her, although I can't find it now.
Still, flaws and all, this is an improvement on the first four Thompsons, and luckily not the last time she'll delve into Ozian pre-history.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes
1925, 1963 Curtis Books edition
Anita Loos
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: The Illuminating Diary of a Professional Lady
"Intimately Illustrated by Ralph Barton"
Original price $1.25, bought used for unknown
Worn paperback
B
First of all, the book has almost no resemblance to the 1950s movie. (I don't know about the 1920s movie.) Some of the names and personalities, and the general going-to-Europe plot, are the same, but this diary includes much more of Lorelei's thoughts, and, yes, I'm using that term for lack of a better.
Intellectuals loved this book when it came out-- the back cover quotes Mencken, James Joyce, Santayana, and Wharton-- and it was generally popular. I've read it countless times, partly because it's so light and short. If I can't rate it higher, it's probably because the originality has worn off and I do get a bit tired of the constant lookism. Yes, it's funny when Dorothy tells Lady Beekman, "You have got to be the Queen of England to get away with a hat like that," but after awhile I'm sick of hearing how ugly most of the women other than Lorelei and Dorothy are, particularly Lorelei's future mother-in-law.
It's amusing to compare this to a Lewis novel. (I don't know, but I'm guessing that Lewis enjoyed the writing of his almost-namesake, if Mencken and Wharton did.) Unlike Carol Kennicott, Lorelei triumphs over her society, getting everything she wants and, as "Dr. Froyd" observes, having no inhibitions. Although Mencken told Loos, "Little girl, you're making fun of sex and that's never been done in the U.S.A. before," I'd argue that Lewis had made fun of sex in Babbitt, although certainly not to the extent that Loos does. Of course, all the Loos sex is implied, but we're meant to take "professional lady" as a double entendre.
One surprisingly similar aspect of both L-writers is that both Arrowsmith and Lorelei try to read Joseph Conrad as part of a doomed attempt at education. In her case, she always gives books to her maid to read and report back on. She almost makes a mistake and gives Lulu the wrong Conrad novel, The Nigger of the Narcissus. The N-word has also appeared in Lewis, as well as A Passage to India, and of course Mark Twain. It's outside the purpose of this blog to trace its usage in fiction, but, yes, I am aware of it, as I am of swear-words, although I'll only comment on it if I feel it's noteworthy. Suffice to say, I'm decades before the time of political correctness, and some 1920s (and earlier) authors use ethnic slurs with awareness and sensitivity, and some (hello, Caricature) don't.
I do want to comment on gay stereotypes though. In her introduction, Loos tells of a recent television interview, where she was asked what her new theme would be, if she was writing the story almost forty years later. She answered, "Gentlemen Prefer Gentlemen." Perhaps because of her long involvement in show biz, Loos seems pretty relaxed about homosexuality, and so she can joke about it as comfortably as she can about heterosexuality. This will come up more in Gentleman's 1927 sequel, but even here she makes jokes about men who "batik" (since gay men are artistic) and women who dress like men and love cars.
Loos's introduction also tells of how seriously her first novel was taken in Russia. There are some heavy issues in it, including attempted murder, but Loos's tone throughout is both light and sardonic, and always mischievous. She's more Dorothy than Lorelei-- the novel was inspired by an incident where hair color mattered-- but there's no question that Lorelei has her grudging admiration.
The illustrations add to the fun, sometimes literally showing what the text conveys and other times undercutting it. The second-most famous real-life person mentioned is the Prince of Wales, and Barton draws him, as well as somehow nude "Foley Bergere" dancers without actually showing any nudity. And he perfectly conveys Dorothy and Lorelei's personalities.
Anita Loos
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes: The Illuminating Diary of a Professional Lady
"Intimately Illustrated by Ralph Barton"
Original price $1.25, bought used for unknown
Worn paperback
B
First of all, the book has almost no resemblance to the 1950s movie. (I don't know about the 1920s movie.) Some of the names and personalities, and the general going-to-Europe plot, are the same, but this diary includes much more of Lorelei's thoughts, and, yes, I'm using that term for lack of a better.
Intellectuals loved this book when it came out-- the back cover quotes Mencken, James Joyce, Santayana, and Wharton-- and it was generally popular. I've read it countless times, partly because it's so light and short. If I can't rate it higher, it's probably because the originality has worn off and I do get a bit tired of the constant lookism. Yes, it's funny when Dorothy tells Lady Beekman, "You have got to be the Queen of England to get away with a hat like that," but after awhile I'm sick of hearing how ugly most of the women other than Lorelei and Dorothy are, particularly Lorelei's future mother-in-law.
It's amusing to compare this to a Lewis novel. (I don't know, but I'm guessing that Lewis enjoyed the writing of his almost-namesake, if Mencken and Wharton did.) Unlike Carol Kennicott, Lorelei triumphs over her society, getting everything she wants and, as "Dr. Froyd" observes, having no inhibitions. Although Mencken told Loos, "Little girl, you're making fun of sex and that's never been done in the U.S.A. before," I'd argue that Lewis had made fun of sex in Babbitt, although certainly not to the extent that Loos does. Of course, all the Loos sex is implied, but we're meant to take "professional lady" as a double entendre.
One surprisingly similar aspect of both L-writers is that both Arrowsmith and Lorelei try to read Joseph Conrad as part of a doomed attempt at education. In her case, she always gives books to her maid to read and report back on. She almost makes a mistake and gives Lulu the wrong Conrad novel, The Nigger of the Narcissus. The N-word has also appeared in Lewis, as well as A Passage to India, and of course Mark Twain. It's outside the purpose of this blog to trace its usage in fiction, but, yes, I am aware of it, as I am of swear-words, although I'll only comment on it if I feel it's noteworthy. Suffice to say, I'm decades before the time of political correctness, and some 1920s (and earlier) authors use ethnic slurs with awareness and sensitivity, and some (hello, Caricature) don't.
I do want to comment on gay stereotypes though. In her introduction, Loos tells of a recent television interview, where she was asked what her new theme would be, if she was writing the story almost forty years later. She answered, "Gentlemen Prefer Gentlemen." Perhaps because of her long involvement in show biz, Loos seems pretty relaxed about homosexuality, and so she can joke about it as comfortably as she can about heterosexuality. This will come up more in Gentleman's 1927 sequel, but even here she makes jokes about men who "batik" (since gay men are artistic) and women who dress like men and love cars.
Loos's introduction also tells of how seriously her first novel was taken in Russia. There are some heavy issues in it, including attempted murder, but Loos's tone throughout is both light and sardonic, and always mischievous. She's more Dorothy than Lorelei-- the novel was inspired by an incident where hair color mattered-- but there's no question that Lorelei has her grudging admiration.
The illustrations add to the fun, sometimes literally showing what the text conveys and other times undercutting it. The second-most famous real-life person mentioned is the Prince of Wales, and Barton draws him, as well as somehow nude "Foley Bergere" dancers without actually showing any nudity. And he perfectly conveys Dorothy and Lorelei's personalities.
Arrowsmith
1925, 1980 Signet Classic edition
Sinclair Lewis
Arrowsmith
Bought newish for $4.95
Very worn paperback
B
Like The Age of Innocence (1920), this won the Pulitzer Prize. I think it's a better book, although not Lewis's best. For once, as Mark Schorer says in the Afterword, Lewis presents a hero who isn't ground down by the society around him. The title character does what Babbitt failed to do, go off and live in the woods with a best friend (here Terry Wickett), in this case also working as a research scientist.
If I like this book less than the two earlier Lewis novels I've read, I think it's because I relate less to it. Also, the very fact that Martin Arrowsmith is a hero makes me more critical of him. Martin makes a flippant comment about wife-beating in the last chapter, and he is in his own way as domineering as Babbitt. Martin's second wife, Joyce, is a society woman and we don't spend much time with her, but we do get to know his first wife.
Leora Arrowsmith was a favorite of the early readers, but I'm not sure how I feel about her. Her death is movingly told, but her life is questionably done. On the one hand, she's obviously the perfect wife for Martin: unpretentious, patient, supportive, and bluntly yet kindly honest. On the other, she has no life of her own, as she recognizes. Lewis compares her to a cat and a child, to show how undemanding she is, which makes me wonder how much he knows about cats or children. She almost always goes along with Martin, who not only neglects her but nearly cheats on her a couple times. In fact, he's off flirting/bonding with Joyce while Leora dies alone. He's racked with guilt when he finds out, but he gets over it and goes on to marry Joyce. It's a bit manipulative of Lewis.
I do like the sections on science and research, or at least how absorbed Martin gets in them. (What a different novel it would be if he were a life-long bachelor, like Terry.) Lewis makes some further jabs at "Main Street" and Zenith, as well as towns in between in size and sophistication. I think the book may be smaller than its parts.
Incidentally, Babbitt makes a guest appearance in 1908, when he still has political ambitions. Main Street aside, Lewis likes to do crossovers between his books, which is part of his world-building.
Sinclair Lewis
Arrowsmith
Bought newish for $4.95
Very worn paperback
B
Like The Age of Innocence (1920), this won the Pulitzer Prize. I think it's a better book, although not Lewis's best. For once, as Mark Schorer says in the Afterword, Lewis presents a hero who isn't ground down by the society around him. The title character does what Babbitt failed to do, go off and live in the woods with a best friend (here Terry Wickett), in this case also working as a research scientist.
If I like this book less than the two earlier Lewis novels I've read, I think it's because I relate less to it. Also, the very fact that Martin Arrowsmith is a hero makes me more critical of him. Martin makes a flippant comment about wife-beating in the last chapter, and he is in his own way as domineering as Babbitt. Martin's second wife, Joyce, is a society woman and we don't spend much time with her, but we do get to know his first wife.
Leora Arrowsmith was a favorite of the early readers, but I'm not sure how I feel about her. Her death is movingly told, but her life is questionably done. On the one hand, she's obviously the perfect wife for Martin: unpretentious, patient, supportive, and bluntly yet kindly honest. On the other, she has no life of her own, as she recognizes. Lewis compares her to a cat and a child, to show how undemanding she is, which makes me wonder how much he knows about cats or children. She almost always goes along with Martin, who not only neglects her but nearly cheats on her a couple times. In fact, he's off flirting/bonding with Joyce while Leora dies alone. He's racked with guilt when he finds out, but he gets over it and goes on to marry Joyce. It's a bit manipulative of Lewis.
I do like the sections on science and research, or at least how absorbed Martin gets in them. (What a different novel it would be if he were a life-long bachelor, like Terry.) Lewis makes some further jabs at "Main Street" and Zenith, as well as towns in between in size and sophistication. I think the book may be smaller than its parts.
Incidentally, Babbitt makes a guest appearance in 1908, when he still has political ambitions. Main Street aside, Lewis likes to do crossovers between his books, which is part of his world-building.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Grampa in Oz
1924, 1985 Del Rey edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
Grampa in Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B-
This is similar to Kabumpo in that a young prince goes in search of a princess bride, who turns out to be the enchanted girl he's already befriended. Urtha shows up at an earlier point than Peg Amy, so she has more time to befriend her prince. The story also resembles Royal Book in that there's a parallel and pointless story for Dorothy. I do like the various lands that Grampa and company go to, even if the back cover of this edition gives away that they "fall, swim, explode, sail, and fly above and below Oz and Ev." Grampa isn't an actual grandfather, it's more of a courtesy title. Thompson dedicates the book to "Uncle Billy," who was briefly referenced in Cowardly Lion.
I'm taking off the "utopias" tag until further notice. It is in this book that it becomes clear that Thompson is not a Baumian socialist. There's a mention of money in Mudge, but that's one of the "bad kingdoms," and Ragbag is supposed to be a "good kingdom." In a utopia, a royal family (or any family) wouldn't be impoverished. At this point, the only thing that Thompson is definitely carrying over is talking animals, and that's not enough in itself. Is the farm in Charlotte's Web a utopia? I didn't think so.
Well, Thompson does continue the tradition of sticking the Winkies in the East, which comes up several times. She also apparently has forgotten The Magical Monarch of Mo, when she writes that Fumbo is the first king to go on living after losing his head. Like the Mo King, Fumbo gets a dough-head, although his is not eaten by birds.
There are fewer double entendres than usual, unless you count the Fire Islanders waving their arms gaily or the weather cock rising excitedly. Incidentally, Bill does not meet Billina, although there is a gold-brick-laying hen.
Nothing too notable about Neill this time, except that he has Urtha wear flowers but not look like she's made of flowers. The Del Rey cover makes Urtha look like walking shrubbery, which isn't exactly an improvement.
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
Grampa in Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Slightly worn paperback
B-
This is similar to Kabumpo in that a young prince goes in search of a princess bride, who turns out to be the enchanted girl he's already befriended. Urtha shows up at an earlier point than Peg Amy, so she has more time to befriend her prince. The story also resembles Royal Book in that there's a parallel and pointless story for Dorothy. I do like the various lands that Grampa and company go to, even if the back cover of this edition gives away that they "fall, swim, explode, sail, and fly above and below Oz and Ev." Grampa isn't an actual grandfather, it's more of a courtesy title. Thompson dedicates the book to "Uncle Billy," who was briefly referenced in Cowardly Lion.
I'm taking off the "utopias" tag until further notice. It is in this book that it becomes clear that Thompson is not a Baumian socialist. There's a mention of money in Mudge, but that's one of the "bad kingdoms," and Ragbag is supposed to be a "good kingdom." In a utopia, a royal family (or any family) wouldn't be impoverished. At this point, the only thing that Thompson is definitely carrying over is talking animals, and that's not enough in itself. Is the farm in Charlotte's Web a utopia? I didn't think so.
Well, Thompson does continue the tradition of sticking the Winkies in the East, which comes up several times. She also apparently has forgotten The Magical Monarch of Mo, when she writes that Fumbo is the first king to go on living after losing his head. Like the Mo King, Fumbo gets a dough-head, although his is not eaten by birds.
There are fewer double entendres than usual, unless you count the Fire Islanders waving their arms gaily or the weather cock rising excitedly. Incidentally, Bill does not meet Billina, although there is a gold-brick-laying hen.
Nothing too notable about Neill this time, except that he has Urtha wear flowers but not look like she's made of flowers. The Del Rey cover makes Urtha look like walking shrubbery, which isn't exactly an improvement.
A Passage to India
1924, 1984 Harcourt Brace Jovanovich edition
E. M. Forster
A Passage to India
Bought newish for $6.95
Worn paperback
B-
This is a good example of a book that I can see is well-written but which I don't enjoy enough to rate higher. Forster does a fine job of portraying the conflicts between Indians and Anglo-Indians, the latter being the Englishmen who've come out to India to rule, and the families of those Englishmen. Some of these conflicts are not just the obvious ones between those of different nationalities but also the ones among Indians and those among the English. As Dr. Aziz says though, the Indians hate the English more than they hate each other.
Aziz is my main problem with the novel. While Maurice's flaws enhance his heroism, Aziz is only heroic in his ambitions for India, as stated in his speech in the end. Too much of the novel has him unforgiving of not only Miss Quested (which is understandable, even if he expresses it in terms that are the opposite of his earlier chivalry), but of his friend Fielding. He shows little recognition of Fielding's loyalty to him and, on very little evidence, starts thinking the worst of him, i.e. that Fielding has had an affair with and/or married Miss Quested. Perhaps Forster is underscoring the point that with India at that point, true friendship between Indians and English people is impossible, but since we spend so much time with Aziz, particularly in the last section, I get really irritated with both Aziz and Forster.
That aside, I do like the complexities of social interaction, that there's so much more going on than trying to play bumble-puppy when a prig is gone. Here the prig, Miss Quested, is the true heroine, going against what would be her social group if she married Heaslop, and trying to make amends for her mistakes. If only the novel had focused more on her, but I understand why so much about what she does and what is done to her has to be heard second- or thirdhand.
And, no, I haven't seen the movie.
E. M. Forster
A Passage to India
Bought newish for $6.95
Worn paperback
B-
This is a good example of a book that I can see is well-written but which I don't enjoy enough to rate higher. Forster does a fine job of portraying the conflicts between Indians and Anglo-Indians, the latter being the Englishmen who've come out to India to rule, and the families of those Englishmen. Some of these conflicts are not just the obvious ones between those of different nationalities but also the ones among Indians and those among the English. As Dr. Aziz says though, the Indians hate the English more than they hate each other.
Aziz is my main problem with the novel. While Maurice's flaws enhance his heroism, Aziz is only heroic in his ambitions for India, as stated in his speech in the end. Too much of the novel has him unforgiving of not only Miss Quested (which is understandable, even if he expresses it in terms that are the opposite of his earlier chivalry), but of his friend Fielding. He shows little recognition of Fielding's loyalty to him and, on very little evidence, starts thinking the worst of him, i.e. that Fielding has had an affair with and/or married Miss Quested. Perhaps Forster is underscoring the point that with India at that point, true friendship between Indians and English people is impossible, but since we spend so much time with Aziz, particularly in the last section, I get really irritated with both Aziz and Forster.
That aside, I do like the complexities of social interaction, that there's so much more going on than trying to play bumble-puppy when a prig is gone. Here the prig, Miss Quested, is the true heroine, going against what would be her social group if she married Heaslop, and trying to make amends for her mistakes. If only the novel had focused more on her, but I understand why so much about what she does and what is done to her has to be heard second- or thirdhand.
And, no, I haven't seen the movie.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
The Cowardly Lion of Oz
1923, undated probably 1930s (see below) Reilly & Lee edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Cowardly Lion of Oz
Bought used for $15.00
Hardcover with worn corners, stains, and some coloring
C+
On the "This Book Belongs to" page is written, "Mary Louisa [illegible] from Theda, Dec. 25, 1933, May you be very Happy always." That right there is the most interesting thing in the book. Who was Theda? A friend? An aunt? A psychologist? How happy was little Mary Louisa in the midst of the Depression? How did her life turn out later? And what, a Christmas gift with no seasonal greetings? And why did Mary Louisa just color in the first illustration, and not bother with the rest? I could've got this then roughly 55-year-old edition for even less if she had.
As for the story itself, it's about an unfunny clown and an initially sad orphan boy who go to Oz and are immediately recruited into capturing the title character for a king who's vaguely an Arab stereotype (but much less than the Silvermen are Chinese-ish). Meanwhile, our lion chum, on the very bad advice of Scraps, has decided to eat a brave man in order to gain real courage. (Forget this humbug wizard brew that's served him for about 20 years.) This book is the first where Thompson seriously begins the character assassination of my treasured Patchwork Girl. Not only does she make Scraps advocate murder, but she shows not only newbie Sir Hokus but even the Scarecrow trying to repress the irrepressible girl's enthusiasm and doggerel.
My main enjoyment was looking for the best unintended double entendre. It was tough to narrow down, with lines about knobs and rods (door and fishing respectively), and certainly the one about young Bob feeling uncomfortable when Notta (the annoyingly named clown, Notta Bit More) puts on one of his "queer costumes," deserves dishonorable mention. But I'm going to go with Bob's question to the Cowardly Lion, "Are you a friend of Dorothy's?" You go, Girl!
Neill's work is average this time. He can't seem to draw bald people without full heads of hair. There are times when I feel sorry for him, as when he has to present Notta (disguised as a fish) driving a Flyaboutabus and hitting a pedestrian who's encased in a glass jar. I'm sure Thompson was abstemious, but I wouldn't blame Neill for wondering sometimes what she was smoking. It would explain not only the oddness of her books but the beyond-Baum rambling nature.
The book ends with Notta and Bob settling in Oz, and Notta going off to pointlessly consult Prof. Wogglebug about Bob's "future." Besides the fact that people don't really age in Oz, Bob doesn't even show up in later books, unless I've completely blanked him and Notta out.
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Cowardly Lion of Oz
Bought used for $15.00
Hardcover with worn corners, stains, and some coloring
C+
On the "This Book Belongs to" page is written, "Mary Louisa [illegible] from Theda, Dec. 25, 1933, May you be very Happy always." That right there is the most interesting thing in the book. Who was Theda? A friend? An aunt? A psychologist? How happy was little Mary Louisa in the midst of the Depression? How did her life turn out later? And what, a Christmas gift with no seasonal greetings? And why did Mary Louisa just color in the first illustration, and not bother with the rest? I could've got this then roughly 55-year-old edition for even less if she had.
As for the story itself, it's about an unfunny clown and an initially sad orphan boy who go to Oz and are immediately recruited into capturing the title character for a king who's vaguely an Arab stereotype (but much less than the Silvermen are Chinese-ish). Meanwhile, our lion chum, on the very bad advice of Scraps, has decided to eat a brave man in order to gain real courage. (Forget this humbug wizard brew that's served him for about 20 years.) This book is the first where Thompson seriously begins the character assassination of my treasured Patchwork Girl. Not only does she make Scraps advocate murder, but she shows not only newbie Sir Hokus but even the Scarecrow trying to repress the irrepressible girl's enthusiasm and doggerel.
My main enjoyment was looking for the best unintended double entendre. It was tough to narrow down, with lines about knobs and rods (door and fishing respectively), and certainly the one about young Bob feeling uncomfortable when Notta (the annoyingly named clown, Notta Bit More) puts on one of his "queer costumes," deserves dishonorable mention. But I'm going to go with Bob's question to the Cowardly Lion, "Are you a friend of Dorothy's?" You go, Girl!
Neill's work is average this time. He can't seem to draw bald people without full heads of hair. There are times when I feel sorry for him, as when he has to present Notta (disguised as a fish) driving a Flyaboutabus and hitting a pedestrian who's encased in a glass jar. I'm sure Thompson was abstemious, but I wouldn't blame Neill for wondering sometimes what she was smoking. It would explain not only the oddness of her books but the beyond-Baum rambling nature.
The book ends with Notta and Bob settling in Oz, and Notta going off to pointlessly consult Prof. Wogglebug about Bob's "future." Besides the fact that people don't really age in Oz, Bob doesn't even show up in later books, unless I've completely blanked him and Notta out.
The Enchanted April
1922, 1993 Pocket Books edition
Elizabeth Von Arnim (AKA Mary Annette Beauchamp)
The Enchanted April
Bought new for $5.99
Worn and torn paperback
B
I saw the movie first, about 20 years ago, and it remains one of my favorite escapist movies, so full of lush scenery-- the flowers and the sea. I'd probably give the movie a B+ because some things work better on screen, not that the flowers and the sea aren't in the novel. Also, I think that the Caroline/Briggs romance is handled better, since instead of being one of dozens of men who've fallen for Caroline, Briggs almost literally falls, into the sea, till she, who hates to be grabbed, grabs him and saves his life. In the movie, he's near-sighted, so he can't be overwhelmed by her beauty, which is a new and healthily humbling experience for her. The irony is that Polly Walker isn't the prettiest woman in the movie. She's striking but Miranda Richardson, as Rose Arbuthnot, is lovelier, and Josie Lawrence (whom I already adored from Whose Line Is It Anyway?), as Lotty Wilkins, has seldom looked better.
None of the characters look like they're described in the book-- Mellersh isn't handsome for instance-- but I do think that, Briggs aside, the personalities are captured. However, what we do lose is that this is a very introspective book. Indeed, the main reason that roughly a third of the book is set all on one day (April Fools' Day as it happens) is that we learn the initial thoughts of the four women, and some of the servants, at the castle. We can't see the magical changes if we don't know where they're starting from.
In the movie, this isn't too much of a problem, since the women can each be shown sitting or lying around with a voiceover. It is a problem with the two Englishmen who aren't Briggs. Both husbands come across worse in the movie. Mr. Wilkins seems to just value his wife because she's bringing him business prospects, while in the book that's how it begins but he does come to care for her as a person, for the first time since their courtship. The case of Mr. Arbuthnot is more worrisome, since I know intelligent people who've seen the movie and think that Frederick, in his guise as author Ferdinand Arundel, has been having an affair with Lady Caroline, rather than his just being one of the many infatuated, as the book makes clear. He does want to have an affair I suppose, but Caroline sees him as fat and middle-aged, i.e. safe. (Considering her worldliness, that's an odd conclusion to draw about a stout 40-year-old.)
The movie drops the "The," so that it's a more generalised April, while here the implication is that this is the one April that was enchanted. There's a feeling in the book that they're not coming back, while the movie implies that it becomes an annual visit. Also, the movie takes a throw-away line about a walking stick and turns it into Mrs. Fisher not only no longer needing her cane but it actually blooming, as all these English people have.
I haven't said much about Mrs. Fisher, but I think in both book and movie her character is very well done, a Victorian who glories in her Victorian-ness and regrets living in a lesser world, until she realises that all her old friends, including "Meredith, the novelist" (I can't think of him without thinking of Joan Plowright's delivery), are dead and will never do anything new. So she lets herself love living, youngish people.
I've probably made the novel sound much more serious than it is. As the Afterword by Terence de Vere White says, "The novel is the lightest of omelettes, in the making of which the least number possible of eggs get broken." It's not a particularly profound novel, even if it does address changes that the Great War has brought. The fact that Lady Caroline Dester's nickname is "Scrap" (not to be confused with Scraps the Patchwork Girl) shows that this is not a heavy, brooding novel. It's a fantasy, more of a fairytale for grown-ups than Once on a Time. If only you and a few strangers could scrape together some money, you could run off to a sunshine-and-flowers-covered Italian castle, and you'd find love, friendship, and laughter to warm you even back in your grey, rainy home.
It is a nice way to end my second shelf, which currently starts with Anna Karenina running away from her husband and going mad.
Elizabeth Von Arnim (AKA Mary Annette Beauchamp)
The Enchanted April
Bought new for $5.99
Worn and torn paperback
B
I saw the movie first, about 20 years ago, and it remains one of my favorite escapist movies, so full of lush scenery-- the flowers and the sea. I'd probably give the movie a B+ because some things work better on screen, not that the flowers and the sea aren't in the novel. Also, I think that the Caroline/Briggs romance is handled better, since instead of being one of dozens of men who've fallen for Caroline, Briggs almost literally falls, into the sea, till she, who hates to be grabbed, grabs him and saves his life. In the movie, he's near-sighted, so he can't be overwhelmed by her beauty, which is a new and healthily humbling experience for her. The irony is that Polly Walker isn't the prettiest woman in the movie. She's striking but Miranda Richardson, as Rose Arbuthnot, is lovelier, and Josie Lawrence (whom I already adored from Whose Line Is It Anyway?), as Lotty Wilkins, has seldom looked better.
None of the characters look like they're described in the book-- Mellersh isn't handsome for instance-- but I do think that, Briggs aside, the personalities are captured. However, what we do lose is that this is a very introspective book. Indeed, the main reason that roughly a third of the book is set all on one day (April Fools' Day as it happens) is that we learn the initial thoughts of the four women, and some of the servants, at the castle. We can't see the magical changes if we don't know where they're starting from.
In the movie, this isn't too much of a problem, since the women can each be shown sitting or lying around with a voiceover. It is a problem with the two Englishmen who aren't Briggs. Both husbands come across worse in the movie. Mr. Wilkins seems to just value his wife because she's bringing him business prospects, while in the book that's how it begins but he does come to care for her as a person, for the first time since their courtship. The case of Mr. Arbuthnot is more worrisome, since I know intelligent people who've seen the movie and think that Frederick, in his guise as author Ferdinand Arundel, has been having an affair with Lady Caroline, rather than his just being one of the many infatuated, as the book makes clear. He does want to have an affair I suppose, but Caroline sees him as fat and middle-aged, i.e. safe. (Considering her worldliness, that's an odd conclusion to draw about a stout 40-year-old.)
The movie drops the "The," so that it's a more generalised April, while here the implication is that this is the one April that was enchanted. There's a feeling in the book that they're not coming back, while the movie implies that it becomes an annual visit. Also, the movie takes a throw-away line about a walking stick and turns it into Mrs. Fisher not only no longer needing her cane but it actually blooming, as all these English people have.
I haven't said much about Mrs. Fisher, but I think in both book and movie her character is very well done, a Victorian who glories in her Victorian-ness and regrets living in a lesser world, until she realises that all her old friends, including "Meredith, the novelist" (I can't think of him without thinking of Joan Plowright's delivery), are dead and will never do anything new. So she lets herself love living, youngish people.
I've probably made the novel sound much more serious than it is. As the Afterword by Terence de Vere White says, "The novel is the lightest of omelettes, in the making of which the least number possible of eggs get broken." It's not a particularly profound novel, even if it does address changes that the Great War has brought. The fact that Lady Caroline Dester's nickname is "Scrap" (not to be confused with Scraps the Patchwork Girl) shows that this is not a heavy, brooding novel. It's a fantasy, more of a fairytale for grown-ups than Once on a Time. If only you and a few strangers could scrape together some money, you could run off to a sunshine-and-flowers-covered Italian castle, and you'd find love, friendship, and laughter to warm you even back in your grey, rainy home.
It is a nice way to end my second shelf, which currently starts with Anna Karenina running away from her husband and going mad.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Kabumpo in Oz
1922, 1985 Del Rey edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
Kabumpo in Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Paperback with binding starting to loosen
B-
The first thing to address about this book is spelling. Thompson spells "gnome" with a G, which is more traditional. (Baum worried children wouldn't know how to pronounce it.) She does, however, misspell the northern country as "Gilliken," even though it's obvious that it should end in "kin," like "Munchkin."
The story begins in the North, in the tiny kingdom of Pumperdink. The prince receives a message that he must marry the "proper princess" or Pumperdink will disappear. So he and the title character, an Elegant Elephant, set out for the Emerald City so Prince Pompadore (yes, that's how she spells that) can propose to Ozma. If Ozma refuses, Kabumpo plans to kidnap her, yes, charming. He's also very rude later to Peg Amy, a wooden doll that's come to life, but he does redeem himself somewhat as the story goes on.
The places are more interesting than last time, including a sea of soup and a town populated by numbers. One place has creatures called the Twigs, and so this is the oldest book I own where people are called "faggots." In fact, there's a "faggoty old fairy," a 1000-year-old woman who collects sticks. She lives in the Follensby Forest, which is odd to read so soon after Babbitt's friends mock his middle name of Follonsbee.
The Gnome King, who got the Waters of Oblivion treatment again at the end of Magic of Oz, has his memory and wickedness back. This time, he gets exiled to an island, the Runaway Country, which has a "long wiggly peninsula." Why can't I read Thompson without thinking inappropriate thoughts? (Wait till we get to the "queer dicks" in Ojo in Oz!)
The other villain, J. Glegg, gets a more brutal punishment, held down by fourteen people and forced to drink Triple Trick Tea until he explodes. His scheme to marry Princess Peg Amy once she's disenchanted fails, partly thanks to Trot ex machina. Peg gets a happy ending with Prince Pompa, even though they've only known each other for about 100 pages and neither of them seems old enough to get married. In the illustrations he does not look like he's celebrating his 18th birthday for the tenth time.
Nonetheless, Neill does some good work here, particularly with the Royal Family of Pumperdink, Kabumpo included. He does draw a cat-like creature as a rabbit, perhaps mixing up the Curious Cottabus with Wag the rabbit. Wag in turn should not be confused with Wiggs or Woggs of Once on a Time. As for the weird Del Rey cover art this time, it's not too bad, except that Pompa should have lost some of his hair instead of sporting the Prince Valiant look, and the restored Peg Amy definitely doesn't look old enough to get married. (Neill shows her only in doll form.)
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
Kabumpo in Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
Paperback with binding starting to loosen
B-
The first thing to address about this book is spelling. Thompson spells "gnome" with a G, which is more traditional. (Baum worried children wouldn't know how to pronounce it.) She does, however, misspell the northern country as "Gilliken," even though it's obvious that it should end in "kin," like "Munchkin."
The story begins in the North, in the tiny kingdom of Pumperdink. The prince receives a message that he must marry the "proper princess" or Pumperdink will disappear. So he and the title character, an Elegant Elephant, set out for the Emerald City so Prince Pompadore (yes, that's how she spells that) can propose to Ozma. If Ozma refuses, Kabumpo plans to kidnap her, yes, charming. He's also very rude later to Peg Amy, a wooden doll that's come to life, but he does redeem himself somewhat as the story goes on.
The places are more interesting than last time, including a sea of soup and a town populated by numbers. One place has creatures called the Twigs, and so this is the oldest book I own where people are called "faggots." In fact, there's a "faggoty old fairy," a 1000-year-old woman who collects sticks. She lives in the Follensby Forest, which is odd to read so soon after Babbitt's friends mock his middle name of Follonsbee.
The Gnome King, who got the Waters of Oblivion treatment again at the end of Magic of Oz, has his memory and wickedness back. This time, he gets exiled to an island, the Runaway Country, which has a "long wiggly peninsula." Why can't I read Thompson without thinking inappropriate thoughts? (Wait till we get to the "queer dicks" in Ojo in Oz!)
The other villain, J. Glegg, gets a more brutal punishment, held down by fourteen people and forced to drink Triple Trick Tea until he explodes. His scheme to marry Princess Peg Amy once she's disenchanted fails, partly thanks to Trot ex machina. Peg gets a happy ending with Prince Pompa, even though they've only known each other for about 100 pages and neither of them seems old enough to get married. In the illustrations he does not look like he's celebrating his 18th birthday for the tenth time.
Nonetheless, Neill does some good work here, particularly with the Royal Family of Pumperdink, Kabumpo included. He does draw a cat-like creature as a rabbit, perhaps mixing up the Curious Cottabus with Wag the rabbit. Wag in turn should not be confused with Wiggs or Woggs of Once on a Time. As for the weird Del Rey cover art this time, it's not too bad, except that Pompa should have lost some of his hair instead of sporting the Prince Valiant look, and the restored Peg Amy definitely doesn't look old enough to get married. (Neill shows her only in doll form.)
Once on a Time
1922, 1988 Penguin edition
A. A. Milne
Once on a Time
Original price $3.50, bought used for $2.50
Worn and torn paperback
B-
Milne wrote this book in 1917 actually, but since I've got the '22 as well as '88 copyright in this edition, I'm going to assume that the '22 version, in which he tried to explain whom the book is for, is different enough. Still, yes, I guess it is a "war book," even if it's the gentlest of war books, where no one actually dies or is hurt beyond a whisker. It's a fairytale for grown-ups that children may enjoy. There's nothing racy in it, but there are no clearly good or evil characters. Nonetheless, it's a very light, whimsical story, without much to it but a pleasant way to pass the time.
A. A. Milne
Once on a Time
Original price $3.50, bought used for $2.50
Worn and torn paperback
B-
Milne wrote this book in 1917 actually, but since I've got the '22 as well as '88 copyright in this edition, I'm going to assume that the '22 version, in which he tried to explain whom the book is for, is different enough. Still, yes, I guess it is a "war book," even if it's the gentlest of war books, where no one actually dies or is hurt beyond a whisker. It's a fairytale for grown-ups that children may enjoy. There's nothing racy in it, but there are no clearly good or evil characters. Nonetheless, it's a very light, whimsical story, without much to it but a pleasant way to pass the time.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Babbitt
1922, undated (see below) Harcourt, Brace and Company edition
Sinclair Lewis
Babbitt
Bought used for $7.50
Hardcover with worn corners
B+
I don't know if this is a first edition, but I think it's pre-1925, because it's by the "author of Main Street," with no mention of Lewis's Pulitzer-Prize-winning Arrowsmith. In any case, it's one of Lewis's books that was instantly popular, and indeed there was a silent-film version in '24. As Wikipedia notes, "Critics have posed reasons for the book's continuing accessibility to include Lewis's seeming success in identifying and portraying emotions, challenges, and concerns that remain relatively stable over time." Like Main Street, it should feel more dated than it does. But George Babbitt would fit in well with 1950s go-getters, and even modern-day successes who feel like there's something missing in their lives. It is, however, a very 1920s book, with Babbitt's 19-year-old son, Ted, rushing into marriage with the flapper next door, and with so much of the 20th-century, particularly advertizing, still new although already standardized.
Babbitt is a middle-aged realtor (not a real-estate man, he repeatedly emphasizes), and he seems to be living the American Dream. But he dreams of a "fairy child," a woman who will understand him as his loyal but unimaginative wife, Myra, does not. To the modern reader, it's clear that Babbitt's true love is his old friend Paul. It's not necessarily a romantic love but it certainly qualifies as bromantic. When Paul goes to jail for attempted murder of his shrewish wife, Zilla, Babbitt falls apart. He has an affair, drinks too much, and worst of all starts spouting "liberal" opinions. Only Myra's appendicitis can bring him back to the straight and narrow path. And yet, he realizes that his son has a chance to live the life he wants, and he agrees to support Ted's decisions, including dropping out of college to become a mechanic.
Babbitt isn't necessarily likable, since he's a lying, cheating bully. Yet Lewis makes you understand him. Like Carol Kennicott, his rebellion is unsuccessful, and in some ways more tragic because he doesn't even understand why he's rebelling. The narrators speak in the language of each protagonist, so Main Street is as wry yet naive as Carol, while the language of this novel-- all the pep and boosterism and slang-- is beautifully ugly.
Also, Lewis this time creates a world. It's one thing to put together a small town like Gopher Prairie, but this is his first book set in Zenith, Winnemac. Zenith is about 100 times the size of Gopher Prairie, and it's the city with zip. (I wonder if it's deliberate that both it and anti-wife Zilla start with Z.) Lewis shows us various neighborhoods and businesses in Zenith, some of them on the illegal side. (This may well be my earliest book to refer to cocaine, and I'm pretty sure it's the first to address the impact of Prohibition.) In Arrowsmith, Lewis will tell us, "The state of Winnemac is bounded by Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana, and like them it is half Eastern, half Midwestern."
There's also a sense that Lewis is foreshadowing future books, with topics hinted at here and addressed later: religion (Elmer Gantry), Americans abroad (Dodsworth), and even, briefly, courageous scientists (Arrowsmith). The Dodsworth family is mentioned, although I think a different branch than Sam and Fran.
Sinclair Lewis
Babbitt
Bought used for $7.50
Hardcover with worn corners
B+
I don't know if this is a first edition, but I think it's pre-1925, because it's by the "author of Main Street," with no mention of Lewis's Pulitzer-Prize-winning Arrowsmith. In any case, it's one of Lewis's books that was instantly popular, and indeed there was a silent-film version in '24. As Wikipedia notes, "Critics have posed reasons for the book's continuing accessibility to include Lewis's seeming success in identifying and portraying emotions, challenges, and concerns that remain relatively stable over time." Like Main Street, it should feel more dated than it does. But George Babbitt would fit in well with 1950s go-getters, and even modern-day successes who feel like there's something missing in their lives. It is, however, a very 1920s book, with Babbitt's 19-year-old son, Ted, rushing into marriage with the flapper next door, and with so much of the 20th-century, particularly advertizing, still new although already standardized.
Babbitt is a middle-aged realtor (not a real-estate man, he repeatedly emphasizes), and he seems to be living the American Dream. But he dreams of a "fairy child," a woman who will understand him as his loyal but unimaginative wife, Myra, does not. To the modern reader, it's clear that Babbitt's true love is his old friend Paul. It's not necessarily a romantic love but it certainly qualifies as bromantic. When Paul goes to jail for attempted murder of his shrewish wife, Zilla, Babbitt falls apart. He has an affair, drinks too much, and worst of all starts spouting "liberal" opinions. Only Myra's appendicitis can bring him back to the straight and narrow path. And yet, he realizes that his son has a chance to live the life he wants, and he agrees to support Ted's decisions, including dropping out of college to become a mechanic.
Babbitt isn't necessarily likable, since he's a lying, cheating bully. Yet Lewis makes you understand him. Like Carol Kennicott, his rebellion is unsuccessful, and in some ways more tragic because he doesn't even understand why he's rebelling. The narrators speak in the language of each protagonist, so Main Street is as wry yet naive as Carol, while the language of this novel-- all the pep and boosterism and slang-- is beautifully ugly.
Also, Lewis this time creates a world. It's one thing to put together a small town like Gopher Prairie, but this is his first book set in Zenith, Winnemac. Zenith is about 100 times the size of Gopher Prairie, and it's the city with zip. (I wonder if it's deliberate that both it and anti-wife Zilla start with Z.) Lewis shows us various neighborhoods and businesses in Zenith, some of them on the illegal side. (This may well be my earliest book to refer to cocaine, and I'm pretty sure it's the first to address the impact of Prohibition.) In Arrowsmith, Lewis will tell us, "The state of Winnemac is bounded by Michigan, Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana, and like them it is half Eastern, half Midwestern."
There's also a sense that Lewis is foreshadowing future books, with topics hinted at here and addressed later: religion (Elmer Gantry), Americans abroad (Dodsworth), and even, briefly, courageous scientists (Arrowsmith). The Dodsworth family is mentioned, although I think a different branch than Sam and Fran.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Excerpts from "My Mother's House"
1922
Colette, translated by Una Troubridge and Enid McLeod
Excerpts from My Mother's House
B+
This is what Colette does best, character portraits of her family and celebrations of nature. There are moments when the Claudine series achieves this, but there's too much twisted sexuality and misery. (And by twisted, I don't mean "bisexual," I mean cruel and dishonest.) The five excerpts are "Where Are the Children?", "Jealousy," "The Priest on the Wall," "My Mother and Illness," and "The Seamstress." We see her mother in particular, earthy and wise, vain and loving. Her father is most visible in "Jealousy," and we see how he isn't aware that he and his wife are getting older. Colette's three older siblings are glimpsed in varying degrees, although there's a sense, particularly in the first story, of them all, Colette included, hiding and living their lives as private individuals. Colette's daughter, also called Colette, appears in the last story. (She was born in 1935 and rarely saw her mother, although you'd never guess it from this tale.)
Like the "country" scenes of Claudine, the place where Colette grew up seems lush, wild, and beautiful, as in the passage on p. 45 that describes grass snakes, purple heather, blackberries, and all the other treasures that Colette and her brothers find. In the middle story, seven-year-old Colette hears the word "presbytery" and tries to guess what it means. She decides it's a yellow-and-black-striped snail. That sense of wonder, mystery, and playfulness still remained in Colette in this work written when she was almost 50.
Colette, translated by Una Troubridge and Enid McLeod
Excerpts from My Mother's House
B+
This is what Colette does best, character portraits of her family and celebrations of nature. There are moments when the Claudine series achieves this, but there's too much twisted sexuality and misery. (And by twisted, I don't mean "bisexual," I mean cruel and dishonest.) The five excerpts are "Where Are the Children?", "Jealousy," "The Priest on the Wall," "My Mother and Illness," and "The Seamstress." We see her mother in particular, earthy and wise, vain and loving. Her father is most visible in "Jealousy," and we see how he isn't aware that he and his wife are getting older. Colette's three older siblings are glimpsed in varying degrees, although there's a sense, particularly in the first story, of them all, Colette included, hiding and living their lives as private individuals. Colette's daughter, also called Colette, appears in the last story. (She was born in 1935 and rarely saw her mother, although you'd never guess it from this tale.)
Like the "country" scenes of Claudine, the place where Colette grew up seems lush, wild, and beautiful, as in the passage on p. 45 that describes grass snakes, purple heather, blackberries, and all the other treasures that Colette and her brothers find. In the middle story, seven-year-old Colette hears the word "presbytery" and tries to guess what it means. She decides it's a yellow-and-black-striped snail. That sense of wonder, mystery, and playfulness still remained in Colette in this work written when she was almost 50.
The Royal Book of Oz
1921, 1985 Del Rey edition
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Royal Book of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
OK condition paperback
C+
An inauspicious debut for Thompson, this, like so many of her books, substitutes franticness for action. So it's funny when Dorothy tells her friends later of her "exciting adventures," when these include a visit to a town where everyone is sleepy (Pokes) and a city where everyone is fixed in place while the furniture moves (Fix City). She and the Cowardly Lion have gone in search of the Scarecrow, and along the way they meet Sir Hokus of Pokes, who knew King Arthur but has been asleep for only 500 years, and the Comfortable Camel and the Doubtful Dromedary, who rank somewhere above Hank the Mule and below Jim the Cab-Horse on the list of interesting beasts. Sir Hokus will become one of Thompson's favorite characters. In his introduction, he's OK, about as interesting as an Edward Eager knight. (Shockingly, I don't own any Eager books, since I was always checking them out of the library, because that's what his characters would've done.)
The "title character" is a sort of Debrett's Peerage for Oz, an idea of the Wogglebug's, despite the Scarecrow's belief that Oz is "democratic." The Scarecrow, although once on the Emerald City throne for a few months, doesn't have an impressive background. So he returns to the farm where he was created, and we even get a glimpse of the Munchkin farmer who put him together. Then he slides down his "family tree," the pole that Dorothy found him on. He lands on the Silver Island, which is modeled on China, so cue those stereotypes.
There are moments when the Scarecrow is longing to leave Silver Island and return to Oz that I feel like he's protesting being in a Thompson book, longing for imperfect but lovable Baum. Not that the book is completely irredeemable. There is some nice wordplay and Thompson has not yet abandoned most of Baum's characters. Actually, in her premiere that was credited to Baum until this edition, I get the sense that she's trying too hard, as when she sticks "Oz" and "ozzy" in wherever possible, as in her term for Oz geography, "ozify." (Not to be confused with "ossify.")
Speaking of maps, while I dislike the Del Rey covers' substitution of some weird art for classic Neill (this time the quintuple-spectacled Wogglebug flourishes the Royal Book at a horrified Scarecrow), I do appreciate the maps they include. The east-west problem is resolved and everything is neatly labeled and plausibly placed. Credit for those goes to James E. Hoff and Dick Martin of the International Wizard of Oz Club. The club is still around after 55 years by the way.
Ruth Plumly Thompson
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Royal Book of Oz
Bought newish for $5.95
OK condition paperback
C+
An inauspicious debut for Thompson, this, like so many of her books, substitutes franticness for action. So it's funny when Dorothy tells her friends later of her "exciting adventures," when these include a visit to a town where everyone is sleepy (Pokes) and a city where everyone is fixed in place while the furniture moves (Fix City). She and the Cowardly Lion have gone in search of the Scarecrow, and along the way they meet Sir Hokus of Pokes, who knew King Arthur but has been asleep for only 500 years, and the Comfortable Camel and the Doubtful Dromedary, who rank somewhere above Hank the Mule and below Jim the Cab-Horse on the list of interesting beasts. Sir Hokus will become one of Thompson's favorite characters. In his introduction, he's OK, about as interesting as an Edward Eager knight. (Shockingly, I don't own any Eager books, since I was always checking them out of the library, because that's what his characters would've done.)
The "title character" is a sort of Debrett's Peerage for Oz, an idea of the Wogglebug's, despite the Scarecrow's belief that Oz is "democratic." The Scarecrow, although once on the Emerald City throne for a few months, doesn't have an impressive background. So he returns to the farm where he was created, and we even get a glimpse of the Munchkin farmer who put him together. Then he slides down his "family tree," the pole that Dorothy found him on. He lands on the Silver Island, which is modeled on China, so cue those stereotypes.
There are moments when the Scarecrow is longing to leave Silver Island and return to Oz that I feel like he's protesting being in a Thompson book, longing for imperfect but lovable Baum. Not that the book is completely irredeemable. There is some nice wordplay and Thompson has not yet abandoned most of Baum's characters. Actually, in her premiere that was credited to Baum until this edition, I get the sense that she's trying too hard, as when she sticks "Oz" and "ozzy" in wherever possible, as in her term for Oz geography, "ozify." (Not to be confused with "ossify.")
Speaking of maps, while I dislike the Del Rey covers' substitution of some weird art for classic Neill (this time the quintuple-spectacled Wogglebug flourishes the Royal Book at a horrified Scarecrow), I do appreciate the maps they include. The east-west problem is resolved and everything is neatly labeled and plausibly placed. Credit for those goes to James E. Hoff and Dick Martin of the International Wizard of Oz Club. The club is still around after 55 years by the way.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Rilla of Ingleside
1921, 1992 Bantam edition
L. M. Montgomery
Rilla of Ingleside
Bought new for $3.99
Worn paperback
B-
This book has too much of Susan the cook, and that you may tie to. There is more Anne than in Rainbow Valley, but she's still a background character. We're told what "mother" is going through but not really shown it. Anne has three sons, the youngest named Shirley (after her maiden name), so apparently it was still a boys' name to some degree, even if Miss Temple would be born seven years after this novel was published, and even if Miss Bronte's book was over seventy years old. All three sons go to war, although the middle one, Walter, is a sensitive poet who hates ugliness. He of course is the one who dies, but his sacrifice, and the sacrifice of all the Canadian "boys" is worth it for the possibility of a better world.
To put it mildly, this book is pro-war. War is a terrible thing, but if the Kaiser is running amok, then we must stop him. Walter writes a beautiful, inspirational poem called "The Piper," which all of Canada quotes, except for the author who doesn't share even a line of it. (And she gave us highlights of Anne's infamous baking-powder story.) The one "pacifist" in town is actually a pro-German, ugly, pretentious git. In the most implausible turn of events, he proposes marriage to sexagenarian Susan because she's hard-working, even though she's made clear to everyone that she loathes him.
So what's for me to like in this book? Well, I do enjoy the development of the title character. Amusingly, she's named Bertha Marilla Blythe (first name after Anne's mother, middle name after Anne's foster mother of course), and hates her nickname. If only everyone would call her by her beautiful first name! Uh, yeah. More dated than a boy named Shirley.
Anyway, Bertha goes from a shallow, vain flibbertigibbet to a compassionate, brave teen mother. It's OK, she's just raising a "war baby," until his soldier father returns home, a mere four-and-a-half years later. She also deals with grief and romance, in a believable fashion. She's in love with another soldier boy, Ken Ford, son of her mom's beloved Leslie. (Poor Diana has been almost forgotten, but she does get a mention or two, since her son is also off at war.)
The other character and thread I like is surprisingly Dog Monday and his loyal vigil at the train station, waiting for Jem to come home. Jem is hardly in this series so far-- a baby in House of Dreams, usually off studying in Rainbow Valley-- but it is touching when he comes home and finds his dog waiting for him. And I don't even like dogs! It's a corny subplot, but darn me if it doesn't work.
Oh, yeah, Susan says "darn" a lot, the wartime stress getting to her. She can be stubbornly old-fashioned, refusing to ride in the doctor's new automobile, although she considers going to the movies after the war. I'm genuinely puzzled why Rilla's nickname for the baby, Jims, is considered unChristian by Susan, while she's still calling the other James in the family "little Jem."
The book also gets points for what is now a history lesson but was then raw and recent, all the battles and negotiations of the war, as seen from the homefront. Plus, this "collector's edition" has a nice biography of Montgomery, and a handy map of Prince Edward Island.
L. M. Montgomery
Rilla of Ingleside
Bought new for $3.99
Worn paperback
B-
This book has too much of Susan the cook, and that you may tie to. There is more Anne than in Rainbow Valley, but she's still a background character. We're told what "mother" is going through but not really shown it. Anne has three sons, the youngest named Shirley (after her maiden name), so apparently it was still a boys' name to some degree, even if Miss Temple would be born seven years after this novel was published, and even if Miss Bronte's book was over seventy years old. All three sons go to war, although the middle one, Walter, is a sensitive poet who hates ugliness. He of course is the one who dies, but his sacrifice, and the sacrifice of all the Canadian "boys" is worth it for the possibility of a better world.
To put it mildly, this book is pro-war. War is a terrible thing, but if the Kaiser is running amok, then we must stop him. Walter writes a beautiful, inspirational poem called "The Piper," which all of Canada quotes, except for the author who doesn't share even a line of it. (And she gave us highlights of Anne's infamous baking-powder story.) The one "pacifist" in town is actually a pro-German, ugly, pretentious git. In the most implausible turn of events, he proposes marriage to sexagenarian Susan because she's hard-working, even though she's made clear to everyone that she loathes him.
So what's for me to like in this book? Well, I do enjoy the development of the title character. Amusingly, she's named Bertha Marilla Blythe (first name after Anne's mother, middle name after Anne's foster mother of course), and hates her nickname. If only everyone would call her by her beautiful first name! Uh, yeah. More dated than a boy named Shirley.
Anyway, Bertha goes from a shallow, vain flibbertigibbet to a compassionate, brave teen mother. It's OK, she's just raising a "war baby," until his soldier father returns home, a mere four-and-a-half years later. She also deals with grief and romance, in a believable fashion. She's in love with another soldier boy, Ken Ford, son of her mom's beloved Leslie. (Poor Diana has been almost forgotten, but she does get a mention or two, since her son is also off at war.)
The other character and thread I like is surprisingly Dog Monday and his loyal vigil at the train station, waiting for Jem to come home. Jem is hardly in this series so far-- a baby in House of Dreams, usually off studying in Rainbow Valley-- but it is touching when he comes home and finds his dog waiting for him. And I don't even like dogs! It's a corny subplot, but darn me if it doesn't work.
Oh, yeah, Susan says "darn" a lot, the wartime stress getting to her. She can be stubbornly old-fashioned, refusing to ride in the doctor's new automobile, although she considers going to the movies after the war. I'm genuinely puzzled why Rilla's nickname for the baby, Jims, is considered unChristian by Susan, while she's still calling the other James in the family "little Jem."
The book also gets points for what is now a history lesson but was then raw and recent, all the battles and negotiations of the war, as seen from the homefront. Plus, this "collector's edition" has a nice biography of Montgomery, and a handy map of Prince Edward Island.
Monday, April 9, 2012
The Age of Innocence
1920, 1962 Signet Classic edition
Edith Wharton
The Age of Innocence
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.50
Falling apart paperback, with many loose pages
B-
This won the Pulitzer prize, presumably for how it captures the New York society world of half a century earlier. The background, of the mores and the furnishings, the gossip and the fashions, is well done. But I can't say I'm particularly drawn in by the central romance between Newland and Ellen. Wharton has a tendency to describe people as being one way while they come across as another, and I don't think this is entirely a case of an unreliable narrator. Countess Ellen is supposed to be vibrant but she seems a little bland, other than a slightly "European" way of speaking. Newland's wife, May, is supposed to be shallow and innocent, but she comes across as much deeper and more sophisticated than either Newland and May, who are assumed (by the reader and by their peers) to be having a grand love affair, but it turns out that they don't get past a few kisses, some of them on the wrist. And then the ending, where Newland has a chance to see Ellen after about 25 years but passes it up, captures his essential passivity. Perhaps it's because it's an age of innocence, but there's much more talk about running off together than any actual movement towards that.
Oddest of all is the view of Newland and May's children, ca. 1900. They're supposed to be very modern, but they come across as more post-Great-War than turn-of-the-century. It's as if the closer Wharton gets to the contemporary world, the less she can make fine distinctions about modernity. Still, the book is readable, if not worth replacing. I could see checking it out from the library in another decade or two.
Speaking of eras, although I'm only a little over one-fifth into the 1900s, I've now done more posts on that century than on any other.
Edith Wharton
The Age of Innocence
Original price unknown, bought used for $1.50
Falling apart paperback, with many loose pages
B-
This won the Pulitzer prize, presumably for how it captures the New York society world of half a century earlier. The background, of the mores and the furnishings, the gossip and the fashions, is well done. But I can't say I'm particularly drawn in by the central romance between Newland and Ellen. Wharton has a tendency to describe people as being one way while they come across as another, and I don't think this is entirely a case of an unreliable narrator. Countess Ellen is supposed to be vibrant but she seems a little bland, other than a slightly "European" way of speaking. Newland's wife, May, is supposed to be shallow and innocent, but she comes across as much deeper and more sophisticated than either Newland and May, who are assumed (by the reader and by their peers) to be having a grand love affair, but it turns out that they don't get past a few kisses, some of them on the wrist. And then the ending, where Newland has a chance to see Ellen after about 25 years but passes it up, captures his essential passivity. Perhaps it's because it's an age of innocence, but there's much more talk about running off together than any actual movement towards that.
Oddest of all is the view of Newland and May's children, ca. 1900. They're supposed to be very modern, but they come across as more post-Great-War than turn-of-the-century. It's as if the closer Wharton gets to the contemporary world, the less she can make fine distinctions about modernity. Still, the book is readable, if not worth replacing. I could see checking it out from the library in another decade or two.
Speaking of eras, although I'm only a little over one-fifth into the 1900s, I've now done more posts on that century than on any other.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Main Street
1920, 1980 Signet Classic edition
Sinclair Lewis
Main Street
Bought newish for $4.50
Worn paperback
B+
Lewis's first successful novel should be more dated than it is. Oh, yes, there's the explanation of "hot dogs" as "frankfurters on buns," and it certainly is a product of its time, looking back on the then last decade or so, as automobiles, the Great War, and boosterism have their impact on small-town life. But the way that people gossip and use other forms of peer pressure hasn't changed. As Lewis notes, an office can be like Main Street, and this environment most reminds me of junior high.
Also, as Mark Schorer's afterword observes, Lewis defined the small-town stereotypes for ever after: the socialist "crank," the old-maid schoolteacher, the no-nonsense doctor, and so on. It is odd that Erik, the "town queer" (actually, one of two men who are mocked for being effeminate), is the potential lover for the main female character. Carol is always on the verge of rebellion but never quite makes it, even when she escapes to Washington, D.C. for a year. Like Erik, she's not quite talented, clever, or unique enough to make it. All she can do is voice her discontent. She knows that there are "other Carols" out there, but unfortunately not enough of them in one place to make a difference. There's poignancy to her vision of her daughter, born the year of the publication date. "Think what that baby will see and meddle with before she dies in the year 2000!" The nameless 80-year-old indeed would see advances and setbacks, including for feminism.
While Lewis was not exactly a feminist, he could write convincing and sometimes likable female characters. Carol is possibly his best, despite her blind spots and hypocrisies. He also, as Schorer notes, approves of Carol's husband, Will. When Will has an affair, it's understandable. Carol is oblivious to it, partly because she doesn't fully see him as a person. By the end of the novel, they've grown to understand each other a bit better. They'll always be two very different people, but their marriage is actually one of the better ones in the book.
And yet, I don't think Carol should've gone back to him, not when it means returning to Gopher Prairie. She builds a life for herself and her little son in Washington, and her return means trying to repress the best parts of herself.
There's definitely a pessimistic strain in Lewis. It would get worse, but even here, so many of the characters have tragedies heaped upon them. Miles the anarchist loses his wife and son, and then is almost run out of town. Fern Mullins, the vibrant young teacher, is the victim of malicious gossip. Erik, after dealing with a harsh father and an unsympathetic boss, as well as the town's ridicule and Carol's rejection, ironically escapes to the life of a silent actor, which we're meant to see as a waste-- Lewis is vicious about early movies-- but I think he comes closer to a happy life than any of the other victims of Gopher Prairie. The saddest though may be Guy Pollock, who's too passive to woo Carol and too worn down by the town to leave.
Vida Sherwin, the old-maid schoolteacher, ends up marrying effeminate Raymie, and boosts his confidence so much that he becomes a war hero. She's one of the more complicated characters, nursing a secret crush on Will, adoring and disparaging Carol, pushing through the few reforms the town has, and being bloodthirstily anti-German during the War.
It's a Minnesota town, with Germans and Scandinavians as the minorities, although the criticisms by the townspeople of farmers and servants are the words of bigots everywhere. The arguments against unions wouldn't change for decades, perhaps still haven't. In fact, other than the slang and the fashions, this could pass for the 1950s. My hometown in the 1980s was larger but had the same level of anti-intellectualism and homophobia. And that place is one of the towns mentioned in the book.
Sinclair Lewis
Main Street
Bought newish for $4.50
Worn paperback
B+
Lewis's first successful novel should be more dated than it is. Oh, yes, there's the explanation of "hot dogs" as "frankfurters on buns," and it certainly is a product of its time, looking back on the then last decade or so, as automobiles, the Great War, and boosterism have their impact on small-town life. But the way that people gossip and use other forms of peer pressure hasn't changed. As Lewis notes, an office can be like Main Street, and this environment most reminds me of junior high.
Also, as Mark Schorer's afterword observes, Lewis defined the small-town stereotypes for ever after: the socialist "crank," the old-maid schoolteacher, the no-nonsense doctor, and so on. It is odd that Erik, the "town queer" (actually, one of two men who are mocked for being effeminate), is the potential lover for the main female character. Carol is always on the verge of rebellion but never quite makes it, even when she escapes to Washington, D.C. for a year. Like Erik, she's not quite talented, clever, or unique enough to make it. All she can do is voice her discontent. She knows that there are "other Carols" out there, but unfortunately not enough of them in one place to make a difference. There's poignancy to her vision of her daughter, born the year of the publication date. "Think what that baby will see and meddle with before she dies in the year 2000!" The nameless 80-year-old indeed would see advances and setbacks, including for feminism.
While Lewis was not exactly a feminist, he could write convincing and sometimes likable female characters. Carol is possibly his best, despite her blind spots and hypocrisies. He also, as Schorer notes, approves of Carol's husband, Will. When Will has an affair, it's understandable. Carol is oblivious to it, partly because she doesn't fully see him as a person. By the end of the novel, they've grown to understand each other a bit better. They'll always be two very different people, but their marriage is actually one of the better ones in the book.
And yet, I don't think Carol should've gone back to him, not when it means returning to Gopher Prairie. She builds a life for herself and her little son in Washington, and her return means trying to repress the best parts of herself.
There's definitely a pessimistic strain in Lewis. It would get worse, but even here, so many of the characters have tragedies heaped upon them. Miles the anarchist loses his wife and son, and then is almost run out of town. Fern Mullins, the vibrant young teacher, is the victim of malicious gossip. Erik, after dealing with a harsh father and an unsympathetic boss, as well as the town's ridicule and Carol's rejection, ironically escapes to the life of a silent actor, which we're meant to see as a waste-- Lewis is vicious about early movies-- but I think he comes closer to a happy life than any of the other victims of Gopher Prairie. The saddest though may be Guy Pollock, who's too passive to woo Carol and too worn down by the town to leave.
Vida Sherwin, the old-maid schoolteacher, ends up marrying effeminate Raymie, and boosts his confidence so much that he becomes a war hero. She's one of the more complicated characters, nursing a secret crush on Will, adoring and disparaging Carol, pushing through the few reforms the town has, and being bloodthirstily anti-German during the War.
It's a Minnesota town, with Germans and Scandinavians as the minorities, although the criticisms by the townspeople of farmers and servants are the words of bigots everywhere. The arguments against unions wouldn't change for decades, perhaps still haven't. In fact, other than the slang and the fashions, this could pass for the 1950s. My hometown in the 1980s was larger but had the same level of anti-intellectualism and homophobia. And that place is one of the towns mentioned in the book.
Glinda of Oz
1920, undated probably 1970s Reilly & Lee edition
L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by John R. Neill
Glinda of Oz
Bought new for unknown, but probably $7.95 like other Baum Oz hardcovers
Hardcover with stains
B
This time the "To Our Readers" is by the publishers, and after a summary of the book it tells of how "in May, nineteen hundred nineteen, [Mr. Baum] went away to take his stories to the little child-souls who had lived here too long ago to read the Oz stories for themselves." They promise more stories by Baum, although that's not what would happen.
It's a good story to end with, if still flawed. It's nice to see both Ozma and Glinda get off their thrones and have adventures, like back in the old days. Ozma contradicts herself on what magic she specializes in, compared to when she broke Mrs. Yoop's enchantments in Tin Woodman, since there she brewed and here she acts like she just relies on her fairy wand. We meet another Yookoohoo, Reera the Red, who's always been one of my favorite minor characters. We're again reminded that only Glinda and the Wizard can work magic according to Ozma's laws. (Well, Ozma herself is an exception.) Reera transforms the Three Adepts into themselves after they've been turned into fish, but Reera doesn't get in trouble because she's done it on condition that no one tell who did it. As for the Three Adepts, they claim they didn't know about Ozma's laws, and they are allowed to work magic to rescue Ozma, Dorothy, and the Skeezers on the sunken island.
On their journey north, Dorothy thinks it would be a good idea if everyone could perform magic, "and satisfy all their needs without so much work and worry," but Ozma believes that then no one would be happy, because there'd be nothing to strive for. If J. K. Rowling has read any Oz books, she must've read this one. Ozma's argument would work coming from Dumbledore, and it's similar to something Hagrid says to Harry. Also, Glinda features giant talking spiders and magic tents.
Ironically, it's Dorothy who solves the mystery of Queen Coo-ee-oh's magic, by figuring out that the three magical acts that the queen performs each require a syllable of her name. There's also some technology involved, so we're a long way from the sylvan weaving of Zixi. This is possibly the oldest book I own that mentions submarines, but then I don't own much Verne. My favorite gizmo is the skeropythrope, partly because of the name and partly because of the illustration. It doesn't work but the sparks look awesome.
This is another book where Ozma gets involved in politics, but the Skeezers and the Flatheads are residents of Oz, and so her interference seems more justified than in Ozma. It's a bit odd that her diplomatic team is just herself and Dorothy, when the rescue team is huge, again, like in Lost Princess, too large. For instance, Button-Bright is included mostly so that he can get lost, but there's no pay-off like him finding the enchanted peach. I am glad that the Patchwork Girl is along, and that Baum points out that Scraps's silliness often makes people dismiss her clever ideas, since that's what happens when she makes the same suggestion twice and is dissed the first time. No wonder Neill draws her as making faces at the reader.
Uncle Henry is also one of the rescue party, out of his concern for his niece, which is sweet, even if they haven't interacted in the books since he settled in Oz. No mention of Aunt Em.
The rulers of the Skeezers and the Flatheads, Coo-Ee-Oh and the Su-dic (Supreme Dictator), are both vain and selfish, in different ways than the interregnum Princess Languidere of Ev. At the end, Ozma reinstalls the Three Adepts as rulers of the Flatheads (whom Glinda has made into normal-headed people, with brains inside), and appoints Lady Aurex as ruler of the Skeezers, with clever young Ervic as Prime Minister. Ervic is for his few chapters the unsung hero of the book, outsmarting Reera and saving the Adepts.
I'm glad that Glinda got a book named after her, but this story isn't about her in the way that Tin Woodman is about Nick Chopper. Glinda is brave and clever, but she doesn't really stand out among so many brave and/or clever people. She's not even the only, or the best, magician.
I do like the cover with its vaguely goddess-trinity arrangement of Glinda, Ozma, and Dorothy, although it's a "mother" and two maidens rather than Maiden, Mother, and Crone. The back cover shows Scraps and Jack cozying up, although there is an illustration inside of Scraps with her arms around the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman. Maybe now that she's a regular, she's gotten past the infatuation stage with the Scarecrow and is just affectionate with everyone.
I'm not happy with the way that Neill generally does Ozma's hair in this book. On the cover, it's the usual length, but mostly he gives her a weird compromise length, like a bad 1960s bouffant. Sometimes he draws Dorothy's like this, too, only blonde rather than brunette of course. Even stranger, he gives Coo-ee-oh ringlets that look vaguely like a British judge's wig, especially since he usually forgets to make them the black color mentioned in the text. He does well with Reera, particularly in the picture of her, Ervic, and her pets on p. 215. Not everyone can rock a chef's hat while lounging, but Reera does.
L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by John R. Neill
Glinda of Oz
Bought new for unknown, but probably $7.95 like other Baum Oz hardcovers
Hardcover with stains
B
This time the "To Our Readers" is by the publishers, and after a summary of the book it tells of how "in May, nineteen hundred nineteen, [Mr. Baum] went away to take his stories to the little child-souls who had lived here too long ago to read the Oz stories for themselves." They promise more stories by Baum, although that's not what would happen.
It's a good story to end with, if still flawed. It's nice to see both Ozma and Glinda get off their thrones and have adventures, like back in the old days. Ozma contradicts herself on what magic she specializes in, compared to when she broke Mrs. Yoop's enchantments in Tin Woodman, since there she brewed and here she acts like she just relies on her fairy wand. We meet another Yookoohoo, Reera the Red, who's always been one of my favorite minor characters. We're again reminded that only Glinda and the Wizard can work magic according to Ozma's laws. (Well, Ozma herself is an exception.) Reera transforms the Three Adepts into themselves after they've been turned into fish, but Reera doesn't get in trouble because she's done it on condition that no one tell who did it. As for the Three Adepts, they claim they didn't know about Ozma's laws, and they are allowed to work magic to rescue Ozma, Dorothy, and the Skeezers on the sunken island.
On their journey north, Dorothy thinks it would be a good idea if everyone could perform magic, "and satisfy all their needs without so much work and worry," but Ozma believes that then no one would be happy, because there'd be nothing to strive for. If J. K. Rowling has read any Oz books, she must've read this one. Ozma's argument would work coming from Dumbledore, and it's similar to something Hagrid says to Harry. Also, Glinda features giant talking spiders and magic tents.
Ironically, it's Dorothy who solves the mystery of Queen Coo-ee-oh's magic, by figuring out that the three magical acts that the queen performs each require a syllable of her name. There's also some technology involved, so we're a long way from the sylvan weaving of Zixi. This is possibly the oldest book I own that mentions submarines, but then I don't own much Verne. My favorite gizmo is the skeropythrope, partly because of the name and partly because of the illustration. It doesn't work but the sparks look awesome.
This is another book where Ozma gets involved in politics, but the Skeezers and the Flatheads are residents of Oz, and so her interference seems more justified than in Ozma. It's a bit odd that her diplomatic team is just herself and Dorothy, when the rescue team is huge, again, like in Lost Princess, too large. For instance, Button-Bright is included mostly so that he can get lost, but there's no pay-off like him finding the enchanted peach. I am glad that the Patchwork Girl is along, and that Baum points out that Scraps's silliness often makes people dismiss her clever ideas, since that's what happens when she makes the same suggestion twice and is dissed the first time. No wonder Neill draws her as making faces at the reader.
Uncle Henry is also one of the rescue party, out of his concern for his niece, which is sweet, even if they haven't interacted in the books since he settled in Oz. No mention of Aunt Em.
The rulers of the Skeezers and the Flatheads, Coo-Ee-Oh and the Su-dic (Supreme Dictator), are both vain and selfish, in different ways than the interregnum Princess Languidere of Ev. At the end, Ozma reinstalls the Three Adepts as rulers of the Flatheads (whom Glinda has made into normal-headed people, with brains inside), and appoints Lady Aurex as ruler of the Skeezers, with clever young Ervic as Prime Minister. Ervic is for his few chapters the unsung hero of the book, outsmarting Reera and saving the Adepts.
I'm glad that Glinda got a book named after her, but this story isn't about her in the way that Tin Woodman is about Nick Chopper. Glinda is brave and clever, but she doesn't really stand out among so many brave and/or clever people. She's not even the only, or the best, magician.
I do like the cover with its vaguely goddess-trinity arrangement of Glinda, Ozma, and Dorothy, although it's a "mother" and two maidens rather than Maiden, Mother, and Crone. The back cover shows Scraps and Jack cozying up, although there is an illustration inside of Scraps with her arms around the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman. Maybe now that she's a regular, she's gotten past the infatuation stage with the Scarecrow and is just affectionate with everyone.
I'm not happy with the way that Neill generally does Ozma's hair in this book. On the cover, it's the usual length, but mostly he gives her a weird compromise length, like a bad 1960s bouffant. Sometimes he draws Dorothy's like this, too, only blonde rather than brunette of course. Even stranger, he gives Coo-ee-oh ringlets that look vaguely like a British judge's wig, especially since he usually forgets to make them the black color mentioned in the text. He does well with Reera, particularly in the picture of her, Ervic, and her pets on p. 215. Not everyone can rock a chef's hat while lounging, but Reera does.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Rainbow Valley
1919, 1987 Bantam edition
L. M. Montgomery
Rainbow Valley
Bought used for $1.98
Worn paperback
C+
Why is this my least favorite "Anne" book so far? To begin with, Anne is a minor character. The focus is on the Meredith family, four children and their widowed minister father. The Meredith kids befriend Anne's six, but other than Walter, most of the little Blythes aren't in the book much.
The child we get the most of is Mary Vance, who after about seventy-five pages I couldn't think of as anything other than "[expletive deleted] Mary Vance." It's all very well to have characters who are annoying to the other characters. Austen was a mistress of this, so it's awesome to read of, for instance, Miss Bates nattering on, even if you probably wouldn't want to hang out with her in real life. Montgomery herself manages this sometimes, as with the Pye sisters. But here Montgomery offers a character that even the friends are annoyed by, although they also love her for reasons they can't understand. (Hint, authorial intent.)
The third reason I'm not crazy about this book is that Montgomery has some very heavy-handed "foreshadowing" about the Great War, as in only two people realizing what a danger the Kaiser is, and in Walter's speeches about the Piper, who will call him and the other boys away, while the girls wait and cry at home.
I will admit I do like the plot of the two West sisters who've made a promise to never marry and abandon the other, but now both find chances to marry men they love. Rosemary West has a possible future with Rev. Meredith, and so of course she has to prove she'll be a good stepmother. There are moments when Montgomery teases the reader that one or more of the Merediths is going over to see Mrs. Blythe, but, nope, Anne isn't home, so they go talk to Rosemary. If this weren't supposed to be an "Anne of Green Gables" book but part of an unrelated series, this wouldn't bother me so much.
It was meant to be the fifth entry, but ended up as #7. The next "Anne" book, which does center on Anne's youngest daughter, was meant to be last, but it's now #8. And it will fulfill the foreshadowing of this one.
L. M. Montgomery
Rainbow Valley
Bought used for $1.98
Worn paperback
C+
Why is this my least favorite "Anne" book so far? To begin with, Anne is a minor character. The focus is on the Meredith family, four children and their widowed minister father. The Meredith kids befriend Anne's six, but other than Walter, most of the little Blythes aren't in the book much.
The child we get the most of is Mary Vance, who after about seventy-five pages I couldn't think of as anything other than "[expletive deleted] Mary Vance." It's all very well to have characters who are annoying to the other characters. Austen was a mistress of this, so it's awesome to read of, for instance, Miss Bates nattering on, even if you probably wouldn't want to hang out with her in real life. Montgomery herself manages this sometimes, as with the Pye sisters. But here Montgomery offers a character that even the friends are annoyed by, although they also love her for reasons they can't understand. (Hint, authorial intent.)
The third reason I'm not crazy about this book is that Montgomery has some very heavy-handed "foreshadowing" about the Great War, as in only two people realizing what a danger the Kaiser is, and in Walter's speeches about the Piper, who will call him and the other boys away, while the girls wait and cry at home.
I will admit I do like the plot of the two West sisters who've made a promise to never marry and abandon the other, but now both find chances to marry men they love. Rosemary West has a possible future with Rev. Meredith, and so of course she has to prove she'll be a good stepmother. There are moments when Montgomery teases the reader that one or more of the Merediths is going over to see Mrs. Blythe, but, nope, Anne isn't home, so they go talk to Rosemary. If this weren't supposed to be an "Anne of Green Gables" book but part of an unrelated series, this wouldn't bother me so much.
It was meant to be the fifth entry, but ended up as #7. The next "Anne" book, which does center on Anne's youngest daughter, was meant to be last, but it's now #8. And it will fulfill the foreshadowing of this one.
The Magic of Oz
1919, undated probably 1970s Rand McNally edition
L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Magic of Oz
Bought new for $1.95
Paperback with stains and broken spine
B+
This is another book with Ozma's birthday, but much stronger than Road. This time the focus is on the gifts, particularly what Dorothy & the Wizard and Trot, Cap'n Bill, & the Glass Cat have to go through to get their gifts. Meanwhile, the Nome King is again hoping to conquer Oz. The three main plots are good on their own and interweave well.
The last plot I mentioned is the subject of the first three chapters. Bad boy Kiki Aru discovers a secret word of transformation, "Pyrzqxgl," which would also give him the winning score in Scrabble. As a child, I loved how coy Baum is about warning readers to not pronounce the word correctly, although I'm sure every child tried. Kiki makes himself into a bird and flies from his home on Mount Munch (the mountain that Nimmie lives near) to Hiland, Loland, Noland, Ix, and Ev, although we barely get glimpses of these places, unlike the visit to Mo in Scarecrow. (He has no trouble speaking as a bird, despite Baum sometimes claiming that animals can't talk outside Oz.) He encounters the Nome King, who encourages him to use the magic word for evil purposes. Kiki is inexperienced, but he knows enough not to fully trust Ruggedo.
Dorothy and the Wizard, with the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger as transportation and protection, journey to the Gillikin Forest in order to get monkeys who'll agree to be shrunk and pop out of a cake. They arrive just as the Nome King and Kiki, disguised as Li-Mon-Eags (lion-monkey-eagle hybrids) try to get the wild animals on their side. There's a slight parody of the Russian Revolution in the Nome King's speech to get the beasts to revolt, and earlier he remarks to Kiki that it's the fashion to make kings abdicate.
There are also references to the just finished Great War, as in Baum's dedication (which usually is to his family members), this time to "the Children of our Soldiers, the Americans and their Allies." And Neill gives the giant soldiers, which Kiki creates out of monkeys, the headgear of doughboys and other servicemen, rather than the plumes described in the text. For all the mockery of war and officers, Baum does seem to respect the bravery of the foot soldier. In fact, he shows female soldiers as especially gallant, Jinjur's Army of Revolt aside. Even in Land, Glinda's female army is treated with respect.
I wonder what those who think the Oz books are satanic would make of Cap'n Bill's speech about how people take the good things in their lives for granted, since he says in part, "Most folks forget to thank God for givin' 'em two good legs, till they lose one o' 'em, like I did; and then it's too late, 'cept to praise God for leavin' one." The piety here is simple and unassuming, as suits the speaker, but therefore easy to overlook.
Cap'n Bill and Trot are stuck on a magical island where a beautiful, ever-changing flower grows. Anything "meat" grows roots, like flesh, wool socks, and leather shoes, so the Glass Cat who's led them there is able to go get help. Bungle is more prominent in this book but just as vain yet loyal as ever. At the end of Patchwork Girl, the Wizard had replaced the cat's pink brains with ones that weren't so pretty, but Baum has forgotten that, along with Bungle's brief humility. The other feline regular, Eureka, gets a brief scene with Bungle, and we can tell the two cats don't get along. In fact, when the miniaturized monkeys later get even with Bungle for pulling their tails by covering her in blue mud, it is the thought of what her furry rival would say that particularly worries Bungle.
This book also marks the return of the Kalidahs, well, one in particular that Cap'n Bill stabs. It doesn't die but it is annoyed. Baum doesn't describe the Kalidah this time, probably knowing that readers well remember the creature from the first book. Neill's Kalidah is more realistic than the ones Denslow drew, but not any scarier.
The most notable illustration for this edition is the odd cover, as can be seen here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Magic_of_oz_cover.gif
The guilty look of the monkey, the amused look of the Wizard, and the odd trail of smoke coming from behind the monkey suggest the creature has farted in the cauldron.
I'm disappointed in the illustrations of the Magic Flower, since Neill doesn't convey its beauty. I do like the illustration of when it offers fruit for awhile. Similarly, Neill doesn't do justice to the diamond palace of the Lonesome Duck (a great minor character), but I like the look of amazement on Dorothy's face in that picture.
In Baum's introduction, he says, "A long and confining illness has prevented my answering all the good letters sent me-- unless stamps were enclosed-- but from now on I hope to be able to give prompt attention to each and every letter with which my readers favor me." It's sweet that Baum answered all the fan letters he could, but then you realize that he had died the month before this book came out. The Royal Historian was not quite done, as there was another posthumous book the next year, but his contradictory yet lovable version of Oz was nearly complete.
L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Magic of Oz
Bought new for $1.95
Paperback with stains and broken spine
B+
This is another book with Ozma's birthday, but much stronger than Road. This time the focus is on the gifts, particularly what Dorothy & the Wizard and Trot, Cap'n Bill, & the Glass Cat have to go through to get their gifts. Meanwhile, the Nome King is again hoping to conquer Oz. The three main plots are good on their own and interweave well.
The last plot I mentioned is the subject of the first three chapters. Bad boy Kiki Aru discovers a secret word of transformation, "Pyrzqxgl," which would also give him the winning score in Scrabble. As a child, I loved how coy Baum is about warning readers to not pronounce the word correctly, although I'm sure every child tried. Kiki makes himself into a bird and flies from his home on Mount Munch (the mountain that Nimmie lives near) to Hiland, Loland, Noland, Ix, and Ev, although we barely get glimpses of these places, unlike the visit to Mo in Scarecrow. (He has no trouble speaking as a bird, despite Baum sometimes claiming that animals can't talk outside Oz.) He encounters the Nome King, who encourages him to use the magic word for evil purposes. Kiki is inexperienced, but he knows enough not to fully trust Ruggedo.
Dorothy and the Wizard, with the Cowardly Lion and the Hungry Tiger as transportation and protection, journey to the Gillikin Forest in order to get monkeys who'll agree to be shrunk and pop out of a cake. They arrive just as the Nome King and Kiki, disguised as Li-Mon-Eags (lion-monkey-eagle hybrids) try to get the wild animals on their side. There's a slight parody of the Russian Revolution in the Nome King's speech to get the beasts to revolt, and earlier he remarks to Kiki that it's the fashion to make kings abdicate.
There are also references to the just finished Great War, as in Baum's dedication (which usually is to his family members), this time to "the Children of our Soldiers, the Americans and their Allies." And Neill gives the giant soldiers, which Kiki creates out of monkeys, the headgear of doughboys and other servicemen, rather than the plumes described in the text. For all the mockery of war and officers, Baum does seem to respect the bravery of the foot soldier. In fact, he shows female soldiers as especially gallant, Jinjur's Army of Revolt aside. Even in Land, Glinda's female army is treated with respect.
I wonder what those who think the Oz books are satanic would make of Cap'n Bill's speech about how people take the good things in their lives for granted, since he says in part, "Most folks forget to thank God for givin' 'em two good legs, till they lose one o' 'em, like I did; and then it's too late, 'cept to praise God for leavin' one." The piety here is simple and unassuming, as suits the speaker, but therefore easy to overlook.
Cap'n Bill and Trot are stuck on a magical island where a beautiful, ever-changing flower grows. Anything "meat" grows roots, like flesh, wool socks, and leather shoes, so the Glass Cat who's led them there is able to go get help. Bungle is more prominent in this book but just as vain yet loyal as ever. At the end of Patchwork Girl, the Wizard had replaced the cat's pink brains with ones that weren't so pretty, but Baum has forgotten that, along with Bungle's brief humility. The other feline regular, Eureka, gets a brief scene with Bungle, and we can tell the two cats don't get along. In fact, when the miniaturized monkeys later get even with Bungle for pulling their tails by covering her in blue mud, it is the thought of what her furry rival would say that particularly worries Bungle.
This book also marks the return of the Kalidahs, well, one in particular that Cap'n Bill stabs. It doesn't die but it is annoyed. Baum doesn't describe the Kalidah this time, probably knowing that readers well remember the creature from the first book. Neill's Kalidah is more realistic than the ones Denslow drew, but not any scarier.
The most notable illustration for this edition is the odd cover, as can be seen here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Magic_of_oz_cover.gif
The guilty look of the monkey, the amused look of the Wizard, and the odd trail of smoke coming from behind the monkey suggest the creature has farted in the cauldron.
I'm disappointed in the illustrations of the Magic Flower, since Neill doesn't convey its beauty. I do like the illustration of when it offers fruit for awhile. Similarly, Neill doesn't do justice to the diamond palace of the Lonesome Duck (a great minor character), but I like the look of amazement on Dorothy's face in that picture.
In Baum's introduction, he says, "A long and confining illness has prevented my answering all the good letters sent me-- unless stamps were enclosed-- but from now on I hope to be able to give prompt attention to each and every letter with which my readers favor me." It's sweet that Baum answered all the fan letters he could, but then you realize that he had died the month before this book came out. The Royal Historian was not quite done, as there was another posthumous book the next year, but his contradictory yet lovable version of Oz was nearly complete.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Tin Woodman of Oz
1918, undated probably 1970s Reilly & Lee edition
L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Tin Woodman of Oz
Bought new for $7.95
Slightly stained hardcover but one of my Oz books in better condition
B
In the 1939 movie of The Wizard of Oz, the Tin Woodman is always referred to as "the Tin Man," but I think Baum used the term "the Tin Woodman" (along with Nick Chopper and the Emperor of the Winkies of course) until this book, where he starts to sometimes say "the Tin Man." This is ironic since, as the cover shows, there are now two Tin Men. Perhaps he got tired of the longer name.
This other tin man is the Tin Soldier, and they were made in similar ways for similar reasons. There are differences, however, in Nick's origin story in the first book and the twelfth, particularly in the Wicked Witch of the West's role in the life of the Munchkin girl Nick loved, here revealed to be named Nimmie Amee. The Tin Soldier came along after Nick was rusted in the woods but before Dorothy rescued Nick. The not-yet-tin soldier, named Captain Fyter, got Nimmie on the rebound, and then the vengeful witch enchanted his sword as she'd enchanted Nick's axe, so he, too, chopped pieces of himself off, one at a time.
Their mutual friend the tinsmith replaced each part with tin, and in this book we find out he's been saving the "meat" pieces. Why? So as not to be wasteful, although it's still a bit horror-storyish. And in fact, he's made a sort of Frankenstein's monster out of them, named Chopfyt, even the name a mishmash of the two tin men. Chopfyt doesn't have a blend of their personalities though. He's moody and a bit lazy. He's also married Nimmie, since he reminds her of the two men she loved.
That's at the end of the quest to resolve Chopper's (and Fyter's) abandonment of the girl years ago. Even though no one ages in Oz (any more at least), people do get over heartbreak and move on with their lives. The tin twins (as Baum calls them a few times) think Nimmie is pining for one or both of them, so they'll give her the choice between them, but she's already chosen a husband.
Along the way, they meet Mrs. Yoop, who's not only a giant but a yookoohoo, which is not exactly a witch and not exactly a sorceress. (I believe that there's another yookoohoo in the last Baum book.) She doesn't miss her brutish husband, but she is lonely for company. She imprison the travelers, which at this point includes a boy wanderer named Woot (not to be confused with netspeak w00t), the Tin Woodman of course, and his faithful companion the Scarecrow. They meet another prisoner, Polychrome, who in this book comes across as very clever and kind. Mrs. Yoop transforms her and Nick into birds, which is ironic in light of the conversation that Nick and the Scarecrow have about the happiness of a bird's life near the end of Lost Princess.
After their escape but before meeting Capt. Fyter, Woot meets some dragons, and as always with Baum, there are jokes about how dragons age so slowly. We also spend a few chapters with Jinjur, and I have to ask, what happened to her husband? On the journey from the Nome Kingdom to the Emerald City in Ozma, they stop by Jinjur's place and she's gotten married to a man that she nags and hits. (As Nimmie treats Chopfyt.) She's mentioned in passing as the Scarecrow's friend and touch-up artist in Patchwork Girl. And here we visit her ranch and there's no sight or mention of her husband. Did he run off? Is there divorce in Oz? Altogether, the view of love and marriage in this book is not a happy one.
Well, the Swynes are happy. The proposal party meets the parents of the Nine Tiny Piglets, who give a completely different view of how the Wizard acquired their children than the story he told in DatW. You know what I think of the Wizard's honesty, so I'm inclined to believe the parent pigs and assume that he took the piglets sometime before he flew off in his balloon and made up the more colorful story about them as part of his showman's spiel.
The place that the questers go to that feels most original is Loonville, which is populated by balloon people whose last names are all Loon, including their king, Bal. There's also Panta Loon, who gets too big for his britches and explodes. He's repaired by Til Loon. As a child, I would rack my brains trying to figure out what a "tilloon" was. It wasn't till much later that I realized that Baum was referencing a 1914 Chaplin movie, Tillie's Punctured Romance. This certainly fits the theme of puncturing romance.
The other theme in the book is identity, since the tin men go into existential crises, starting with Nick talking to his "meat head," and climaxing in the encounter with Chopfyt. Even their mostly amicable twinship (made more amicable in the illustrations) has its limits, and Ozma ends up sending the captain to patrol the dangerous parts of the Gillikin Country, in order to keep him mostly out of sight and not reduce Nick's uniqueness.
Another story that is retold in this book is the origin of Oz and Ozma. Although in other books Ozma and Dorothy look about the same age, here we're told that Ozma looks a bit older than Dorothy, "perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age." She may or may not be the fairy that Queen Lurline (a version of Queen Lulea in Zixi?) left behind to rule Oz after transforming it into a fairyland. That's the moment when Oz became a utopia, where no one ever ages, including those who emigrate from the outside world. I think that when the throne is usurped, as happened with the Wizard, people (including the Wizard and Tip-Ozma) do age, and then the utopian laws gradually reassert themselves when the rightful ruler is on the throne.
Again, I think Baum needed stronger editors, not just for each book (and there are always a few typos), but for the entire series, to improve continuity and consistency. The different versions of stories are interesting but impossible to reconcile. Still, this is one case where I disagree with The Oz Scrapbook (1977). I generally concur with their ranking of the Baum books, but I would not put this as a lesser entry in the series.
Speaking of errors, there are a few of Neill's illustrations that don't match the text, like Polychrome being herself rather than a canary when she feeds the Jaguar eggs. His work is generally good but not remarkable in this book. He does begin to use two-page pictures to good effect, as when Woot, Nick, and the Scarecrow talk to Mrs. Yoop. These double illustrations will become more common as the series goes on.
L. Frank Baum
Illustrated by John R. Neill
The Tin Woodman of Oz
Bought new for $7.95
Slightly stained hardcover but one of my Oz books in better condition
B
In the 1939 movie of The Wizard of Oz, the Tin Woodman is always referred to as "the Tin Man," but I think Baum used the term "the Tin Woodman" (along with Nick Chopper and the Emperor of the Winkies of course) until this book, where he starts to sometimes say "the Tin Man." This is ironic since, as the cover shows, there are now two Tin Men. Perhaps he got tired of the longer name.
This other tin man is the Tin Soldier, and they were made in similar ways for similar reasons. There are differences, however, in Nick's origin story in the first book and the twelfth, particularly in the Wicked Witch of the West's role in the life of the Munchkin girl Nick loved, here revealed to be named Nimmie Amee. The Tin Soldier came along after Nick was rusted in the woods but before Dorothy rescued Nick. The not-yet-tin soldier, named Captain Fyter, got Nimmie on the rebound, and then the vengeful witch enchanted his sword as she'd enchanted Nick's axe, so he, too, chopped pieces of himself off, one at a time.
Their mutual friend the tinsmith replaced each part with tin, and in this book we find out he's been saving the "meat" pieces. Why? So as not to be wasteful, although it's still a bit horror-storyish. And in fact, he's made a sort of Frankenstein's monster out of them, named Chopfyt, even the name a mishmash of the two tin men. Chopfyt doesn't have a blend of their personalities though. He's moody and a bit lazy. He's also married Nimmie, since he reminds her of the two men she loved.
That's at the end of the quest to resolve Chopper's (and Fyter's) abandonment of the girl years ago. Even though no one ages in Oz (any more at least), people do get over heartbreak and move on with their lives. The tin twins (as Baum calls them a few times) think Nimmie is pining for one or both of them, so they'll give her the choice between them, but she's already chosen a husband.
Along the way, they meet Mrs. Yoop, who's not only a giant but a yookoohoo, which is not exactly a witch and not exactly a sorceress. (I believe that there's another yookoohoo in the last Baum book.) She doesn't miss her brutish husband, but she is lonely for company. She imprison the travelers, which at this point includes a boy wanderer named Woot (not to be confused with netspeak w00t), the Tin Woodman of course, and his faithful companion the Scarecrow. They meet another prisoner, Polychrome, who in this book comes across as very clever and kind. Mrs. Yoop transforms her and Nick into birds, which is ironic in light of the conversation that Nick and the Scarecrow have about the happiness of a bird's life near the end of Lost Princess.
After their escape but before meeting Capt. Fyter, Woot meets some dragons, and as always with Baum, there are jokes about how dragons age so slowly. We also spend a few chapters with Jinjur, and I have to ask, what happened to her husband? On the journey from the Nome Kingdom to the Emerald City in Ozma, they stop by Jinjur's place and she's gotten married to a man that she nags and hits. (As Nimmie treats Chopfyt.) She's mentioned in passing as the Scarecrow's friend and touch-up artist in Patchwork Girl. And here we visit her ranch and there's no sight or mention of her husband. Did he run off? Is there divorce in Oz? Altogether, the view of love and marriage in this book is not a happy one.
Well, the Swynes are happy. The proposal party meets the parents of the Nine Tiny Piglets, who give a completely different view of how the Wizard acquired their children than the story he told in DatW. You know what I think of the Wizard's honesty, so I'm inclined to believe the parent pigs and assume that he took the piglets sometime before he flew off in his balloon and made up the more colorful story about them as part of his showman's spiel.
The place that the questers go to that feels most original is Loonville, which is populated by balloon people whose last names are all Loon, including their king, Bal. There's also Panta Loon, who gets too big for his britches and explodes. He's repaired by Til Loon. As a child, I would rack my brains trying to figure out what a "tilloon" was. It wasn't till much later that I realized that Baum was referencing a 1914 Chaplin movie, Tillie's Punctured Romance. This certainly fits the theme of puncturing romance.
The other theme in the book is identity, since the tin men go into existential crises, starting with Nick talking to his "meat head," and climaxing in the encounter with Chopfyt. Even their mostly amicable twinship (made more amicable in the illustrations) has its limits, and Ozma ends up sending the captain to patrol the dangerous parts of the Gillikin Country, in order to keep him mostly out of sight and not reduce Nick's uniqueness.
Another story that is retold in this book is the origin of Oz and Ozma. Although in other books Ozma and Dorothy look about the same age, here we're told that Ozma looks a bit older than Dorothy, "perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age." She may or may not be the fairy that Queen Lurline (a version of Queen Lulea in Zixi?) left behind to rule Oz after transforming it into a fairyland. That's the moment when Oz became a utopia, where no one ever ages, including those who emigrate from the outside world. I think that when the throne is usurped, as happened with the Wizard, people (including the Wizard and Tip-Ozma) do age, and then the utopian laws gradually reassert themselves when the rightful ruler is on the throne.
Again, I think Baum needed stronger editors, not just for each book (and there are always a few typos), but for the entire series, to improve continuity and consistency. The different versions of stories are interesting but impossible to reconcile. Still, this is one case where I disagree with The Oz Scrapbook (1977). I generally concur with their ranking of the Baum books, but I would not put this as a lesser entry in the series.
Speaking of errors, there are a few of Neill's illustrations that don't match the text, like Polychrome being herself rather than a canary when she feeds the Jaguar eggs. His work is generally good but not remarkable in this book. He does begin to use two-page pictures to good effect, as when Woot, Nick, and the Scarecrow talk to Mrs. Yoop. These double illustrations will become more common as the series goes on.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Anne's House of Dreams
1917, 1987 Bantam edition
L. M. Montgomery
Anne's House of Dreams
Bought used for $1.98
Slightly worn paperback
B+
This has the worst cover of any edition of an "Anne book" I own, with Anne and Gilbert looking very cartoony. Not only that, they're both shown as redheads, when his hair is supposed to be dark. But, yes, don't judge a book by its cover, because this is possibly my favorite in the series.
Anne and Gilbert get married and move to the title location, an isolated home on the coast, where they seem to have only four near neighbors: Captain Jim, Miss Cornelia, and the Moores. However, these are among the most interesting characters Montgomery created. Captain Jim is similar to Uncle Jabe in Mary Midthorne, but all his tales of adventure are true. He's also wise and kind, and sort of feminist. (He thinks women can't write, but he does think they should have the vote and anything else they want, the dears.) Miss Cornelia is one of those rare characters who's as funny as the author thinks, with an ability to say the unsayable in a surprising way. When she talks to Susan, the kindly housekeeper, the two of them will say things like it's so sad that someone is going to Heaven.
The Moores seem to be Leslie and her husband Dick, but there's a twist later where it turns out that it's actually Dick's look-alike cousin George. They're one pair of matching bookends, different as night and day. Well, not quite, but Dick is a mean, cheating drunk and George is relatively nice. However, George got beat up in Havana and lost his memory for a dozen years. So Leslie, whose life is full of tragedy, is sacrificing her life for a man she's never even met. And then Owen Ford shows up, and they fall in love, although they don't know each other's feelings, and their love is forbidden, and it all sounds very soap-operatic, especially when you throw in Anne's firstborn dying its first day of life.
And yet, it works. Montgomery has mastered a variety of emotional tones by now, and she expertly handles the more mature content. In fact, this is the first book where I have to break out the "YA" (Young Adult) label, because I think this is more of a book for teens than for children. After all, it does include "shameless orgies of love-making and ecstasies of adoration."
Actually, that's Anne and Leslie ooing and ahing over Anne's second baby, Jem. There is, however, a sense in which this story is more about Anne and Leslie's love than it is about newlywed bliss. Gilbert is around, but often in the background, while Anne and the narrator seem much more interested in beautiful, mysterious, bitter but good-hearted Leslie. And I can't really blame them.
As for "love-making," it must've retained that sense of "flattering and charming people" at least until the 1950s. I no longer own Silver Chair, but there's a similar use of the term there, which confused the heck out of me as a kid. (I knew that in 1932 it meant "to woo," since there's a line in Horse Feathers that's something like "Are you making love to me, Professor?") It's pretty funny to run across it in Pride & Prejudice, but you expect language to have changed since the 1810s.
I know, somewhat off topic. So I'll get back on topic by noting that telephones are mentioned in this book that must be set in the 1890s. Montgomery mentions the Grits (Liberals) getting back into power after 18 years, which would place that part of the book as 1896. But the math of http://avonlea.hu/cd/websites/hendricks_paul/kindreds/chronology.html means that this book is set 1890 to '92. If it were 1896, then this would mess up the World War I chronology in Rilla of Ingleside. Still, close enough, and it does allow Montgomery a great pay-off to a minor character, a double pay-off really, when he shaves his beard and becomes engaged to Miss Cornelia.
L. M. Montgomery
Anne's House of Dreams
Bought used for $1.98
Slightly worn paperback
B+
This has the worst cover of any edition of an "Anne book" I own, with Anne and Gilbert looking very cartoony. Not only that, they're both shown as redheads, when his hair is supposed to be dark. But, yes, don't judge a book by its cover, because this is possibly my favorite in the series.
Anne and Gilbert get married and move to the title location, an isolated home on the coast, where they seem to have only four near neighbors: Captain Jim, Miss Cornelia, and the Moores. However, these are among the most interesting characters Montgomery created. Captain Jim is similar to Uncle Jabe in Mary Midthorne, but all his tales of adventure are true. He's also wise and kind, and sort of feminist. (He thinks women can't write, but he does think they should have the vote and anything else they want, the dears.) Miss Cornelia is one of those rare characters who's as funny as the author thinks, with an ability to say the unsayable in a surprising way. When she talks to Susan, the kindly housekeeper, the two of them will say things like it's so sad that someone is going to Heaven.
The Moores seem to be Leslie and her husband Dick, but there's a twist later where it turns out that it's actually Dick's look-alike cousin George. They're one pair of matching bookends, different as night and day. Well, not quite, but Dick is a mean, cheating drunk and George is relatively nice. However, George got beat up in Havana and lost his memory for a dozen years. So Leslie, whose life is full of tragedy, is sacrificing her life for a man she's never even met. And then Owen Ford shows up, and they fall in love, although they don't know each other's feelings, and their love is forbidden, and it all sounds very soap-operatic, especially when you throw in Anne's firstborn dying its first day of life.
And yet, it works. Montgomery has mastered a variety of emotional tones by now, and she expertly handles the more mature content. In fact, this is the first book where I have to break out the "YA" (Young Adult) label, because I think this is more of a book for teens than for children. After all, it does include "shameless orgies of love-making and ecstasies of adoration."
Actually, that's Anne and Leslie ooing and ahing over Anne's second baby, Jem. There is, however, a sense in which this story is more about Anne and Leslie's love than it is about newlywed bliss. Gilbert is around, but often in the background, while Anne and the narrator seem much more interested in beautiful, mysterious, bitter but good-hearted Leslie. And I can't really blame them.
As for "love-making," it must've retained that sense of "flattering and charming people" at least until the 1950s. I no longer own Silver Chair, but there's a similar use of the term there, which confused the heck out of me as a kid. (I knew that in 1932 it meant "to woo," since there's a line in Horse Feathers that's something like "Are you making love to me, Professor?") It's pretty funny to run across it in Pride & Prejudice, but you expect language to have changed since the 1810s.
I know, somewhat off topic. So I'll get back on topic by noting that telephones are mentioned in this book that must be set in the 1890s. Montgomery mentions the Grits (Liberals) getting back into power after 18 years, which would place that part of the book as 1896. But the math of http://avonlea.hu/cd/websites/hendricks_paul/kindreds/chronology.html means that this book is set 1890 to '92. If it were 1896, then this would mess up the World War I chronology in Rilla of Ingleside. Still, close enough, and it does allow Montgomery a great pay-off to a minor character, a double pay-off really, when he shaves his beard and becomes engaged to Miss Cornelia.
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