1969, 1985 Methuen edition
Antonia Fraser
Mary Queen of Scots
Original price £3.50, purchase price $3.25
Very worn paperback
B
As her mother did for Victoria, Fraser presents a sympathetic account of a remarkable British queen. Mary's life was much shorter, and more dramatic, than her 19th-century descendant. Over half of the book (not counting bibliography, index, etc.) is set during the very eventful 1560s, which Mary started as the 17-year-old Queen of France and ended as the prisoner of her cousin Elizabeth I of England. In between were two more marriages, the birth of her only son, and her thwarted attempts to rule Scotland, despite being queen of that land since the age of six days.
Fraser doesn't resolve all the mysteries of Mary's life or of her character. I understand that she stayed with Bothwell even after he raped her in order to pressure her into marriage*, but I can't see why, unless she was too ill and distraught to think clearly. Fraser contends that Mary thought Bothwell would be the strong husband that Francis and Darnley failed to be, and she thought that the nobles wanted her to marry Bothwell. It still doesn't make complete sense. Similarly, Fraser repeatedly says that Mary was tender-hearted, yet claims that Mary wasn't bothered by the idea of Elizabeth's possible assassination. Not that it's up to Fraser to resolve these inconsistencies, but she could've gone into them more.
Fraser does do well with the mystery of the Casket Letters. Generally, she considers what's most plausible, and while she does weed out some of the myths about Mary, she does allow the more "romantic" truths through, like Mary's pet Skye terrier hidden under her gown when she was executed, which later pined away with grief. Fraser includes many human details, like Mary's love of white clothing, while never losing track of the various international situations.
There are a couple nice family trees illustrating Mary's, and Darnley's, places in the Scottish and English lines of successions. Fraser does a better job than many biographers of keeping the balance between presenting too many supporting characters (as in the Victoria biography) and overexplaining the obvious people (as with Michael McGear in Davies's book on the Beatles).
Overall, a good solid piece of nonfiction. Fraser will describe very different queens when we get to 1992's The Wives of Henry VIII.
*By the twisted laws of the time, this was actually a surprisingly common scenario, to abduct an heiress, rape her, and then marry her, with the rape in some cases counting as a form of marriage, although that it happened to the queen of the country is startling. Even now, in some cultures, a woman is pressured to marry her rapist, to save her reputation, as if she's done something wrong.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
The French Lieutenant's Woman
1969, 1981 Signet edition, to tie in with the movie
John Fowles
The French Lieutenant's Woman
Original price $3.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback
B
This is an interesting follow-up to the other "Woman" title I own from 1969, since there are parallels that never struck me before. The protagonist is engaged but gets involved with someone who may or may not be a virgin but is definitely an accomplished liar. In Marian McAlpin's case, farce results, but Charles Smithson has taken on the aptly nicknamed "Tragedy." Not that we're meant to take Fowles entirely seriously either, since he breaks the fourth wall, and the ceiling, and that window looking out on his new home of Lyme Regis, not far from where Jane Austen pushed Louisa Musgrove down the stairs like Charles Sopkin was watching.
"The French Lieutenant's Woman" has decided to surround herself with mystery, to be treated as a whore when she may be "pure." It's as if Hester Prynne sewed the A to her clothes just to get the attention. This book is the true precursor to Easy A! Well, maybe not. And no, I haven't seen the Meryl Streep/ Jeremy Irons film, although I've heard of it of course, which is why I got this book years ago.
Despite the claims that the story is filled with romance and/or sex, including, as Saturday Review puts it, "a sexual encounter so explosive that it nearly blows the top of your head off," don't read it for the sex or the romance. As Fowles notes, the consummation takes less than ninety seconds, and that includes Charles undressing. Also, you probably won't care whether Charles gets together with Sarah, or works things out with his fiancée. You might decide that, as with Marian, he might be better off staying single.
The book is more about thought, although it's too playful to be intellectual. It's about what people think, and what they think they think, and what they think about that. It is the meanings of love and sex, in various forms, that matter more than the actual connections between people. In this Fowles seems to be commenting on both the mid-Victorians and his contemporaries. The book is about the differences a century made. As such, it's similar to Byatt's Possession, which I'll discuss under 1990.
This edition contains "8 pages of film scenes." If I recall correctly, there's a story within a story for the film, or a film within a film. It doesn't sound particularly faithful to the book, but how could it be? Anyway, fidelity seems to be a more complicated subject than Charles, or Marian, realises at first.
John Fowles
The French Lieutenant's Woman
Original price $3.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback
B
This is an interesting follow-up to the other "Woman" title I own from 1969, since there are parallels that never struck me before. The protagonist is engaged but gets involved with someone who may or may not be a virgin but is definitely an accomplished liar. In Marian McAlpin's case, farce results, but Charles Smithson has taken on the aptly nicknamed "Tragedy." Not that we're meant to take Fowles entirely seriously either, since he breaks the fourth wall, and the ceiling, and that window looking out on his new home of Lyme Regis, not far from where Jane Austen pushed Louisa Musgrove down the stairs like Charles Sopkin was watching.
"The French Lieutenant's Woman" has decided to surround herself with mystery, to be treated as a whore when she may be "pure." It's as if Hester Prynne sewed the A to her clothes just to get the attention. This book is the true precursor to Easy A! Well, maybe not. And no, I haven't seen the Meryl Streep/ Jeremy Irons film, although I've heard of it of course, which is why I got this book years ago.
Despite the claims that the story is filled with romance and/or sex, including, as Saturday Review puts it, "a sexual encounter so explosive that it nearly blows the top of your head off," don't read it for the sex or the romance. As Fowles notes, the consummation takes less than ninety seconds, and that includes Charles undressing. Also, you probably won't care whether Charles gets together with Sarah, or works things out with his fiancée. You might decide that, as with Marian, he might be better off staying single.
The book is more about thought, although it's too playful to be intellectual. It's about what people think, and what they think they think, and what they think about that. It is the meanings of love and sex, in various forms, that matter more than the actual connections between people. In this Fowles seems to be commenting on both the mid-Victorians and his contemporaries. The book is about the differences a century made. As such, it's similar to Byatt's Possession, which I'll discuss under 1990.
This edition contains "8 pages of film scenes." If I recall correctly, there's a story within a story for the film, or a film within a film. It doesn't sound particularly faithful to the book, but how could it be? Anyway, fidelity seems to be a more complicated subject than Charles, or Marian, realises at first.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
The Edible Woman
1969, 1992 Cox & Wyman edition
Margaret Atwood
The Edible Woman
Original price £5.99, purchase price $1.98
Very worn paperback
B
Atwood's first published novel was actually written in 1965, as she discusses in her delightful if wry introduction. (I know I keep saying how charming and wonderful author's prefaces, forewords, etc. are, as with Wodehouse, but I honestly feel that it's sometimes the best part of the book.) So it's "protofeminist rather than feminist." Marian is as haphazard as a Lessing heroine, but Atwood plays this for farce. It's not that Marian is as passive as Martha, but when she does take actions, they don't seem to lead to anything. Even her cheating on her insufferable fiancé with pathological liar Duncan doesn't have clear results.
There is a dark side to the novel, with Marian's eating disorder and the marriage of her friend Clara, but Atwood has a Catch-22 attitude about them, only funnier and more relatable than Heller's writing. Roommate Ainsley's plans to become a single mother and then to find a "father image" for her baby are just as insane, particularly because she acts as if she's being perfectly sensible, sort of this book's version of Milo Minderbinder.
Atwood says, "The Edible Woman was conceived by a twenty-three-year-old and written by a twenty-four-year-old, and its more self-indulgent grotesqueries are perhaps attributable to the youth of the author, though I would prefer to think that they derive instead from the society by which she found herself surrounded." I won't go into detail comparing this to The Handmaid's Tale, since I won't get to that book till 1985, but I can say here that the difference of 20 years is striking, with youthful/1960s optimism opposed to middle-aged/1980s pessimism. Duncan playing with Marian's girdle has a very different feel than the fetishes of The Commander. Not that this is an overly hopeful book, but there's a chance that Marian can save herself, and the forces of repression don't seem nearly as menacing.
It's all a joke, even if a dark one, from the title to the details, especially the surveys that Marian's company conducts. Sometimes Atwood's humour is overly juvenile, with a couple of "I felt confused. 'I feel confused,' I said" type of lines. The switch from first person narration to third and then briefly back to third is never explained, so I don't know if it's to show Marian being alienated from herself, or if it's youthful clumsiness.
Overall, not my favorite Atwood novel, nor the most challenging, but a much better start than either of the first two novels of her near contemporary Anne Tyler.
Margaret Atwood
The Edible Woman
Original price £5.99, purchase price $1.98
Very worn paperback
B
Atwood's first published novel was actually written in 1965, as she discusses in her delightful if wry introduction. (I know I keep saying how charming and wonderful author's prefaces, forewords, etc. are, as with Wodehouse, but I honestly feel that it's sometimes the best part of the book.) So it's "protofeminist rather than feminist." Marian is as haphazard as a Lessing heroine, but Atwood plays this for farce. It's not that Marian is as passive as Martha, but when she does take actions, they don't seem to lead to anything. Even her cheating on her insufferable fiancé with pathological liar Duncan doesn't have clear results.
There is a dark side to the novel, with Marian's eating disorder and the marriage of her friend Clara, but Atwood has a Catch-22 attitude about them, only funnier and more relatable than Heller's writing. Roommate Ainsley's plans to become a single mother and then to find a "father image" for her baby are just as insane, particularly because she acts as if she's being perfectly sensible, sort of this book's version of Milo Minderbinder.
Atwood says, "The Edible Woman was conceived by a twenty-three-year-old and written by a twenty-four-year-old, and its more self-indulgent grotesqueries are perhaps attributable to the youth of the author, though I would prefer to think that they derive instead from the society by which she found herself surrounded." I won't go into detail comparing this to The Handmaid's Tale, since I won't get to that book till 1985, but I can say here that the difference of 20 years is striking, with youthful/1960s optimism opposed to middle-aged/1980s pessimism. Duncan playing with Marian's girdle has a very different feel than the fetishes of The Commander. Not that this is an overly hopeful book, but there's a chance that Marian can save herself, and the forces of repression don't seem nearly as menacing.
It's all a joke, even if a dark one, from the title to the details, especially the surveys that Marian's company conducts. Sometimes Atwood's humour is overly juvenile, with a couple of "I felt confused. 'I feel confused,' I said" type of lines. The switch from first person narration to third and then briefly back to third is never explained, so I don't know if it's to show Marian being alienated from herself, or if it's youthful clumsiness.
Overall, not my favorite Atwood novel, nor the most challenging, but a much better start than either of the first two novels of her near contemporary Anne Tyler.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Yellow Submarine
1968, first edition, from New American Library
Max Wilk
Yellow Submarine
Original price 95 cents, purchase price $2.50
Very worn paperback
C+
The text by Wilk, who died last year at age 90, is mostly forgettable, except for the "footnotes" at the end (which would make them endnotes, right?) and an unintended innuendo about Ringo*, but you know you don't watch the movie for the Erich Segal et al. script. Although, like The Graduate, you're going to miss the soundtrack, at least here you've got "128 glorious full-color pages." This includes not only the animation cels of the film, but a two-page spread from the cameo of the real Beatles at the end, so the view of the Fab Four is more up-to-date than in Davies's book. (At this point, only Ringo has a moustache, although in the cartoon Paul's the only clean-shaven one.) The binding could be better, maybe with whitespace in the gutters, because some details are lost, as with the views of Liverpool.
*"Being a proper switch-hitter, Ringo obeyed." The "born Lever-puller" pun in the movie is funnier anyway.
Max Wilk
Yellow Submarine
Original price 95 cents, purchase price $2.50
Very worn paperback
C+
The text by Wilk, who died last year at age 90, is mostly forgettable, except for the "footnotes" at the end (which would make them endnotes, right?) and an unintended innuendo about Ringo*, but you know you don't watch the movie for the Erich Segal et al. script. Although, like The Graduate, you're going to miss the soundtrack, at least here you've got "128 glorious full-color pages." This includes not only the animation cels of the film, but a two-page spread from the cameo of the real Beatles at the end, so the view of the Fab Four is more up-to-date than in Davies's book. (At this point, only Ringo has a moustache, although in the cartoon Paul's the only clean-shaven one.) The binding could be better, maybe with whitespace in the gutters, because some details are lost, as with the views of Liverpool.
*"Being a proper switch-hitter, Ringo obeyed." The "born Lever-puller" pun in the movie is funnier anyway.
Sex, Death and Money
1968, first paperback edition, from Bantam
Gore Vidal
Sex, Death and Money
Original price 95 cents, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback with detached front cover
B-
Although Vidal does address the three topics in his eye-catching title, most of these essays are about literature and politics, which are related to the three title taboos but not as interesting. For the most part, I was bored by his literary criticism, dealing as it does with writers I've never read. I will admit that his snipes at Mailer and Miller (Henry) are a nice warm-up for Kate Millett's perspective on them in Sexual Politics (coming up in the now not too distant year of 1970). But I have no interest in John O'Hara, John Horne Burns, or John Dos Passos, or the non-Johns he covers.
The political essays are better, with still significant figures such as Goldwater and RFK. The "sex" essays are first, the best of the lot being his thoughts on Suetonius's Twelve Caesars, especially after seeing Vidal's take on the later Roman Emperor, Julian.
This book came out the same year as Myra Breckinridge, which was too mean-spirited for me to finish reading when I tried it years ago. Here Vidal's sharp tongue has worthy targets, and I did laugh out loud a couple times at his wit. 1968 was also the year Vidal clashed with William F. Buckley during the Republican Convention. The contrast between even the essays of 1967 and the parts from 1968-- the introduction, the June 6th note to the previous spring's essay on "the holy family" of the Kennedys, and the last essay, "The Liberal Dilemma"-- is striking, as events turned more violent and chaotic. Vidal was never an optimist, but that year seems to have made his hopes dimmer, although he still believes in the power of "yet."
The earliest essays are from the mid-1950s, when Vidal had mostly turned from novels to teleplays, and his insights into early television are intriguing. According to Wikipedia, he was writing mysteries under a pseudonym, but it was a setback when The City and the Pillar was so controversial. He discusses that early novel, as well as compares his literary career to his contemporaries. OK, the section on books isn't all dull, but the gossip is better than the critiques of style.
Gore Vidal
Sex, Death and Money
Original price 95 cents, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback with detached front cover
B-
Although Vidal does address the three topics in his eye-catching title, most of these essays are about literature and politics, which are related to the three title taboos but not as interesting. For the most part, I was bored by his literary criticism, dealing as it does with writers I've never read. I will admit that his snipes at Mailer and Miller (Henry) are a nice warm-up for Kate Millett's perspective on them in Sexual Politics (coming up in the now not too distant year of 1970). But I have no interest in John O'Hara, John Horne Burns, or John Dos Passos, or the non-Johns he covers.
The political essays are better, with still significant figures such as Goldwater and RFK. The "sex" essays are first, the best of the lot being his thoughts on Suetonius's Twelve Caesars, especially after seeing Vidal's take on the later Roman Emperor, Julian.
This book came out the same year as Myra Breckinridge, which was too mean-spirited for me to finish reading when I tried it years ago. Here Vidal's sharp tongue has worthy targets, and I did laugh out loud a couple times at his wit. 1968 was also the year Vidal clashed with William F. Buckley during the Republican Convention. The contrast between even the essays of 1967 and the parts from 1968-- the introduction, the June 6th note to the previous spring's essay on "the holy family" of the Kennedys, and the last essay, "The Liberal Dilemma"-- is striking, as events turned more violent and chaotic. Vidal was never an optimist, but that year seems to have made his hopes dimmer, although he still believes in the power of "yet."
The earliest essays are from the mid-1950s, when Vidal had mostly turned from novels to teleplays, and his insights into early television are intriguing. According to Wikipedia, he was writing mysteries under a pseudonym, but it was a setback when The City and the Pillar was so controversial. He discusses that early novel, as well as compares his literary career to his contemporaries. OK, the section on books isn't all dull, but the gossip is better than the critiques of style.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Seven Glorious Days, Seven Fun-Filled Nights
1968, possibly first edition, from Ace Publishing
Charles Sopkin
Seven Glorious Days, Seven Fun-Filled Nights
Original price 75 cents, purchase price unknown
Poor condition paperback
B+
In April 1967, Sopkin set up six TV sets in his home and watched as many programs as he could sit through for a week. Sometimes each set would be on a different station. (And even in NYC, where Sopkin lived, that meant every network and all three locals.) Sometimes he'd concentrate on a particular show, with all six sets tuned in. The experiment took its toll on his eyesight, his sanity, and his sobriety. The result is a very funny look at television by a man who doesn't usually watch television. Some sections are gut-bustingly funny, especially his struggles to sort out the goings-on on his three "favorite" soap operas: As the World Turns, where Amanda might've pushed her biological mother down the stairs; Days of Our Lives, where Dr. Bill has a claw operation; and General Hospital, where Audrey may be pregnant by artificial insemination.
Sopkin is very much a man of his time and place. Sometimes the drama of traffic outside his window is more compelling than anything on TV, and even though most of the book is set in his apartment, it's a very New-Yorky book. He is mildly sexist, mildly homophobic, and mildly racist. (He twice says "Japs," although I think for humorous effect.) He's liberal on some issues, like premarital sex and the war.
For someone who grew up on the West Coast, near but not in L.A., with all their stations, a few years after this book was published, there's a sense of not quite de ja vu, but familiarity. I know more than Sopkin does about, for instance, Hollywood Squares, because I watched a heck of a lot of television, and early '70s TV wasn't all that different than late '60s TV. (And so many of the '60s and earlier shows were in syndication by that time.) If anything, I wish that Sopkin had seen more of the shows that I grew up with. (It'd be great to see him snarking about Gilligan's Island.)
I've read this book many times, and I wanted to love it this time. When I read his thoughts on what was really going on between the lines in the Saturday shorthand lessons, I was so happy to be reading this book again. But, like watching a week's work of television, it wears a little thin after awhile. Still, by all means, if you have any interest in pop culture and you can find a copy of this book, get it. You'll have a lot of fun.
Sopkin's experiment inspired Jack Lechner's Can't Take My Eyes off of You, which as the subheading puts it involved "1 man, 7 days, 12 televisions," since Lechner had to include cable. I will discuss his book when we get up to 2000, but it, too, is a crazy ride.
Charles Sopkin
Seven Glorious Days, Seven Fun-Filled Nights
Original price 75 cents, purchase price unknown
Poor condition paperback
B+
In April 1967, Sopkin set up six TV sets in his home and watched as many programs as he could sit through for a week. Sometimes each set would be on a different station. (And even in NYC, where Sopkin lived, that meant every network and all three locals.) Sometimes he'd concentrate on a particular show, with all six sets tuned in. The experiment took its toll on his eyesight, his sanity, and his sobriety. The result is a very funny look at television by a man who doesn't usually watch television. Some sections are gut-bustingly funny, especially his struggles to sort out the goings-on on his three "favorite" soap operas: As the World Turns, where Amanda might've pushed her biological mother down the stairs; Days of Our Lives, where Dr. Bill has a claw operation; and General Hospital, where Audrey may be pregnant by artificial insemination.
Sopkin is very much a man of his time and place. Sometimes the drama of traffic outside his window is more compelling than anything on TV, and even though most of the book is set in his apartment, it's a very New-Yorky book. He is mildly sexist, mildly homophobic, and mildly racist. (He twice says "Japs," although I think for humorous effect.) He's liberal on some issues, like premarital sex and the war.
For someone who grew up on the West Coast, near but not in L.A., with all their stations, a few years after this book was published, there's a sense of not quite de ja vu, but familiarity. I know more than Sopkin does about, for instance, Hollywood Squares, because I watched a heck of a lot of television, and early '70s TV wasn't all that different than late '60s TV. (And so many of the '60s and earlier shows were in syndication by that time.) If anything, I wish that Sopkin had seen more of the shows that I grew up with. (It'd be great to see him snarking about Gilligan's Island.)
I've read this book many times, and I wanted to love it this time. When I read his thoughts on what was really going on between the lines in the Saturday shorthand lessons, I was so happy to be reading this book again. But, like watching a week's work of television, it wears a little thin after awhile. Still, by all means, if you have any interest in pop culture and you can find a copy of this book, get it. You'll have a lot of fun.
Sopkin's experiment inspired Jack Lechner's Can't Take My Eyes off of You, which as the subheading puts it involved "1 man, 7 days, 12 televisions," since Lechner had to include cable. I will discuss his book when we get up to 2000, but it, too, is a crazy ride.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
What Do People Do All Day?
1968, possibly first edition, from Random House
Richard Scarry
What Do People Do All Day?
Probably given as a newish gift, $3.95 sticker on the front
Poor condition hardcover
B
This is the first picture book in the project, and probably one of the books I've owned the longest. On this reread, I was surprised at how sophisticated the vocabulary is. The book can be enjoyed by toddlers, with all those details to pore over, but I probably didn't read it on my own till age 7 or so.
What most appealed to me then (and now) is the sense of a complete society, or at least the busy town of Busytown. There are all the little shops and businesses, homes and roads. The cover illustration gives some sense of the layout of the town, with the school and library on the back cover. Scarry's buildings have an old-fashioned, sort of European feel, and it's no wonder I grew up to love the look of Tudor buildings.
As for what "people" do all day, the anthropomorphic animals (mostly mammals, except for Lowly Worm and Bugdozer) work hard all day. The jobs seem to be mostly in construction, farming, and sales, although we also get to see the crews of a boat, a train, and a plane. "Children are workers, too. Many children are helper workers. Are you a helper?" These kids are, although they sometimes aren't very good helpers. Comical mishaps are many in Scarry's world, sometimes due to the recklessness of adults, like Wild Bill Hiccup, the Indian raccoon who causes traffic accidents.
The mild racism has apparently been omitted from later editions. The mild sexism is more noticeable. Women are mostly mothers, grandmothers, and "helpers" of the men, as with Nurse Nelly (the cat) and Doctor Lion, or Captain Reddy the (fox) Pilot and Sarah (the cat stewardess). Yes, there are a lot of cats, although not as many as there are rabbits. Huckle Cat is very happy when a rabbit family moves in next door, over 30 new playmates! There are also a lot of mice, some of whom just stand around observing other people work, like reader surrogates.
To get back to Busytown, their nearest neighbor is the equally industrious Workville. (No Lazyhippieton in this county!) The two mayors get together on a road construction project. Like everyone else, they carry their money in transparent bags. But crime is so low that there are only two policemen, one on day shift, the other on night shift.
It's not clear where the boat, train, and plane go to, but there's a gopher who cries, "Attendez, s'il vous plait!" when he misses the train, and the sleeper car has a "Don't disturb" sign in five languages. Then when they arrive, one pig cousin is dressed like a French military officer (sort of Napoleonic, which would amuse Orwell), while the female is dressed like a "squaw," papoose and all.
Other things of note. When Mommy Cat gives Grocer Cat a smooch for buying her a new dress-- "She earned it by taking such good care of the house"-- she lifts him off the ground and he looks like one very happy tom. And this book has what was one of the scariest illustrations of my early childhood: the brush salesman on p. 23. He's an octopus whom Mommy Pig is trying to shut out, but his head and arms have made it in. Not only is he showing off the various brushes, but he's holding up a mirror to Sally Pig, to demonstrate the toothbrush. She's smiling close-mouthed but the reflection shows big, scary teeth. Very creepy, especially to a 3-year-old!
Richard Scarry
What Do People Do All Day?
Probably given as a newish gift, $3.95 sticker on the front
Poor condition hardcover
B
This is the first picture book in the project, and probably one of the books I've owned the longest. On this reread, I was surprised at how sophisticated the vocabulary is. The book can be enjoyed by toddlers, with all those details to pore over, but I probably didn't read it on my own till age 7 or so.
What most appealed to me then (and now) is the sense of a complete society, or at least the busy town of Busytown. There are all the little shops and businesses, homes and roads. The cover illustration gives some sense of the layout of the town, with the school and library on the back cover. Scarry's buildings have an old-fashioned, sort of European feel, and it's no wonder I grew up to love the look of Tudor buildings.
As for what "people" do all day, the anthropomorphic animals (mostly mammals, except for Lowly Worm and Bugdozer) work hard all day. The jobs seem to be mostly in construction, farming, and sales, although we also get to see the crews of a boat, a train, and a plane. "Children are workers, too. Many children are helper workers. Are you a helper?" These kids are, although they sometimes aren't very good helpers. Comical mishaps are many in Scarry's world, sometimes due to the recklessness of adults, like Wild Bill Hiccup, the Indian raccoon who causes traffic accidents.
The mild racism has apparently been omitted from later editions. The mild sexism is more noticeable. Women are mostly mothers, grandmothers, and "helpers" of the men, as with Nurse Nelly (the cat) and Doctor Lion, or Captain Reddy the (fox) Pilot and Sarah (the cat stewardess). Yes, there are a lot of cats, although not as many as there are rabbits. Huckle Cat is very happy when a rabbit family moves in next door, over 30 new playmates! There are also a lot of mice, some of whom just stand around observing other people work, like reader surrogates.
To get back to Busytown, their nearest neighbor is the equally industrious Workville. (No Lazyhippieton in this county!) The two mayors get together on a road construction project. Like everyone else, they carry their money in transparent bags. But crime is so low that there are only two policemen, one on day shift, the other on night shift.
It's not clear where the boat, train, and plane go to, but there's a gopher who cries, "Attendez, s'il vous plait!" when he misses the train, and the sleeper car has a "Don't disturb" sign in five languages. Then when they arrive, one pig cousin is dressed like a French military officer (sort of Napoleonic, which would amuse Orwell), while the female is dressed like a "squaw," papoose and all.
Other things of note. When Mommy Cat gives Grocer Cat a smooch for buying her a new dress-- "She earned it by taking such good care of the house"-- she lifts him off the ground and he looks like one very happy tom. And this book has what was one of the scariest illustrations of my early childhood: the brush salesman on p. 23. He's an octopus whom Mommy Pig is trying to shut out, but his head and arms have made it in. Not only is he showing off the various brushes, but he's holding up a mirror to Sally Pig, to demonstrate the toothbrush. She's smiling close-mouthed but the reflection shows big, scary teeth. Very creepy, especially to a 3-year-old!
There's Always Another Windmill
1968, possibly first edition, from Little, Brown and Company
Ogden Nash
"With decorations by John Alcorn"
There's Always Another Windmill
Original and purchase price unknown
Worn hardcover with scribbles
C+
While many of Nash's rhymes are clever-- the first poem alone contains "launderer" & "maunderer," "tom" & "aplomb," and "suspender" & "gender"-- it often feels like Nash is reaching, making the rhymes more important than the meaning. I most like the middle section, "How Pleasant to Ape Mr. Lear," which has not only limericks but a rebuttal from "The Indignant Owl," who denies wooing the Pussycat. The Peter-Maxy illustrations by Alcorn seem like they're supposed to give a contemporary, groovy feel to Nash's very middle-aged or even elderly viewpoint (Nash was then 66), but they don't suit poems about golf, buffets, and stamp-collecting. The oddest is the bird with hot-pants and perky breasts, to illustrate the poem about the redundant Latin that ornithologists use, as in "Puffinus puffinus puffinus."
Ogden Nash
"With decorations by John Alcorn"
There's Always Another Windmill
Original and purchase price unknown
Worn hardcover with scribbles
C+
While many of Nash's rhymes are clever-- the first poem alone contains "launderer" & "maunderer," "tom" & "aplomb," and "suspender" & "gender"-- it often feels like Nash is reaching, making the rhymes more important than the meaning. I most like the middle section, "How Pleasant to Ape Mr. Lear," which has not only limericks but a rebuttal from "The Indignant Owl," who denies wooing the Pussycat. The Peter-Maxy illustrations by Alcorn seem like they're supposed to give a contemporary, groovy feel to Nash's very middle-aged or even elderly viewpoint (Nash was then 66), but they don't suit poems about golf, buffets, and stamp-collecting. The oddest is the bird with hot-pants and perky breasts, to illustrate the poem about the redundant Latin that ornithologists use, as in "Puffinus puffinus puffinus."
The Fear of Women
1968, possibly first edition, from Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.
Wolfgang Lederer, M.D.
The Fear of Women
Original and purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback
C
After reading almost 300 pages of increasingly muddled thinking, I got to the opening line of the conclusion: "We are living in a very enlightened age." And I laughed out loud, hard. Lederer goes on to say, "We live by reason-- and therefore we know less about woman than almost any other age." The "we" is "men," and if they know/knew less about women, perhaps it was because they didn't actually ask what women thought and felt, or looked honestly at what they did, and only projected onto them. (Reason and enlightment imply observation after all.) Lederer admits at one point that he's not really concerned with what women are, but rather with what men think they are. But drawing conclusions from myths and psychotherapy patients gives a distorted view of what men in general think, or have thought.
This book is quoted in a book or two I own on neolithic Goddess religions, because it does have some pagan examples, including some pictures, but it's far from feminist itself. Not that it's misanthropic per se. Lederer believes that men and women should be appreciated for what they each contribute, but he doesn't mean as individuals but as how well they live up to masculinity and femininity respectively. He thinks that men have to learn how to be Men, while women just are, when in fact femininity is just as much learned behavior as masculinity.
I'd give the book a C- since, despite its weaknesses, it is interesting to see how (some) men's fear of women has manifested itself over the centuries. But I do like the illustrations, including the New Yorker cartoons of society matrons.
Wolfgang Lederer, M.D.
The Fear of Women
Original and purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback
C
After reading almost 300 pages of increasingly muddled thinking, I got to the opening line of the conclusion: "We are living in a very enlightened age." And I laughed out loud, hard. Lederer goes on to say, "We live by reason-- and therefore we know less about woman than almost any other age." The "we" is "men," and if they know/knew less about women, perhaps it was because they didn't actually ask what women thought and felt, or looked honestly at what they did, and only projected onto them. (Reason and enlightment imply observation after all.) Lederer admits at one point that he's not really concerned with what women are, but rather with what men think they are. But drawing conclusions from myths and psychotherapy patients gives a distorted view of what men in general think, or have thought.
This book is quoted in a book or two I own on neolithic Goddess religions, because it does have some pagan examples, including some pictures, but it's far from feminist itself. Not that it's misanthropic per se. Lederer believes that men and women should be appreciated for what they each contribute, but he doesn't mean as individuals but as how well they live up to masculinity and femininity respectively. He thinks that men have to learn how to be Men, while women just are, when in fact femininity is just as much learned behavior as masculinity.
I'd give the book a C- since, despite its weaknesses, it is interesting to see how (some) men's fear of women has manifested itself over the centuries. But I do like the illustrations, including the New Yorker cartoons of society matrons.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Beatles: The Authorized Biography
1968, first edition, from McGraw-Hill
Hunter Davies
The Beatles: The Authorized Biography
Original price unknown, purchase price $8.95
Good condition except for worn dustjacket
B-
In a way, it's remarkable that I got a first edition for so cheap, some 20 years ago. I'd heard of the book in other books about the Beatles, so I must've been quite pleased by my find. Davies apparently later did updated editions, but there's something about capturing the Beatles at that time, just after Magical Mystery Tour, before The White Album. That said, it's almost painful how much is left out, and not just because it's the only "authorized biography" ever written on the group. Not just their music yet to come, including my favorite of their albums, Abbey Road, but some of what was going on at the time that either was not on Davies's radar, or he wasn't able to write about for whatever reason. He mentions the sex and drugs, but tones them down. (Especially compared to Peter Brown's The Love You Make, which I'll discuss under 1983.)
John had already met Yoko in '66, and they'd get together the same year this book was released, which makes it harder to read about John and Cynthia's married life. Also, the coy references to Brian Epstein as a "gay bachelor" (in the sense of happy) are hard to take, when Brian was very unhappy, partly due to being closeted. (He also felt aimless after the Beatles stopped touring.) There's a mention of John's fist-fight with someone after being called queer, but Davies doesn't connect this with the trip to Spain John took with Brian.
Paul's relationship with Jane Asher is discussed, but of course there's no mention of Linda, although they met a few months after John met Yoko. Surprisingly, there's quite a bit about the Beatles' "parents" (including Ringo's stepfather and John's Aunt Mimi), and it's sweet to think of Mrs. Harrison answering fan letters personally.
The book could've used better editing in the sense that there are a couple year screw-ups, as when George is correctly said to have been born in '43, but then with a birthyear of '44 a few pages later. Also, Davies over-identifies people, repeatedly saying, for instance, that Michael McCartney (McGear) is Paul's brother.
Still, the book does its best to capture a frantic moment in time. Even that worn dustjacket tries to sum up how the Fab Four were, as some of them put it, parts of one whole. The cover shows a composite made up of quarters of each bearded Beatle's face. And on the back, the Edwardian-suited lads are faceless, with too large paper-doll-like faces of them as littler lads of 9 or so, hovering above. It doesn't all fit together, but the pieces are interesting.
Davies is still best known for this book, despite writing many others. I actually know a bit more of his long-time wife Margaret Forster, since she wrote Georgy Girl, as well as a 1988 Elizabeth Barrett Browning biography which I own.
Hunter Davies
The Beatles: The Authorized Biography
Original price unknown, purchase price $8.95
Good condition except for worn dustjacket
B-
In a way, it's remarkable that I got a first edition for so cheap, some 20 years ago. I'd heard of the book in other books about the Beatles, so I must've been quite pleased by my find. Davies apparently later did updated editions, but there's something about capturing the Beatles at that time, just after Magical Mystery Tour, before The White Album. That said, it's almost painful how much is left out, and not just because it's the only "authorized biography" ever written on the group. Not just their music yet to come, including my favorite of their albums, Abbey Road, but some of what was going on at the time that either was not on Davies's radar, or he wasn't able to write about for whatever reason. He mentions the sex and drugs, but tones them down. (Especially compared to Peter Brown's The Love You Make, which I'll discuss under 1983.)
John had already met Yoko in '66, and they'd get together the same year this book was released, which makes it harder to read about John and Cynthia's married life. Also, the coy references to Brian Epstein as a "gay bachelor" (in the sense of happy) are hard to take, when Brian was very unhappy, partly due to being closeted. (He also felt aimless after the Beatles stopped touring.) There's a mention of John's fist-fight with someone after being called queer, but Davies doesn't connect this with the trip to Spain John took with Brian.
Paul's relationship with Jane Asher is discussed, but of course there's no mention of Linda, although they met a few months after John met Yoko. Surprisingly, there's quite a bit about the Beatles' "parents" (including Ringo's stepfather and John's Aunt Mimi), and it's sweet to think of Mrs. Harrison answering fan letters personally.
The book could've used better editing in the sense that there are a couple year screw-ups, as when George is correctly said to have been born in '43, but then with a birthyear of '44 a few pages later. Also, Davies over-identifies people, repeatedly saying, for instance, that Michael McCartney (McGear) is Paul's brother.
Still, the book does its best to capture a frantic moment in time. Even that worn dustjacket tries to sum up how the Fab Four were, as some of them put it, parts of one whole. The cover shows a composite made up of quarters of each bearded Beatle's face. And on the back, the Edwardian-suited lads are faceless, with too large paper-doll-like faces of them as littler lads of 9 or so, hovering above. It doesn't all fit together, but the pieces are interesting.
Davies is still best known for this book, despite writing many others. I actually know a bit more of his long-time wife Margaret Forster, since she wrote Georgy Girl, as well as a 1988 Elizabeth Barrett Browning biography which I own.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Why Not Join the Giraffes?
1968, 1969 Dell edition
Hope Campbell
Why Not Join the Giraffes?
Original price 60 cents, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B-
It's hard to articulate why I like this book. Maybe it's the title, almost Zindelesque in its quirkiness, contrasting with its surprisingly wholesome content. Yes, there's a mention of drugs, and yes, Ralph the love interest shows up with a hangover, but mostly these are good kids, if not exactly cleancut. Protagonist Suzie isn't particularly sympathetic at first, with her discontent in her free-spirited but kind family, not to mention that she lies to Ralph and his family. But she does learn her various lessons in a not too heavy-handed way. And other characters, her parents included, learn, too. I remember getting this book from the library a couple times, and the part I most liked was how Suzie gets her story about the local Chinese restaurant printed, improving business for family friend Willy Chen. I think I didn't get this copy of the book till I was an adult but I remembered the title of course.
Willy is an interesting minor character, partly because he does speak in fractured English but he's not fully a stereotype. Similarly, Suzie's best friend Natalie Goldman, whose last name she "borrows," is Jewish but it's not an issue. Campbell does a decent job of showing the diversity of New York, ethnic and otherwise.
The book is of course incredibly dated, from the pop-art cover of this "flipped-out, tuned-in comedy" to the fashion details. (Who knew turtlenecks were so edgy?) I was also struck by how freely Suzie travels through New York, sometimes on her own. This is after all four years after the Kitty Genovese murder, yet no one seems worried about Suzie's safety. It'll be interesting to compare her to Annabel Andrews in Mary Rodgers's books from a few years later.
Hope Campbell
Why Not Join the Giraffes?
Original price 60 cents, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B-
It's hard to articulate why I like this book. Maybe it's the title, almost Zindelesque in its quirkiness, contrasting with its surprisingly wholesome content. Yes, there's a mention of drugs, and yes, Ralph the love interest shows up with a hangover, but mostly these are good kids, if not exactly cleancut. Protagonist Suzie isn't particularly sympathetic at first, with her discontent in her free-spirited but kind family, not to mention that she lies to Ralph and his family. But she does learn her various lessons in a not too heavy-handed way. And other characters, her parents included, learn, too. I remember getting this book from the library a couple times, and the part I most liked was how Suzie gets her story about the local Chinese restaurant printed, improving business for family friend Willy Chen. I think I didn't get this copy of the book till I was an adult but I remembered the title of course.
Willy is an interesting minor character, partly because he does speak in fractured English but he's not fully a stereotype. Similarly, Suzie's best friend Natalie Goldman, whose last name she "borrows," is Jewish but it's not an issue. Campbell does a decent job of showing the diversity of New York, ethnic and otherwise.
The book is of course incredibly dated, from the pop-art cover of this "flipped-out, tuned-in comedy" to the fashion details. (Who knew turtlenecks were so edgy?) I was also struck by how freely Suzie travels through New York, sometimes on her own. This is after all four years after the Kitty Genovese murder, yet no one seems worried about Suzie's safety. It'll be interesting to compare her to Annabel Andrews in Mary Rodgers's books from a few years later.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
The Cat Who Turned On and Off
1968, 1986 copyright but lists the books through 1996, Jove Books edition
Lilian Jackson Braun
The Cat Who Turned On and Off
Original price $5.99, purchase price $3.00
Worn paperback
B
At some point I lost the copy from the box set, so I had to replace Book #3. It's an important one in the series in that it's the first one where Yum Yum is around a significant amount, and it introduces some recurring characters: Iris Cobb, her son Dennis, and lawyer Robert Maus. Also, Arch Riker has more to do than in the first two books. We even meet his wife Rosie. She's a junker, which Qwilleran initially thinks is the same as a junkie. There is actually a drug angle to the story, although Koko's still clean, only turning on appliances. (However, he will eventually sniff glue.)
The story is again lightly '60s, with one young lady calling Qwill (as he's now known to his friends) "groovy." He's dating another younger woman with nice knees. (Seriously, Qwill has a knee fetish. I guess that's sort of '60s, with miniskirts around everywhere.) This time it's grieving but not inconsolable Mary Duckworth/Duxbury, a rich but kind antique dealer.
The setting of Junktown is more interesting than the neighborhoods of the first two stories, and the mystery is stronger and better handled. I didn't feel like the cats were as memorable though, Yum Yum in particular. I have issues with the female cat, but I'll go into those more later in the series, since I'm cutting her a bit of slack for being a newbie. Also, the narrator and/or Qwill is a bit harsh about how Cluthra and Iris aren't his type. Still, I think the book is slightly better than the second one, if not quite enough to be a B+.
These first three books got good reviews, but Braun took a hiatus, until 1986. According to this obituary, http://www.blueridgenow.com/article/20110607/NEWS/110609883 , "she stopped writing the mysteries because the genre had begun to include more sex and violence. Also, she had a full-time job with the Detroit Free Press that she found satisfying." Her mysteries are certainly cozy, without much gore, despite all the murder. And "sex" is never more overt than "the pair on the daybed were blissfully unaware" on the last page of this novel.
Lilian Jackson Braun
The Cat Who Turned On and Off
Original price $5.99, purchase price $3.00
Worn paperback
B
At some point I lost the copy from the box set, so I had to replace Book #3. It's an important one in the series in that it's the first one where Yum Yum is around a significant amount, and it introduces some recurring characters: Iris Cobb, her son Dennis, and lawyer Robert Maus. Also, Arch Riker has more to do than in the first two books. We even meet his wife Rosie. She's a junker, which Qwilleran initially thinks is the same as a junkie. There is actually a drug angle to the story, although Koko's still clean, only turning on appliances. (However, he will eventually sniff glue.)
The story is again lightly '60s, with one young lady calling Qwill (as he's now known to his friends) "groovy." He's dating another younger woman with nice knees. (Seriously, Qwill has a knee fetish. I guess that's sort of '60s, with miniskirts around everywhere.) This time it's grieving but not inconsolable Mary Duckworth/Duxbury, a rich but kind antique dealer.
The setting of Junktown is more interesting than the neighborhoods of the first two stories, and the mystery is stronger and better handled. I didn't feel like the cats were as memorable though, Yum Yum in particular. I have issues with the female cat, but I'll go into those more later in the series, since I'm cutting her a bit of slack for being a newbie. Also, the narrator and/or Qwill is a bit harsh about how Cluthra and Iris aren't his type. Still, I think the book is slightly better than the second one, if not quite enough to be a B+.
These first three books got good reviews, but Braun took a hiatus, until 1986. According to this obituary, http://www.blueridgenow.com/article/20110607/NEWS/110609883 , "she stopped writing the mysteries because the genre had begun to include more sex and violence. Also, she had a full-time job with the Detroit Free Press that she found satisfying." Her mysteries are certainly cozy, without much gore, despite all the murder. And "sex" is never more overt than "the pair on the daybed were blissfully unaware" on the last page of this novel.
Born Female: The High Cost of Keeping Women Down
1968, first edition, from David McKay Company
Caroline Bird
Born Female: The High Cost of Keeping Women Down
Original price unknown, purchase price $7.50
OK condition hardcover, with notes in pencil
B-
We've reached my birthyear, and since I was born in February, just about every book from here on out is going to be younger than I am. So it's interesting to kick off the year with a second-wave feminist work, offering 44-year-old statistics and observations on the status of American women. So much has changed, so much hasn't. What strikes me most on this reading is the use of the word "girls" for women in their 20s, even by Bird and those she quotes sympathetically. It's worth noting that on That Girl, Anne Marie would not only refer to herself as a girl, but call her boyfriend (in his later 20s) a boy. And so did everyone else on the show. Therefore, this is more a matter of changes in how younger adults are perceived than how women are perceived. (I myself use "boy" and "girl" for adults jocularly. I am both a woman and a girl, and have been for almost 30 years.)
Another striking change is that while Bird makes optimistic predictions, she falls into some of the same traps that the statisticians she quotes fall into. They didn't predict that the '50s moms would go back to work and so soon, even when their children were small, a trend that expanded in the '60s. Bird speaks of the population gap between Baby Boom women and the slightly older men. She saw this as leading to more women getting higher education, and many of them marrying divorced or widowed men down the road. Of course, almost 20 years after her prediction, Newsweek infamously took this gap to mean that a woman over 40 had as much chance of getting killed by a terrorist as getting married (not to a terrorist). As Katha Pollitt and Susan Faludi sensibly pointed out, not every woman wants to get married, while others will marry younger men. (Or women.)
Bird's hopes for "androgynous" marriages between equals, who'd both work outside the home, and split housework in whatever ways made most sense for them, including possibly hiring well-paid cleaning services, seem both utopian and closer to reality than she would've guessed. That is, many "traditional marriages" still exist (some of them by choice, some by societal pressure), but "modern marriages" are much more common, less remarkable, than at the time this book was published.
Similarly, while there is still a gender pay gap of roughly 81 cents for women to men's dollar, this is a great advance over the past. However, this is based on full-time work and, just as in Bird's day, women continue to do more part-time work than men, for some of the same reasons as in the '60s.
The first chapter of the book tells of how "sex" got included in Title VII, as a way to kill the Civil Rights Bill of 1964, but then it passed. Government and business weren't prepared for all the changes this would bring, in some ways much more than extending rights to Negro men, for sheer numbers alone. The jokes about male Playboy bunnies and surprise at how many women had complaints for the EEOC show how much had changed in the four years between that vote and this publication, in some ways as much as has changed in the forty-four years since.
And those notes? I think they must've been written by some young woman, probably in the early '70s. Mostly, she underlined passages and put exclamation points, but sometimes she couldn't help writing words. The most vivid is her rebuttal to the Harry Reasoner quote, "Love and dependence often thrive together." She wrote, "Big BULLSHIT."
Caroline Bird
Born Female: The High Cost of Keeping Women Down
Original price unknown, purchase price $7.50
OK condition hardcover, with notes in pencil
B-
We've reached my birthyear, and since I was born in February, just about every book from here on out is going to be younger than I am. So it's interesting to kick off the year with a second-wave feminist work, offering 44-year-old statistics and observations on the status of American women. So much has changed, so much hasn't. What strikes me most on this reading is the use of the word "girls" for women in their 20s, even by Bird and those she quotes sympathetically. It's worth noting that on That Girl, Anne Marie would not only refer to herself as a girl, but call her boyfriend (in his later 20s) a boy. And so did everyone else on the show. Therefore, this is more a matter of changes in how younger adults are perceived than how women are perceived. (I myself use "boy" and "girl" for adults jocularly. I am both a woman and a girl, and have been for almost 30 years.)
Another striking change is that while Bird makes optimistic predictions, she falls into some of the same traps that the statisticians she quotes fall into. They didn't predict that the '50s moms would go back to work and so soon, even when their children were small, a trend that expanded in the '60s. Bird speaks of the population gap between Baby Boom women and the slightly older men. She saw this as leading to more women getting higher education, and many of them marrying divorced or widowed men down the road. Of course, almost 20 years after her prediction, Newsweek infamously took this gap to mean that a woman over 40 had as much chance of getting killed by a terrorist as getting married (not to a terrorist). As Katha Pollitt and Susan Faludi sensibly pointed out, not every woman wants to get married, while others will marry younger men. (Or women.)
Bird's hopes for "androgynous" marriages between equals, who'd both work outside the home, and split housework in whatever ways made most sense for them, including possibly hiring well-paid cleaning services, seem both utopian and closer to reality than she would've guessed. That is, many "traditional marriages" still exist (some of them by choice, some by societal pressure), but "modern marriages" are much more common, less remarkable, than at the time this book was published.
Similarly, while there is still a gender pay gap of roughly 81 cents for women to men's dollar, this is a great advance over the past. However, this is based on full-time work and, just as in Bird's day, women continue to do more part-time work than men, for some of the same reasons as in the '60s.
The first chapter of the book tells of how "sex" got included in Title VII, as a way to kill the Civil Rights Bill of 1964, but then it passed. Government and business weren't prepared for all the changes this would bring, in some ways much more than extending rights to Negro men, for sheer numbers alone. The jokes about male Playboy bunnies and surprise at how many women had complaints for the EEOC show how much had changed in the four years between that vote and this publication, in some ways as much as has changed in the forty-four years since.
And those notes? I think they must've been written by some young woman, probably in the early '70s. Mostly, she underlined passages and put exclamation points, but sometimes she couldn't help writing words. The most vivid is her rebuttal to the Harry Reasoner quote, "Love and dependence often thrive together." She wrote, "Big BULLSHIT."
Washington, D. C.
1967, 1968 Signet edition
Gore Vidal
Washington D.C.
Original price 95 cents, purchase price $1.50
Very worn paperback
C+
Despite the title, and despite having grown up in that city, as the grandson of an Oklahoma senator, Vidal doesn't offer any particular insights into that "overgrown village" or politics in general. The unsubtly named Clay Overbury, a Kennedyesque (but less intelligent) protégé of elderly and honorable but corruptible Senator Day, betrays the old man in order to achieve his own ambition, with the help of Blaise Sanford, Clay's father-in-law who may be in love with him, while Blaise's son Peter is in love with his sister (Clay's wife) Enid and with Day's daughter Diana. The book was probably a lot more shocking 45 years ago, but even the romantic/sexual revelations aren't particularly surprising, since the characters don't have much depth.
And Vidal isn't even very consistent about the sexuality. To take Peter as an example, at 16 he is a virgin who's so sexually frustrated that he can "think of nothing but rape." Then it turns out that not only was he seduced by another boy at 13, but he fooled around with supposedly unattainable Enid. And his sexuality isn't as violent as the first chapter implies. He's more interested in food, and Vidal isn't even consistent about that. Also, he ages Peter up a year or two at some point, when he could've just made him 17 to begin with.
The politics are handled in just as inconsistent a fashion, with characters, even the less shallow ones, trying on beliefs like clothes. So why read the book? Well, it's part of Vidal's Narratives of Empire series, the first written but the sixth chronologically. I don't think Vidal was thinking in terms of a series at this point, and there are ways that the later books contradict this one. The references to Aaron Burr, and the scene where Day is covered in burrs, end up being ironic in retrospect.
The book does move along, with side characters like Millicent Smith Carhart (niece of a fictional late-19th-century President) and nouveau riche Jewess Irene Bloch, stealing scenes. It's readable, just far from Vidal's best.
Gore Vidal
Washington D.C.
Original price 95 cents, purchase price $1.50
Very worn paperback
C+
Despite the title, and despite having grown up in that city, as the grandson of an Oklahoma senator, Vidal doesn't offer any particular insights into that "overgrown village" or politics in general. The unsubtly named Clay Overbury, a Kennedyesque (but less intelligent) protégé of elderly and honorable but corruptible Senator Day, betrays the old man in order to achieve his own ambition, with the help of Blaise Sanford, Clay's father-in-law who may be in love with him, while Blaise's son Peter is in love with his sister (Clay's wife) Enid and with Day's daughter Diana. The book was probably a lot more shocking 45 years ago, but even the romantic/sexual revelations aren't particularly surprising, since the characters don't have much depth.
And Vidal isn't even very consistent about the sexuality. To take Peter as an example, at 16 he is a virgin who's so sexually frustrated that he can "think of nothing but rape." Then it turns out that not only was he seduced by another boy at 13, but he fooled around with supposedly unattainable Enid. And his sexuality isn't as violent as the first chapter implies. He's more interested in food, and Vidal isn't even consistent about that. Also, he ages Peter up a year or two at some point, when he could've just made him 17 to begin with.
The politics are handled in just as inconsistent a fashion, with characters, even the less shallow ones, trying on beliefs like clothes. So why read the book? Well, it's part of Vidal's Narratives of Empire series, the first written but the sixth chronologically. I don't think Vidal was thinking in terms of a series at this point, and there are ways that the later books contradict this one. The references to Aaron Burr, and the scene where Day is covered in burrs, end up being ironic in retrospect.
The book does move along, with side characters like Millicent Smith Carhart (niece of a fictional late-19th-century President) and nouveau riche Jewess Irene Bloch, stealing scenes. It's readable, just far from Vidal's best.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Particularly Cats
1967, 1971 Signet edition
Doris Lessing
Particularly Cats
Original price 95 cents, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B+
Lessing tells of cats she's lived with, in Africa and England (as well as a bit about her cat when she was a little girl in Iran). The Harper's quote on the back says that she uses "none of these anthromorphic touches that make you want to throw a can of tuna at people." Lessing actually does compare her cats to people, but she also points out their differences and admits that she doesn't always understand these small, mysterious creatures. There's a couple in the book who give her their grey kitten because the wife thinks "she was losing the affections of the husband to the cat, just like the wife in Colette's tale," and his behaviour when the cat is on heat seems to confirm this, but the passages with them are more funny than creepy. (The husband is wistful rather than perverted.)
While Lessing definitely sees the flaws in cats, she also is clearly fascinated by them: their beauty, their savagery, their whimsy. When the black cat joins the household, she compares and contrasts it with the grey, and describes how their hostility changes over time to a wary peace. That grey cat is a cowardly but successful hunter, and black cat only secure when she's got kittens, adds to the complexity of their relationships with each other and with her. And all of it is much more interesting than any of the dynamics of the humans in Lessing's fiction. Even the "romances" are more interesting. Will Grey Cat mate with Mephistopheles or the handsome young tiger? Definitely more gripping a tale than Martha's passive drifting in and out of bed with various unhappy men.
Doris Lessing
Particularly Cats
Original price 95 cents, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B+
Lessing tells of cats she's lived with, in Africa and England (as well as a bit about her cat when she was a little girl in Iran). The Harper's quote on the back says that she uses "none of these anthromorphic touches that make you want to throw a can of tuna at people." Lessing actually does compare her cats to people, but she also points out their differences and admits that she doesn't always understand these small, mysterious creatures. There's a couple in the book who give her their grey kitten because the wife thinks "she was losing the affections of the husband to the cat, just like the wife in Colette's tale," and his behaviour when the cat is on heat seems to confirm this, but the passages with them are more funny than creepy. (The husband is wistful rather than perverted.)
While Lessing definitely sees the flaws in cats, she also is clearly fascinated by them: their beauty, their savagery, their whimsy. When the black cat joins the household, she compares and contrasts it with the grey, and describes how their hostility changes over time to a wary peace. That grey cat is a cowardly but successful hunter, and black cat only secure when she's got kittens, adds to the complexity of their relationships with each other and with her. And all of it is much more interesting than any of the dynamics of the humans in Lessing's fiction. Even the "romances" are more interesting. Will Grey Cat mate with Mephistopheles or the handsome young tiger? Definitely more gripping a tale than Martha's passive drifting in and out of bed with various unhappy men.
Prehysterical Pogo (in Pandemonia)
1967, possibly first edition
Walt Kelly
Prehysterical Pogo (in Pandemonia)
Original price $1.50, purchase price about $25
Very worn paperback
B+
I had a copy of this as a kid but lost it at some point. I remembered it as having my favorite Pogo artwork, so a few years ago I shelled out some money to get a replacement. There are two odd things about the art, one of which I remembered, and one which never struck me till this rereading. Owl has again decided to launch his friends-- this time Pogo, Churchy, and Albert-- into outer space. They're accidentally sent off ahead of schedule, thanks to Albert's cigar and Aunt Granny's Bitter Brittle Root Beer. They land in what they think is either Mars and/or the prehistoric (and prehysteric) past, although their Australian pilot friend Basher later shows up and reveals that it's actually Alice Springs. (He also makes a lot of references to Milton Caniff of Steve Canyon fame.)
Although there are some sequences back in the swamp, particularly with crooked storekeeper Mr. Miggle, who's founded Unknowns Anonymous, most of the story is set in Pandemonia. So Kelly is freed to draw not only dinosaurs and zebra-unicorn hybrids, but half-clothed humans. And I can't remember if there are humans elsewhere in Pogo. I think there was a little black boy in the early days of the comic book, but generally it ran as a talking-animal newspaper strip. One character is half-human, a cowboy centaur that I could've sworn all these years was John Wayne, but now I can clearly see is LBJ with the hat pulled down over his eyes. The "Lone Arranger" is fighting with a Mao-Tse-Tung-like Buddha figure, both of them wanting to protect a little Asian girl who doesn't want protection. The political symbolism is a lot more obvious to me now than when I was a kid.
Meanwhile Noah is preparing for a flood, despite a drought and despite the strike by the time-keeping rabbit in his hat. And Albert has a romance with a dinosaur princess, despite his temporary single motherhood, leading to a picnic containing one of my all-time favorite puns. Pogo trips over the inedible cake and says, "It din't improve the foot nor the cake." The princess says, "My cute marble cake." Pogo says, "Yeh? I took that for granite." (The second-best joke has a half-empty half-full observation about Keynesian economics.)
Even by Pogo standards, it's all kind(s) of crazy. And fun.
I've now read more works from the 1960s than any other decade, although that record won't stand.
Walt Kelly
Prehysterical Pogo (in Pandemonia)
Original price $1.50, purchase price about $25
Very worn paperback
B+
I had a copy of this as a kid but lost it at some point. I remembered it as having my favorite Pogo artwork, so a few years ago I shelled out some money to get a replacement. There are two odd things about the art, one of which I remembered, and one which never struck me till this rereading. Owl has again decided to launch his friends-- this time Pogo, Churchy, and Albert-- into outer space. They're accidentally sent off ahead of schedule, thanks to Albert's cigar and Aunt Granny's Bitter Brittle Root Beer. They land in what they think is either Mars and/or the prehistoric (and prehysteric) past, although their Australian pilot friend Basher later shows up and reveals that it's actually Alice Springs. (He also makes a lot of references to Milton Caniff of Steve Canyon fame.)
Although there are some sequences back in the swamp, particularly with crooked storekeeper Mr. Miggle, who's founded Unknowns Anonymous, most of the story is set in Pandemonia. So Kelly is freed to draw not only dinosaurs and zebra-unicorn hybrids, but half-clothed humans. And I can't remember if there are humans elsewhere in Pogo. I think there was a little black boy in the early days of the comic book, but generally it ran as a talking-animal newspaper strip. One character is half-human, a cowboy centaur that I could've sworn all these years was John Wayne, but now I can clearly see is LBJ with the hat pulled down over his eyes. The "Lone Arranger" is fighting with a Mao-Tse-Tung-like Buddha figure, both of them wanting to protect a little Asian girl who doesn't want protection. The political symbolism is a lot more obvious to me now than when I was a kid.
Meanwhile Noah is preparing for a flood, despite a drought and despite the strike by the time-keeping rabbit in his hat. And Albert has a romance with a dinosaur princess, despite his temporary single motherhood, leading to a picnic containing one of my all-time favorite puns. Pogo trips over the inedible cake and says, "It din't improve the foot nor the cake." The princess says, "My cute marble cake." Pogo says, "Yeh? I took that for granite." (The second-best joke has a half-empty half-full observation about Keynesian economics.)
Even by Pogo standards, it's all kind(s) of crazy. And fun.
I've now read more works from the 1960s than any other decade, although that record won't stand.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography
1967, 1968 Bantam edition
Christine Jorgensen
Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography
Original price 95 cents, purchase price 25 cents
Very worn paperback
B-
Jorgensen tells of her life before, during, and after her famous transition, although understandably almost a third of the book is set in the first year following her second (of three) sex-change operations. (The first operation drew no media or other attention, but word leaked to the press after she wrote a letter to her family.) Through it all, Jorgensen maintained her dignity and sense of humor. It's been six decades since the year she became the most heavily discussed person in the world, and she's still recognized as a pioneer in the acceptance of "transsexuals." (It's now less acceptable to use the word as a noun than as an adjective, although the term itself was very new at the time this book was written.)
As for the autobiography itself, Jorgensen is a pretty good storyteller but I can't say it's that fascinating a life. I didn't really care about her nightclub career or experiences in home-buying. (The photography was interesting but then she dropped it.) As she admits, she wasn't an extraordinary person; she just dealt well with extraordinary circumstances, the media attention being a different burden than her depression over her identity when she was younger. But maybe it's her being a good and average person that makes her heroism more impressive. She just wanted to lead a normal life, and that was easier to do post-surgery than before, despite what people expected.
Christine Jorgensen
Christine Jorgensen: A Personal Autobiography
Original price 95 cents, purchase price 25 cents
Very worn paperback
B-
Jorgensen tells of her life before, during, and after her famous transition, although understandably almost a third of the book is set in the first year following her second (of three) sex-change operations. (The first operation drew no media or other attention, but word leaked to the press after she wrote a letter to her family.) Through it all, Jorgensen maintained her dignity and sense of humor. It's been six decades since the year she became the most heavily discussed person in the world, and she's still recognized as a pioneer in the acceptance of "transsexuals." (It's now less acceptable to use the word as a noun than as an adjective, although the term itself was very new at the time this book was written.)
As for the autobiography itself, Jorgensen is a pretty good storyteller but I can't say it's that fascinating a life. I didn't really care about her nightclub career or experiences in home-buying. (The photography was interesting but then she dropped it.) As she admits, she wasn't an extraordinary person; she just dealt well with extraordinary circumstances, the media attention being a different burden than her depression over her identity when she was younger. But maybe it's her being a good and average person that makes her heroism more impressive. She just wanted to lead a normal life, and that was easier to do post-surgery than before, despite what people expected.
The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern
1967, 1986 Jove Books edition
Lilian Jackson Braun
The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern
Original price $3.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback
B
In the second Cat Who, it's six months after the February and March of Could Read Backwards, and Qwilleran is "over forty-five." He's still working at the Fluxion newspaper, but now he's been given the assignment of running a Sunday supplement on interior design, which he knows no more about than he does about modern art. He's adopted Koko, although it was implied in the first book that Mountclemens's sister might take the cat. Koko is eating wool, including a Danish modern chair. (Hence the punning title). Jim visits a "psycatrist" who advises him to get a second cat. Conveniently, a female Siamese has been orphaned by the death of her rich human. And so we meet Yum Yum. (Jim renames her because the cat lady knows Gilbert & Sullivan.) Speaking of names, one character calls Jim "Qwill" but it is not yet the common nickname it'll become later.
The mystery is again secondary to other plots, and too much of the solution is delivered to Jim (by phone calls as well as by Koko) without him figuring it out, but Jim does get a more interesting love interest, Cokey Wright, the witty young female architect. There are more memorable supporting characters overall. The LGBT element is subtler and impacts the plot less, but there is innuendo about the leanings of handsome, young male designers. It's a less obviously '60s book than Read Backwards, although a couple characters are "Negroes" and a woman gets a Reno divorce.
Lilian Jackson Braun
The Cat Who Ate Danish Modern
Original price $3.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback
B
In the second Cat Who, it's six months after the February and March of Could Read Backwards, and Qwilleran is "over forty-five." He's still working at the Fluxion newspaper, but now he's been given the assignment of running a Sunday supplement on interior design, which he knows no more about than he does about modern art. He's adopted Koko, although it was implied in the first book that Mountclemens's sister might take the cat. Koko is eating wool, including a Danish modern chair. (Hence the punning title). Jim visits a "psycatrist" who advises him to get a second cat. Conveniently, a female Siamese has been orphaned by the death of her rich human. And so we meet Yum Yum. (Jim renames her because the cat lady knows Gilbert & Sullivan.) Speaking of names, one character calls Jim "Qwill" but it is not yet the common nickname it'll become later.
The mystery is again secondary to other plots, and too much of the solution is delivered to Jim (by phone calls as well as by Koko) without him figuring it out, but Jim does get a more interesting love interest, Cokey Wright, the witty young female architect. There are more memorable supporting characters overall. The LGBT element is subtler and impacts the plot less, but there is innuendo about the leanings of handsome, young male designers. It's a less obviously '60s book than Read Backwards, although a couple characters are "Negroes" and a woman gets a Reno divorce.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Droodles
1966, 1973 Price/Stern/Sloan edition
Roger Price
Droodles
Original price $1.00, purchase price 20 cents, perhaps the greatest bargain of all!
Very worn paperback
B
Price's company is best known for MAD Libs, but these "borkley looking sort of drawings" equally inspire creativity and silliness. And the best known of these is the one that Frank Zappa chose for an album title, "A Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch."* Most of the illustrations are timeless, but I went with the 1966 copyright out of the various ones to choose from on the title page because there's a Beatles reference. Some of the Droodles are title only, while others have little stories behind them. A few involve words, such as
GI
CCCCCCCC
and some of them are "so simple any four-year-old can draw them-- those over four may have a little trouble."
I was such a dirty-minded child that when I saw Price's comment on "Turtle smoking in bed," "Some people may say this isn't a Droodle children should see because it will give them ideas," I was sure it must have some sexual connotation that I wasn't yet old enough to understand. Actually, the book is pretty clean and "great for kids 8 to 80" as they said back in the day.
* Yes, this makes at least my third Frank Zappa reference. And I'm not even a fan. It's just impossible to discuss the 20th-century without mentioning him.
Roger Price
Droodles
Original price $1.00, purchase price 20 cents, perhaps the greatest bargain of all!
Very worn paperback
B
Price's company is best known for MAD Libs, but these "borkley looking sort of drawings" equally inspire creativity and silliness. And the best known of these is the one that Frank Zappa chose for an album title, "A Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch."* Most of the illustrations are timeless, but I went with the 1966 copyright out of the various ones to choose from on the title page because there's a Beatles reference. Some of the Droodles are title only, while others have little stories behind them. A few involve words, such as
GI
CCCCCCCC
and some of them are "so simple any four-year-old can draw them-- those over four may have a little trouble."
I was such a dirty-minded child that when I saw Price's comment on "Turtle smoking in bed," "Some people may say this isn't a Droodle children should see because it will give them ideas," I was sure it must have some sexual connotation that I wasn't yet old enough to understand. Actually, the book is pretty clean and "great for kids 8 to 80" as they said back in the day.
* Yes, this makes at least my third Frank Zappa reference. And I'm not even a fan. It's just impossible to discuss the 20th-century without mentioning him.
A MAD Look at Old Movies
1966, 1974 Warner edition
Written by Dick DeBartolo
Illustrated by Jack Davis & Mort Drucker
A MAD Look at Old Movies
Bought newish for 95 cents
Falling apart paperback
B-
A few of the "Usual Gang of Idiots" parody Tarzan, Shirley Temple/National Velvet, mysteries, and show-biz-centered musicals. Although I prefer Drucker's art to Davis's, including Marlon Brando cast as Tarzan (the mumbling maybe?), the Davis-illustrated stories are better written, "Little Miss Wishy Washy" in particular. Most of the humor is un-topical, except in "Tarzan Faces Tsuris" (Yiddish for "trouble"), where the natives dance the Watusi. Drucker also draws naked (but not detailed) women in that story, although the most suggestive picture is Fran wrapped in curve-hugging bandages in "The Case of the Murderer Who Killed."
I chuckled a few times, and got more of the jokes than I did when I first read this around the age of 8.
Written by Dick DeBartolo
Illustrated by Jack Davis & Mort Drucker
A MAD Look at Old Movies
Bought newish for 95 cents
Falling apart paperback
B-
A few of the "Usual Gang of Idiots" parody Tarzan, Shirley Temple/National Velvet, mysteries, and show-biz-centered musicals. Although I prefer Drucker's art to Davis's, including Marlon Brando cast as Tarzan (the mumbling maybe?), the Davis-illustrated stories are better written, "Little Miss Wishy Washy" in particular. Most of the humor is un-topical, except in "Tarzan Faces Tsuris" (Yiddish for "trouble"), where the natives dance the Watusi. Drucker also draws naked (but not detailed) women in that story, although the most suggestive picture is Fran wrapped in curve-hugging bandages in "The Case of the Murderer Who Killed."
I chuckled a few times, and got more of the jokes than I did when I first read this around the age of 8.
The Cat Who Could Read Backwards
1966, 1986 Jove Book edition
Lilian Jackson Braun
The Cat Who Could Read Backwards
Original price $2.95, bought newish for unknown (see below)
Very worn paperback with cover torn off
B-
A quarter-century ago I was working in a bookstore. They would sometimes fail to sell items, so they would then tear off the front covers and sell them marked down. (I can't remember if the books were available to the general public or just to staff.) I saw a box set of the first four Cat Who's. I'd never heard of the series, but at that point there were only five books out. I've never been a big mystery reader, as you've probably guessed by now. (I like the genre but it's not one I've spent much time with compared to, say, children's fantasy.) So I think the only two reasons I bought the box set were it was about a cat, and it was cheap.
I liked the series. I still like the series. I own quite a bit of the series. Yet it did jump the shark at some point. (Braun died at 97 last year, the final book never published.) One of the things I'm looking forward to with this blog is figuring out when exactly she put on the Fonzie water-skis.
But this is long before that. This is the book where we meet mustached reporter Jim Qwilleran and the clever Siamese title character, Kao K'o-Kung, AKA Koko. It also introduces Qwilleran's friend Arch Riker, more about him later. Most of the other characters will have short lives in the series, whether or not they're killed off. The most interesting is Koko's first human, Mountclemens the vicious art critic.
At the beginning of the book, Jim has just moved to a new city, having survived alcoholism and a bad marriage. He gets a job as art reporter, although he knows nothing about art. He interviews the local artists, most of whom have a mutual hatred with Mountclemens. And, with Koko's help, he solves the mystery, which isn't handled as well as it could be, although not as clumsily as in some of the later books. Koko doesn't show up till almost a third of the way in, and then he has to make Qwilleran realize that he's revealing clues. (One character observes that the cat is smarter than Jim.)
Qwilleran's romance is middling as well, with some of it happening offpage. Zoe is neither the best nor the worst of Jim's various ladies.
What I like most about the story is seeing Braun establish the setting (all of it abandoned a few books later), particularly the '60sness of it. I'll talk about the gap between Books 3 and 4 when we get there, but there's not any way to retcon these earlier books as being the 1980s, so I'll just assume that there's some weird rip in the time-space continuum that makes Jim horrified by mechanical pencil sharpeners and confused by a Happening.
As for that LGBT label, one of the female suspects is mannish and has a crush on her childhood friend Zoe. I can only hope her first name was not as anvilly in '66: Butchy. I also hope that she got over Zoe and met a nice girl named Femmy.
Lilian Jackson Braun
The Cat Who Could Read Backwards
Original price $2.95, bought newish for unknown (see below)
Very worn paperback with cover torn off
B-
A quarter-century ago I was working in a bookstore. They would sometimes fail to sell items, so they would then tear off the front covers and sell them marked down. (I can't remember if the books were available to the general public or just to staff.) I saw a box set of the first four Cat Who's. I'd never heard of the series, but at that point there were only five books out. I've never been a big mystery reader, as you've probably guessed by now. (I like the genre but it's not one I've spent much time with compared to, say, children's fantasy.) So I think the only two reasons I bought the box set were it was about a cat, and it was cheap.
I liked the series. I still like the series. I own quite a bit of the series. Yet it did jump the shark at some point. (Braun died at 97 last year, the final book never published.) One of the things I'm looking forward to with this blog is figuring out when exactly she put on the Fonzie water-skis.
But this is long before that. This is the book where we meet mustached reporter Jim Qwilleran and the clever Siamese title character, Kao K'o-Kung, AKA Koko. It also introduces Qwilleran's friend Arch Riker, more about him later. Most of the other characters will have short lives in the series, whether or not they're killed off. The most interesting is Koko's first human, Mountclemens the vicious art critic.
At the beginning of the book, Jim has just moved to a new city, having survived alcoholism and a bad marriage. He gets a job as art reporter, although he knows nothing about art. He interviews the local artists, most of whom have a mutual hatred with Mountclemens. And, with Koko's help, he solves the mystery, which isn't handled as well as it could be, although not as clumsily as in some of the later books. Koko doesn't show up till almost a third of the way in, and then he has to make Qwilleran realize that he's revealing clues. (One character observes that the cat is smarter than Jim.)
Qwilleran's romance is middling as well, with some of it happening offpage. Zoe is neither the best nor the worst of Jim's various ladies.
What I like most about the story is seeing Braun establish the setting (all of it abandoned a few books later), particularly the '60sness of it. I'll talk about the gap between Books 3 and 4 when we get there, but there's not any way to retcon these earlier books as being the 1980s, so I'll just assume that there's some weird rip in the time-space continuum that makes Jim horrified by mechanical pencil sharpeners and confused by a Happening.
As for that LGBT label, one of the female suspects is mannish and has a crush on her childhood friend Zoe. I can only hope her first name was not as anvilly in '66: Butchy. I also hope that she got over Zoe and met a nice girl named Femmy.
The Tin Can Tree
1965
Anne Tyler
The Tin Can Tree
C-
It's an accomplishment of sorts that this is actually worse than If Morning Ever Comes. It contains one of her worst characters, Ansel Green, a boring, self-centered hypochondriac whose brother James feels obligated to take care of him, to the point that James will probably never marry the neighbor he loves. There's a 6-year-old whose death happens shortly before the novel begins, but I felt like the grief wasn't believable. There were mildly interesting parts, like James's photography, and to my surprise a part with Ansel (the pizza), but I just found it an unrewarding read.
Anne Tyler
The Tin Can Tree
C-
It's an accomplishment of sorts that this is actually worse than If Morning Ever Comes. It contains one of her worst characters, Ansel Green, a boring, self-centered hypochondriac whose brother James feels obligated to take care of him, to the point that James will probably never marry the neighbor he loves. There's a 6-year-old whose death happens shortly before the novel begins, but I felt like the grief wasn't believable. There were mildly interesting parts, like James's photography, and to my surprise a part with Ansel (the pizza), but I just found it an unrewarding read.
Queen Victoria: Born to Succeed
1965, 1971 Pyramid Books edition
Elizabeth Longford
Queen Victoria: Born to Succeed
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.75
Very worn paperback with covers detached
B
Longford presents a sympathetic view of Britain's longest-reigning monarch. (Victoria's great-great-granddaughter is currently #2.) She contradicts both the image of Victoria as stodgy and the counter-image of her as a lusty descendant of the Hanoverians, who took John Brown as a lover after wearing out poor Prince Albert. Longford's Victoria had a sense of humour (she didn't always say, "We are not amused") and was in some ways both innocent and romantic. She also would've believed that the personal is political (and vice versa), although not in the way late-20th-century feminists would, since she let her feelings about the various Prime Ministers shape how she dealt with them.
The book captures the various sides of Victoria, contradictions and all. It would benefit from a family tree-- I couldn't keep track of all the grandkids, including the ones that married each other-- although not everyone was equally worth keeping track of. I really enjoyed the glimpses of Kaiser Wilhelm as a bratty little boy, yet I was touched by his grief for his grandmother. There are no villains in this book, except that Longford seems to have hated feminist writer Harriet Martineau. I suspect the title is an ironic pun, since no one expected Victoria to succeed her uncles to the throne, but she did and was very successful.
Longford herself lived a long, interesting life, from 1906 to 2002. She married the future Earl of Longford (her actual married name was Pakenham), wrote other historical works besides this one, and had eight children, one of them Antonia Fraser, herself a historian. Fraser's Mary Queen of Scots will be coming up in 1969. (And her daughter, Flora Fraser, wrote a 2006 book which I've read but don't own, about George III's daughters, Victoria's aunts. Flora's sister Rebecca wrote a non-royal biography, of the Brontës, which we'll get to in 1988.)
Elizabeth Longford
Queen Victoria: Born to Succeed
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.75
Very worn paperback with covers detached
B
Longford presents a sympathetic view of Britain's longest-reigning monarch. (Victoria's great-great-granddaughter is currently #2.) She contradicts both the image of Victoria as stodgy and the counter-image of her as a lusty descendant of the Hanoverians, who took John Brown as a lover after wearing out poor Prince Albert. Longford's Victoria had a sense of humour (she didn't always say, "We are not amused") and was in some ways both innocent and romantic. She also would've believed that the personal is political (and vice versa), although not in the way late-20th-century feminists would, since she let her feelings about the various Prime Ministers shape how she dealt with them.
The book captures the various sides of Victoria, contradictions and all. It would benefit from a family tree-- I couldn't keep track of all the grandkids, including the ones that married each other-- although not everyone was equally worth keeping track of. I really enjoyed the glimpses of Kaiser Wilhelm as a bratty little boy, yet I was touched by his grief for his grandmother. There are no villains in this book, except that Longford seems to have hated feminist writer Harriet Martineau. I suspect the title is an ironic pun, since no one expected Victoria to succeed her uncles to the throne, but she did and was very successful.
Longford herself lived a long, interesting life, from 1906 to 2002. She married the future Earl of Longford (her actual married name was Pakenham), wrote other historical works besides this one, and had eight children, one of them Antonia Fraser, herself a historian. Fraser's Mary Queen of Scots will be coming up in 1969. (And her daughter, Flora Fraser, wrote a 2006 book which I've read but don't own, about George III's daughters, Victoria's aunts. Flora's sister Rebecca wrote a non-royal biography, of the Brontës, which we'll get to in 1988.)
Monday, July 16, 2012
Landlocked
1965, 1991 Plume edition
Doris Lessing
Landlocked
Bought new for $8.95
Worn paperback
C+
More waiting around with passive Martha and her friends. She finally, after four years, gets a divorce and leaves for England, but that's in the last chapter. Meanwhile, World War II ends and the Cold War begins. Martha for the first time has a somewhat satisfying (emotionally and physically) relationship, so you know it won't work out. (I was rooting for Martha to get with one of the Cohen brothers, after all this time.) I appreciated the insights into Martha's mother and daughter, although I thought it was weak to have her father die offstage. And good ol' Jasmine drops by and gets the last word ("Barricades!"), and "then she vanished from sight."
Four down and one to go of this series. I think I liked Martha best in the last book, The Four-Gated City, or maybe I was just so glad to finally be in England after all that build-up. We'll see if that holds true when we get to 1969....
Doris Lessing
Landlocked
Bought new for $8.95
Worn paperback
C+
More waiting around with passive Martha and her friends. She finally, after four years, gets a divorce and leaves for England, but that's in the last chapter. Meanwhile, World War II ends and the Cold War begins. Martha for the first time has a somewhat satisfying (emotionally and physically) relationship, so you know it won't work out. (I was rooting for Martha to get with one of the Cohen brothers, after all this time.) I appreciated the insights into Martha's mother and daughter, although I thought it was weak to have her father die offstage. And good ol' Jasmine drops by and gets the last word ("Barricades!"), and "then she vanished from sight."
Four down and one to go of this series. I think I liked Martha best in the last book, The Four-Gated City, or maybe I was just so glad to finally be in England after all that build-up. We'll see if that holds true when we get to 1969....
Force of Circumstance
1965 Penguin translation of 1963 autobiography
Simone de Beauvoir
Translated by Richard Howard
Force of Circumstance
Bought used for $3.50
Very worn paperback
C+
This is one of de Beauvoir's later autobiographies, covering from the Liberation of France to the then present. So she writes about not only her other memoirs, but this one as well. The oddest thing to me is how she sort of saw herself as old at 36, and definitely at 55. She in fact lived till 1986, and her long-time partner, Jean-Paul Sartre, whose health she fretted over, lasted till 1980.
I originally got this book because I'd read but never owned her pioneering work The Second Sex. I think I'd rather have reread that, and I'm not surprised I haven't touched this book in over 20 years. It's not bad but I can't much relate to her life in post-war France, or to existentialism. I most enjoyed her description of Brazil and was disappointed when we had to go back to France. I kept disagreeing with her on Communism and on violence by "the oppressed." I also found there to be a lot of name-dropping of people whom I've never heard of. Her take on misanthropic elderly Colette is interesting though.
De Beauvoir seems to have been a mildly interesting person. There are moments of wry humour. (It's very much a British translation.) But I found it an exhausting read, particularly all the political clashes, and I'll probably wait another 20 years to revisit.
Simone de Beauvoir
Translated by Richard Howard
Force of Circumstance
Bought used for $3.50
Very worn paperback
C+
This is one of de Beauvoir's later autobiographies, covering from the Liberation of France to the then present. So she writes about not only her other memoirs, but this one as well. The oddest thing to me is how she sort of saw herself as old at 36, and definitely at 55. She in fact lived till 1986, and her long-time partner, Jean-Paul Sartre, whose health she fretted over, lasted till 1980.
I originally got this book because I'd read but never owned her pioneering work The Second Sex. I think I'd rather have reread that, and I'm not surprised I haven't touched this book in over 20 years. It's not bad but I can't much relate to her life in post-war France, or to existentialism. I most enjoyed her description of Brazil and was disappointed when we had to go back to France. I kept disagreeing with her on Communism and on violence by "the oppressed." I also found there to be a lot of name-dropping of people whom I've never heard of. Her take on misanthropic elderly Colette is interesting though.
De Beauvoir seems to have been a mildly interesting person. There are moments of wry humour. (It's very much a British translation.) But I found it an exhausting read, particularly all the political clashes, and I'll probably wait another 20 years to revisit.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Julian
1964, 1991 Ballantine Books edition
Gore Vidal
Julian
Bought newish for $5.95
Very worn paperback
B-
Vidal had been publishing fiction for almost 20 years at that point, but this is the oldest of his books I own. It also has the earliest setting of any of his historical fiction that I've read, telling the story of fourth-century Emperor Julian the Apostate. It's mostly in the form of Julian's memoir, but interspersed are the comments of two of his friends, cynical Priscus and more idealistic Libanius. Speaking of cynics, I suspect the portrayal of the Cynics and other students, including bearded young Julian, is partly satirical of the beatniks and other early 1960s rebels.
Vidal offers a balanced view of Julian, seeing him as a flawed hero who tried to fight the rise of Christianity, but at least 50 years too late. (Julian was the nephew of Constantine.) I'd give the novel a B, but I tend to be bored by wars, and I felt like the layering of the story was too much of a distancing technique. Like many of his novels, there's a twist ending, although I didn't feel like it had much impact this time.
Vidal's The City and the Pillar had shown back in '48 his casual attitude to homosexuality, in the sense that for Vidal bisexuality is everyone's starting point and there's nothing remarkable about it. Here, homo- or bisexuality, particularly of Roman soldiers, is a given. Ironically, Julian becomes celibate and most of the characters would agree with Aldous Huxley that chastity is "the most unnatural of all the sexual perversions."
Gore Vidal
Julian
Bought newish for $5.95
Very worn paperback
B-
Vidal had been publishing fiction for almost 20 years at that point, but this is the oldest of his books I own. It also has the earliest setting of any of his historical fiction that I've read, telling the story of fourth-century Emperor Julian the Apostate. It's mostly in the form of Julian's memoir, but interspersed are the comments of two of his friends, cynical Priscus and more idealistic Libanius. Speaking of cynics, I suspect the portrayal of the Cynics and other students, including bearded young Julian, is partly satirical of the beatniks and other early 1960s rebels.
Vidal offers a balanced view of Julian, seeing him as a flawed hero who tried to fight the rise of Christianity, but at least 50 years too late. (Julian was the nephew of Constantine.) I'd give the novel a B, but I tend to be bored by wars, and I felt like the layering of the story was too much of a distancing technique. Like many of his novels, there's a twist ending, although I didn't feel like it had much impact this time.
Vidal's The City and the Pillar had shown back in '48 his casual attitude to homosexuality, in the sense that for Vidal bisexuality is everyone's starting point and there's nothing remarkable about it. Here, homo- or bisexuality, particularly of Roman soldiers, is a given. Ironically, Julian becomes celibate and most of the characters would agree with Aldous Huxley that chastity is "the most unnatural of all the sexual perversions."
Thursday, July 12, 2012
If Morning Ever Comes
1964, as part of 1990 Wings Books edition of Anne Tyler: Four Complete Novels
Anne Tyler
If Morning Ever Comes
Purchased new for $11.99, marked down from $52.50
Good condition hardcover
C
This was 22-year-old Anne Tyler's debut, shortly after she began her long marriage to Taghi Mohammad Modarressi. Unlike her many Baltimore novels, it's set in the South, where Tyler grew up. So it's of interest for those reasons, but the characterization and plotting are weak. There were moments when I wanted to read more about Ben Joe's family, but nothing really came into focus. In particular, I can't understand why any of the characters make the decisions about romance they do, including Ben Joe's elopement with an ex-girlfriend. So much of who ends up with whom feels arbitrary, and not in an ironic Jane Austen sort of manner.
As I recall, I've kept this volume for Morgan's Passing, so I'm curious to see how the other two novels (The Tin Can Tree and Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant) hold up.
Anne Tyler
If Morning Ever Comes
Purchased new for $11.99, marked down from $52.50
Good condition hardcover
C
This was 22-year-old Anne Tyler's debut, shortly after she began her long marriage to Taghi Mohammad Modarressi. Unlike her many Baltimore novels, it's set in the South, where Tyler grew up. So it's of interest for those reasons, but the characterization and plotting are weak. There were moments when I wanted to read more about Ben Joe's family, but nothing really came into focus. In particular, I can't understand why any of the characters make the decisions about romance they do, including Ben Joe's elopement with an ex-girlfriend. So much of who ends up with whom feels arbitrary, and not in an ironic Jane Austen sort of manner.
As I recall, I've kept this volume for Morgan's Passing, so I'm curious to see how the other two novels (The Tin Can Tree and Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant) hold up.
Desert of the Heart
1964, 1990 Naiad edition
Jane Rule
Desert of the Heart
Original price $8.95, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
C+
While I appreciate that this was a ground-breaking novel, with two female lovers who live happily together, if not necessarily "ever after," the novel itself is desert-dry. Not only is it not particularly erotic, but it's overly intellectual. The 1985 movie version, Desert Hearts, is steamier, although I have issues with it because Vivian (Evelyn in the book) is shown as so reluctant, and Cay (the movie's version of Ann) does not have good boundaries about consent. In the novel, Evelyn had an unconsummated but close relationship with a woman while their husbands were off at war, so she already knows that side of herself, although she's never acted on it before Ann. In the movie, Cay has to "awaken" Vivian. Also, Frances, Ann/Cay's sort of stepmother, is far more supportive in the book than in the movie. The book also addresses bisexuality in a more complex manner than the movie.
The book and the movie both do a fine job of conveying what late 1950s Reno was like. (They're set in 1958 and '59 respectively.) However, I find the gambling scenes to be very depressing, as are some of the subplots of the book, such as Virginia's suicide attempt and Janet's baby's death. If I remember correctly, the movie omits those, as part of the inevitable simplifying process of screen adaptation.
Jane Rule
Desert of the Heart
Original price $8.95, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
C+
While I appreciate that this was a ground-breaking novel, with two female lovers who live happily together, if not necessarily "ever after," the novel itself is desert-dry. Not only is it not particularly erotic, but it's overly intellectual. The 1985 movie version, Desert Hearts, is steamier, although I have issues with it because Vivian (Evelyn in the book) is shown as so reluctant, and Cay (the movie's version of Ann) does not have good boundaries about consent. In the novel, Evelyn had an unconsummated but close relationship with a woman while their husbands were off at war, so she already knows that side of herself, although she's never acted on it before Ann. In the movie, Cay has to "awaken" Vivian. Also, Frances, Ann/Cay's sort of stepmother, is far more supportive in the book than in the movie. The book also addresses bisexuality in a more complex manner than the movie.
The book and the movie both do a fine job of conveying what late 1950s Reno was like. (They're set in 1958 and '59 respectively.) However, I find the gambling scenes to be very depressing, as are some of the subplots of the book, such as Virginia's suicide attempt and Janet's baby's death. If I remember correctly, the movie omits those, as part of the inevitable simplifying process of screen adaptation.
The Pushcart War
1964, undated probably 1970s Grosset & Dunlap edition
Jean Merrill
Illustrated by Ronni Solbert
The Pushcart War
Bought new for 85 cents
Very worn paperback
B
This is Merrill's best known work (according to Wikipedia), and yet it's a half-forgotten little classic (cf. Amazon reviews). It tells the "history" of a war between trucks and pushcarts, or rather the drivers of said vehicles. Later editions kept pushing the date forward, so it was always "the future." My copy has the author looking back a decade after the 1986 war. She Hitchcocks in the chapter with letters to the editor, and claims to have met some of the minor players.
The book is as New-Yorky as A Cricket in Times Square, with many of the characters having a New-Yorkish way of putting sentences together, such as "Should I be the Pushcart King for nothing?" and "So maybe I should die now." The story is more ethnically diverse than some of its contemporaries, although less than the actual New York City. One of the cleverest pushcart peddlers is Spanish-speaking. There aren't very many female characters, and one of them is sort of a Gracie-Allenesque starlet (dumb blonde who stumbles upon wisdom on accident), but General Anna is a brave old lady.
Merrill handles big issues, like war, in a light manner. Her Toothpaste Millionaire (1972) shows a friendship between a white girl and a black boy, although the story isn't about race per se. Here, there is a sense of danger, but mostly the violence is on the level of pea-shooters. I don't know if she came up with the term "Peace Army" but the book does feel a bit prescient about politics in the later '60s.
My copy calls it a "laugh-out-loud saga," but it's more of a book to make you smile than guffaw or even chuckle. This isn't as lovable or memorable a book as The Cricket in TS, and Solbert's illustrations aren't on the level of Williams's of course (though I am fond of the picture of the peddlers huddled around a fire, under a bridge), but it's a good follow-up if you're looking for another New York children's book from the first half of the 1960s.
Jean Merrill
Illustrated by Ronni Solbert
The Pushcart War
Bought new for 85 cents
Very worn paperback
B
This is Merrill's best known work (according to Wikipedia), and yet it's a half-forgotten little classic (cf. Amazon reviews). It tells the "history" of a war between trucks and pushcarts, or rather the drivers of said vehicles. Later editions kept pushing the date forward, so it was always "the future." My copy has the author looking back a decade after the 1986 war. She Hitchcocks in the chapter with letters to the editor, and claims to have met some of the minor players.
The book is as New-Yorky as A Cricket in Times Square, with many of the characters having a New-Yorkish way of putting sentences together, such as "Should I be the Pushcart King for nothing?" and "So maybe I should die now." The story is more ethnically diverse than some of its contemporaries, although less than the actual New York City. One of the cleverest pushcart peddlers is Spanish-speaking. There aren't very many female characters, and one of them is sort of a Gracie-Allenesque starlet (dumb blonde who stumbles upon wisdom on accident), but General Anna is a brave old lady.
Merrill handles big issues, like war, in a light manner. Her Toothpaste Millionaire (1972) shows a friendship between a white girl and a black boy, although the story isn't about race per se. Here, there is a sense of danger, but mostly the violence is on the level of pea-shooters. I don't know if she came up with the term "Peace Army" but the book does feel a bit prescient about politics in the later '60s.
My copy calls it a "laugh-out-loud saga," but it's more of a book to make you smile than guffaw or even chuckle. This isn't as lovable or memorable a book as The Cricket in TS, and Solbert's illustrations aren't on the level of Williams's of course (though I am fond of the picture of the peddlers huddled around a fire, under a bridge), but it's a good follow-up if you're looking for another New York children's book from the first half of the 1960s.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
1964, 1977 Bantam Skylark edition
Roald Dahl
Illustrated by Joseph Schindelman
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Bought new for $1.95
Very worn paperback with stains
B+
I think this is my childhood copy. Oddly enough, I've never owned the other Dahl books, not even the sequel, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, or James and the Giant Peach. Except for this story, I'd check the books out of the library. Even this one I didn't read annually, like an Oz book, although I probably read it more than some of my other books. It's a very good book, but I don't think I'd describe it as a favorite.
The book does capture some basic fantasies of children, and many adults. A chocolate (and other sweets) factory! A closeknit family! Living with your family in the chocolate factory, which is yours for the rest of your life!! Charlie is poor but "good," yet it's the four bad little kids who steal the book (and movies). They all act inappropriately in some ways, although Veruca Salt is probably worst of all. (And that's probably why she got the band named after her.) I'm sure I'm not the only reader who finds Violet's punishment for chewing gum to be harsh. (Mike Teavee does point out the hypocrisy of Wonka manufacturing gum.) And I would've argued then and would still argue now that you can both read books and watch TV. Or movies.
Reading the book again after rewatching the Gene Wilder movie last year for the 40th anniversary, I was surprised to recall that Augustus Gloop is not German. In fact, it's a very Anglo-American world that the book characters live in, although there are a few mentions of the Golden-Ticket-hunters in other lands, including the punningly named Charlotte Russe.
This is possibly Dahl's most pun-filled book, although I didn't get the "square candies that look round" joke as a child, because in the American language, as Mencken would've told Dahl, it would be "look around." One of the delights of the book is the vocabulary-expanding, as in the passages where Dahl reels off synonyms, including several American and British terms for "crazy." ("Dippy" appears on that list, unlike the 1950s American meaning of "wonderful" in Something Foolish, Something Gay.)
Being a '70s child, I grew up with the "white hippie" Oompa-Loompas rather than the "black natives" of Dahl's original text and Schindelman's original illustrations. Paternalism is still going on in Wonka's management style, but I think Dahl's decision to respond to complaints of racism was the correct one. (This is different than other people censoring a writer's work without his/her knowledge and/or consent.)
There are definitely disturbing undercurrents to the book, which is a both a strength and a weakness. It's not a book to warm up to, one to cuddle up with before you go to sleep. On the other hand, it's more complex than the moralistic Victorian children's fiction that it spoofs in a different way than Lemony Snicket would 35 or 40 years later.
The Chocolate Factory movies in their different ways would emphasize both the cruelty and the sentimentality. I prefer the earlier version, but again, that's probably because I was a '70s child. It's interesting that the Wilder version makes Slugworth secretly an agent for Wonka. I prefer the idea of Slugworth, Prodnose, and Fickelworth as unscrupulous rivals, although you'd think that somebody in marketing for at least one of the companies would point out that it might be better to change to some more appetizing name. As for Wonka candies, Nestlé issued a Wonka line starting with the release of the Wonka movie, and that line still exists. Ironically, their chocolates have never been as successful as Bottle Caps, Pixy Stix, and Fun Dip.
Roald Dahl
Illustrated by Joseph Schindelman
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Bought new for $1.95
Very worn paperback with stains
B+
I think this is my childhood copy. Oddly enough, I've never owned the other Dahl books, not even the sequel, Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator, or James and the Giant Peach. Except for this story, I'd check the books out of the library. Even this one I didn't read annually, like an Oz book, although I probably read it more than some of my other books. It's a very good book, but I don't think I'd describe it as a favorite.
The book does capture some basic fantasies of children, and many adults. A chocolate (and other sweets) factory! A closeknit family! Living with your family in the chocolate factory, which is yours for the rest of your life!! Charlie is poor but "good," yet it's the four bad little kids who steal the book (and movies). They all act inappropriately in some ways, although Veruca Salt is probably worst of all. (And that's probably why she got the band named after her.) I'm sure I'm not the only reader who finds Violet's punishment for chewing gum to be harsh. (Mike Teavee does point out the hypocrisy of Wonka manufacturing gum.) And I would've argued then and would still argue now that you can both read books and watch TV. Or movies.
Reading the book again after rewatching the Gene Wilder movie last year for the 40th anniversary, I was surprised to recall that Augustus Gloop is not German. In fact, it's a very Anglo-American world that the book characters live in, although there are a few mentions of the Golden-Ticket-hunters in other lands, including the punningly named Charlotte Russe.
This is possibly Dahl's most pun-filled book, although I didn't get the "square candies that look round" joke as a child, because in the American language, as Mencken would've told Dahl, it would be "look around." One of the delights of the book is the vocabulary-expanding, as in the passages where Dahl reels off synonyms, including several American and British terms for "crazy." ("Dippy" appears on that list, unlike the 1950s American meaning of "wonderful" in Something Foolish, Something Gay.)
Being a '70s child, I grew up with the "white hippie" Oompa-Loompas rather than the "black natives" of Dahl's original text and Schindelman's original illustrations. Paternalism is still going on in Wonka's management style, but I think Dahl's decision to respond to complaints of racism was the correct one. (This is different than other people censoring a writer's work without his/her knowledge and/or consent.)
There are definitely disturbing undercurrents to the book, which is a both a strength and a weakness. It's not a book to warm up to, one to cuddle up with before you go to sleep. On the other hand, it's more complex than the moralistic Victorian children's fiction that it spoofs in a different way than Lemony Snicket would 35 or 40 years later.
The Chocolate Factory movies in their different ways would emphasize both the cruelty and the sentimentality. I prefer the earlier version, but again, that's probably because I was a '70s child. It's interesting that the Wilder version makes Slugworth secretly an agent for Wonka. I prefer the idea of Slugworth, Prodnose, and Fickelworth as unscrupulous rivals, although you'd think that somebody in marketing for at least one of the companies would point out that it might be better to change to some more appetizing name. As for Wonka candies, Nestlé issued a Wonka line starting with the release of the Wonka movie, and that line still exists. Ironically, their chocolates have never been as successful as Bottle Caps, Pixy Stix, and Fun Dip.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Onion Soup and Other Fables
1964, possibly first edition, from Odyssey Press
R. O. Blechman
Onion Soup and Other Fables
Original price $2.95, bought used for 75 cents
Good condition hardcover with worn dustjacket
C+
This is a very quick read, a series of short modern fables, with small, squiggly cartoon illustrations (like less furry and memorable Edward Koren), usually with punning morals, such as the one for the title tale, "Too many broths spoil the cook." Several of the fables allude to the Cold War, with fear of the Russians, and a scientist who accidentally invents the ultimate weapon. There's also an almost wordless story of a cross-burning that leads to a black child building a snowman with white children. I think the best story is the last, about a dead senator's successful re-election campaign.
R. O. Blechman
Onion Soup and Other Fables
Original price $2.95, bought used for 75 cents
Good condition hardcover with worn dustjacket
C+
This is a very quick read, a series of short modern fables, with small, squiggly cartoon illustrations (like less furry and memorable Edward Koren), usually with punning morals, such as the one for the title tale, "Too many broths spoil the cook." Several of the fables allude to the Cold War, with fear of the Russians, and a scientist who accidentally invents the ultimate weapon. There's also an almost wordless story of a cross-burning that leads to a black child building a snowman with white children. I think the best story is the last, about a dead senator's successful re-election campaign.
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
1963, 1990 Harper & Row edition
P. G. Wodehouse
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
Bought newish for $9.00
Slightly worn paperback
C+
In the real world, it's been 25 years since The Code of the Woosters, but it's only a month or two since that ill-fated visit to Totleigh Towers. There's a reference to "reefers," but it could still be the 1930s, and a movie Bertie mentions, The Lady Vanishes, did come out in 1938. But there's no question that the staleness of Wodehouse's 1950s writing continues. There are some nice turns of phrase here and there, but nothing particularly memorable. There's a heavy sense of de ja vu, relieved only when Gussie elopes with Pauline Stoker's previously unmentioned sister, causing Roderick Spode to propose to Madeline Bassett, to everyone's joy, Bertie's especially. Wodehouse has two particularly clumsy passages in the second half of the book, a phone conversation with Aunt Dahlia that's unnecessary, and a "now let me get this straight" recap with Major Plank.
Still, it's Jeeves & Wooster, and that's almost always a pleasant time-passer. Also, this has my favorite Wodehouse cover, featuring Bertie in his Alpine hat, as Bartholomew the Scottie and Sir Watkyn Bassett glare at him. (A nice touch is that the statuette Bertie is trying to steal looks like a chocolate version of Sir Watkyn, monocle and all.)
Wodehouse published two more of these novels (plus "Jeeves and the Greasy Bird," which I discussed under The World of Jeeves), so he wasn't quite through with these characters. In Much Obliged, Jeeves (1971), Madeline's engagement is temporarily broken, so she tries to hitch up with Bertie, who also risks re-engagement to Florence Craye. Plank returns in Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (1974). Wodehouse died the following February, at age 93.
P. G. Wodehouse
Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves
Bought newish for $9.00
Slightly worn paperback
C+
In the real world, it's been 25 years since The Code of the Woosters, but it's only a month or two since that ill-fated visit to Totleigh Towers. There's a reference to "reefers," but it could still be the 1930s, and a movie Bertie mentions, The Lady Vanishes, did come out in 1938. But there's no question that the staleness of Wodehouse's 1950s writing continues. There are some nice turns of phrase here and there, but nothing particularly memorable. There's a heavy sense of de ja vu, relieved only when Gussie elopes with Pauline Stoker's previously unmentioned sister, causing Roderick Spode to propose to Madeline Bassett, to everyone's joy, Bertie's especially. Wodehouse has two particularly clumsy passages in the second half of the book, a phone conversation with Aunt Dahlia that's unnecessary, and a "now let me get this straight" recap with Major Plank.
Still, it's Jeeves & Wooster, and that's almost always a pleasant time-passer. Also, this has my favorite Wodehouse cover, featuring Bertie in his Alpine hat, as Bartholomew the Scottie and Sir Watkyn Bassett glare at him. (A nice touch is that the statuette Bertie is trying to steal looks like a chocolate version of Sir Watkyn, monocle and all.)
Wodehouse published two more of these novels (plus "Jeeves and the Greasy Bird," which I discussed under The World of Jeeves), so he wasn't quite through with these characters. In Much Obliged, Jeeves (1971), Madeline's engagement is temporarily broken, so she tries to hitch up with Bertie, who also risks re-engagement to Florence Craye. Plank returns in Aunts Aren't Gentlemen (1974). Wodehouse died the following February, at age 93.
Monday, July 9, 2012
The Graduate
1963, undated but probably 1967 edition, from Signet
Charles Webb
The Graduate
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.35
Very worn paperback
C-
"Brilliant...sardonic, ludicrously funny."
"Now a hilarious Motion Picture."
If you strip away the fantastic Simon & Garfunkel soundtrack and the impressive cast, you're left with the story of a young man who reluctantly has an affair with an older woman* and then "falls in love" with her daughter. Even that sounds more interesting than what you get, a book that is almost pure dialogue, and not very good dialogue at that. Not to mention that Benjamin's stalking of the admittedly (but understandably) ambivalent Elaine is even less excusable when there's no insight into what any of the characters are feeling. The closest we get is we're told that Mr. Robinson is distraught, but we don't see it.
Is the book funny? A little I guess, although the best line, "Plastics," is only in the Buck Henry screenplay. I also think that Benjamin's alienation is conveyed better when we actually see the trappings of upper-middle-class suburbia. (Webb is not big on description.) And yet, as the inspiration for the movie, and a (not very detailed) record of California in the early 1960s, the book is of some note, so I won't give it a lower grade than The Affairs of Gidget.
*Mrs. Robinson would qualify as the original MILF, except she's more of a MISBIMASWF (Mom I'm So Bored I Might As Well F).
Charles Webb
The Graduate
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.35
Very worn paperback
C-
"Brilliant...sardonic, ludicrously funny."
"Now a hilarious Motion Picture."
If you strip away the fantastic Simon & Garfunkel soundtrack and the impressive cast, you're left with the story of a young man who reluctantly has an affair with an older woman* and then "falls in love" with her daughter. Even that sounds more interesting than what you get, a book that is almost pure dialogue, and not very good dialogue at that. Not to mention that Benjamin's stalking of the admittedly (but understandably) ambivalent Elaine is even less excusable when there's no insight into what any of the characters are feeling. The closest we get is we're told that Mr. Robinson is distraught, but we don't see it.
Is the book funny? A little I guess, although the best line, "Plastics," is only in the Buck Henry screenplay. I also think that Benjamin's alienation is conveyed better when we actually see the trappings of upper-middle-class suburbia. (Webb is not big on description.) And yet, as the inspiration for the movie, and a (not very detailed) record of California in the early 1960s, the book is of some note, so I won't give it a lower grade than The Affairs of Gidget.
*Mrs. Robinson would qualify as the original MILF, except she's more of a MISBIMASWF (Mom I'm So Bored I Might As Well F).
The American Way of Death
1963, undated Fawcett Crest edition that seems to be not long after that
Jessica Mitford
The American Way of Death
Original price $1.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback with split spine
B-
Mitford's examination of the American funeral business (with glimpses of the U.K. as well) gave a voice to families who felt exploited by morticians and "the allied industries." It's still a pretty good read, although Mitford's humour is more restrained than in her other works. The book is of course dated in the amounts per funeral-- the average casket now costs $2000-- but Mitford did update her research with her posthumously published The American Way of Death Revisited, which I remember getting from the library years ago. And it's heartening to see that there are some consumer websites advising bereaved families, so it remains (sorry) a significant topic.
Mitford sisters note: in her Acknowledments, she thanks Nancy and Deborah, who "contributed a certain amount of misinformation on the subject."
Jessica Mitford
The American Way of Death
Original price $1.50, purchase price unknown
Very worn paperback with split spine
B-
Mitford's examination of the American funeral business (with glimpses of the U.K. as well) gave a voice to families who felt exploited by morticians and "the allied industries." It's still a pretty good read, although Mitford's humour is more restrained than in her other works. The book is of course dated in the amounts per funeral-- the average casket now costs $2000-- but Mitford did update her research with her posthumously published The American Way of Death Revisited, which I remember getting from the library years ago. And it's heartening to see that there are some consumer websites advising bereaved families, so it remains (sorry) a significant topic.
Mitford sisters note: in her Acknowledments, she thanks Nancy and Deborah, who "contributed a certain amount of misinformation on the subject."
Sunday, July 8, 2012
The American Language
1963, 1977 Knopf edition
H. L. Mencken, "with annotations & new material by Raven I. McDavid, Jr., with the assistance of David W. Maurer"
The American Language
Original and purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B
Mencken issued his first edition back in 1919, but he kept updating it, and then this one-volume abridgement came out Nov. 11, 1963. (Yes, right before JFK died.) So there's almost as long a span between those editions as there is between '63 and now. As such, it offers a layered picture of the state of American English. There are references to Mencken's pals Sinclair Lewis and Anita Loos, but there are also such contemporary figures as Castro and Elvis.
Mencken argues that the American version of English is not a bastardization of the British version but a clear, hearty language (or at least dialect) in its own right. He covers various aspects of American, from "foreign influences" to slang.
Perhaps because I'm almost 90 years younger than Mencken and grew up in Southern California rather than Baltimore (where he was born and died), I disagree with some of his conclusions, or at least see them as no longer applying. American seems a lot more mumbly, less distinct a language than in his time. The schwa sound is more prevalent. To take one example, I seldom hear the first L in "fulfillment" pronounced, while he claims that Americans are better about that than the British.
It's impossible to read the book without thinking of changes that the next decades, or even years, would bring. He sees ridiculous given names as a product primarily of Okie mothers, and I can just imagine his sarcasm about, for instance, Frank Zappa's progeny. His abridger's name is interesting in that McDavid is a Southern white man born in 1911, but "Raven" makes me think of Raven-Symoné.
The impact of English culture on the American language would be very different if McDavid had waited just a year, or even a few months, for "The British Invasion." I would argue that J. K. Rowling brought a new wave of Anglophilia among the young, and it is funny to see here that "muggles" used to mean "reefers."
(Also, it's good to read pro-American quotes from Alistair Cooke long before Masterpiece Theater.)
I think this is a good abridgement but there are some avoidable reduncancies. McDavid's updatings, sometimes quite wry, blend well with the original text.
H. L. Mencken, "with annotations & new material by Raven I. McDavid, Jr., with the assistance of David W. Maurer"
The American Language
Original and purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B
Mencken issued his first edition back in 1919, but he kept updating it, and then this one-volume abridgement came out Nov. 11, 1963. (Yes, right before JFK died.) So there's almost as long a span between those editions as there is between '63 and now. As such, it offers a layered picture of the state of American English. There are references to Mencken's pals Sinclair Lewis and Anita Loos, but there are also such contemporary figures as Castro and Elvis.
Mencken argues that the American version of English is not a bastardization of the British version but a clear, hearty language (or at least dialect) in its own right. He covers various aspects of American, from "foreign influences" to slang.
Perhaps because I'm almost 90 years younger than Mencken and grew up in Southern California rather than Baltimore (where he was born and died), I disagree with some of his conclusions, or at least see them as no longer applying. American seems a lot more mumbly, less distinct a language than in his time. The schwa sound is more prevalent. To take one example, I seldom hear the first L in "fulfillment" pronounced, while he claims that Americans are better about that than the British.
It's impossible to read the book without thinking of changes that the next decades, or even years, would bring. He sees ridiculous given names as a product primarily of Okie mothers, and I can just imagine his sarcasm about, for instance, Frank Zappa's progeny. His abridger's name is interesting in that McDavid is a Southern white man born in 1911, but "Raven" makes me think of Raven-Symoné.
The impact of English culture on the American language would be very different if McDavid had waited just a year, or even a few months, for "The British Invasion." I would argue that J. K. Rowling brought a new wave of Anglophilia among the young, and it is funny to see here that "muggles" used to mean "reefers."
(Also, it's good to read pro-American quotes from Alistair Cooke long before Masterpiece Theater.)
I think this is a good abridgement but there are some avoidable reduncancies. McDavid's updatings, sometimes quite wry, blend well with the original text.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
The Affairs of Gidget
1963, possibly first edition, from Bantam
Frederick Kohner
The Affairs of Gidget
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.35
Very worn paperback
C-
I'd already seen the movies, TV-movies, and TV series by the time I found this in a used bookstore. Who could resist such a racy title, particularly about the wholesome girl-midget? Well, it turns out that Gidget is actually obsessed with sex, since "Undersized girls have oversized drives." Jezebel has an interesting piece on the contrast between book-Gidget and screen-Gidget: http://jezebel.com/5541992/the-sexual-history-of-gidget . It seems that it's not just in this Gidget book (the only one I've read) that the plucky but not plucked protagonist almost-loses-her-virginity on a regular basis. And usually it's not Moondoggie who might do the plucking. And Kohner based Gidget on his surf-loving daughter, so that makes it even weirder.
While on the one hand, it's nice to have a 19-year-old heroine with an interest in sex, I am troubled by the "choices" over whom she might give her cherry to. Like a Lessing heroine, she drifts into affairs (basically makeout sessions, although maybe not more than necking) with a married professor, a stupid jock, and a divorced dentist with a daughter. Actually, with the last, they only kiss a couple times and mostly just sit around listening to his impressive hi-fi set. It even plays tapes! With the first two affairs, there's a lot of romance novel "my resistance was overpowered by his powerful smooches," made more disquieting by her emphasis on her petiteness being no match for the girth of the men, particularly the 250-pound jock. In the case of the professor, he allegedly has an open marriage (well, he says they have an understanding, yet it's unclear if he's lying), but Gidget is hesitant because the wife is (gasp!) Asian, (shudder!) nice, and (good God no!) seven-months pregnant. The dentist seems like an improvement, but Gidget realizes that he'll only ever truly love his daughter.
As for Gidget's own father, he's a European "libertine" who lived in sin with Gidget's mom a few years before they were married. So he's more understanding than most dads would be about his daughter's experimentation, but advises her to be more honest and careful. This would be cool, if the author-father hadn't produced such a leering book. (Gidget at one point describes herself as "round, peachy and fully-packed.")
My main problem with the book though is that Gidget is the most unpleasant 19-year-old girl in my fiction collection since From 18 to 20. I said of that 1888 book, "To the extent that Beatrice has any personality, it's because she's unpleasant....She makes lots of snarky comments about women and girls, including how boring and hypocritical they are." Gidget does have more personality than Beatrice, including loads of slang, but I think she's a lot more sneering. It begins in the first chapter, with Gidget deliberately antagonizing her slightly unpleasant new roommate to the point of letting a bird shit in the roomie's bed. And later there are some cruel insults of the menopausal housemother. And I must say I'm baffled by the character assassination Kohner does on Mrs. Riley in less than 100 pages. She starts out as warm and friendly, but by the end she's a Mrs. Grundy, simply because the plot calls for it.
Similarly, the prof has a beard and is Existentialist, but he hates beatniks. Wha??? The book is certainly topical, from JFK to the Kingston Trio, so that adds some interest. But I wouldn't recommend it to any but the curious.
Frederick Kohner
The Affairs of Gidget
Original price unknown, purchase price $1.35
Very worn paperback
C-
I'd already seen the movies, TV-movies, and TV series by the time I found this in a used bookstore. Who could resist such a racy title, particularly about the wholesome girl-midget? Well, it turns out that Gidget is actually obsessed with sex, since "Undersized girls have oversized drives." Jezebel has an interesting piece on the contrast between book-Gidget and screen-Gidget: http://jezebel.com/5541992/the-sexual-history-of-gidget . It seems that it's not just in this Gidget book (the only one I've read) that the plucky but not plucked protagonist almost-loses-her-virginity on a regular basis. And usually it's not Moondoggie who might do the plucking. And Kohner based Gidget on his surf-loving daughter, so that makes it even weirder.
While on the one hand, it's nice to have a 19-year-old heroine with an interest in sex, I am troubled by the "choices" over whom she might give her cherry to. Like a Lessing heroine, she drifts into affairs (basically makeout sessions, although maybe not more than necking) with a married professor, a stupid jock, and a divorced dentist with a daughter. Actually, with the last, they only kiss a couple times and mostly just sit around listening to his impressive hi-fi set. It even plays tapes! With the first two affairs, there's a lot of romance novel "my resistance was overpowered by his powerful smooches," made more disquieting by her emphasis on her petiteness being no match for the girth of the men, particularly the 250-pound jock. In the case of the professor, he allegedly has an open marriage (well, he says they have an understanding, yet it's unclear if he's lying), but Gidget is hesitant because the wife is (gasp!) Asian, (shudder!) nice, and (good God no!) seven-months pregnant. The dentist seems like an improvement, but Gidget realizes that he'll only ever truly love his daughter.
As for Gidget's own father, he's a European "libertine" who lived in sin with Gidget's mom a few years before they were married. So he's more understanding than most dads would be about his daughter's experimentation, but advises her to be more honest and careful. This would be cool, if the author-father hadn't produced such a leering book. (Gidget at one point describes herself as "round, peachy and fully-packed.")
My main problem with the book though is that Gidget is the most unpleasant 19-year-old girl in my fiction collection since From 18 to 20. I said of that 1888 book, "To the extent that Beatrice has any personality, it's because she's unpleasant....She makes lots of snarky comments about women and girls, including how boring and hypocritical they are." Gidget does have more personality than Beatrice, including loads of slang, but I think she's a lot more sneering. It begins in the first chapter, with Gidget deliberately antagonizing her slightly unpleasant new roommate to the point of letting a bird shit in the roomie's bed. And later there are some cruel insults of the menopausal housemother. And I must say I'm baffled by the character assassination Kohner does on Mrs. Riley in less than 100 pages. She starts out as warm and friendly, but by the end she's a Mrs. Grundy, simply because the plot calls for it.
Similarly, the prof has a beard and is Existentialist, but he hates beatniks. Wha??? The book is certainly topical, from JFK to the Kingston Trio, so that adds some interest. But I wouldn't recommend it to any but the curious.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The Unchosen
1963, 1971 Scholastic edition
Nan Gilbert
The Unchosen
Original price 60 cents, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B-
Ellen and her two friends try for popularity and boyfriends, although Kay seems much more interested in finding a mate for her dog. The girls get what they're looking for, after many unsuccessful schemes. The romances are handled in an offhand way (Ellen doesn't even get asked out by a nice guy till the last page), and the emphasis isn't on the friendship either, since the three girls are very different and don't get along that well. An odd sort of book, from its title onward, and Ellen admits that her story doesn't run on the usual happily-ever after lines. We're not yet at the "troubled teen" YA novels of the late '60s and beyond, but there is a sense here that the usual advice doesn't work. As with One Small Voice, the '50s facade is starting to crack.
Nan Gilbert
The Unchosen
Original price 60 cents, purchase price unknown
Worn paperback
B-
Ellen and her two friends try for popularity and boyfriends, although Kay seems much more interested in finding a mate for her dog. The girls get what they're looking for, after many unsuccessful schemes. The romances are handled in an offhand way (Ellen doesn't even get asked out by a nice guy till the last page), and the emphasis isn't on the friendship either, since the three girls are very different and don't get along that well. An odd sort of book, from its title onward, and Ellen admits that her story doesn't run on the usual happily-ever after lines. We're not yet at the "troubled teen" YA novels of the late '60s and beyond, but there is a sense here that the usual advice doesn't work. As with One Small Voice, the '50s facade is starting to crack.
Mrs. Grundy: Studies in English Prudery
1963, 1964 London House & Maxwell edition
Peter Fryer
Mrs. Grundy: Studies in English Prudery
Original price $6.75, purchase price $5.99
OK condition hardcover with worn dustjacket
B
Fryer traces the history of British killjoys, with some American examples, like the various euphemisms for cock (in the sense of rooster) and bull (in the sense of "gentleman cow"). There's lots to shake your head over here, with horrified reactions to, among other things, Sunday baking, Gilbert & Sullivan's Ruddygore, the Waltz, and the Twist. And having read about maypoles and "man-midwives" from the feminist pagan perspective, it's interesting to get Fryer's take. He was a marxist (and didn't capitalise some concepts, "freudian" among them), and he does address the issue of class in that working-class pursuits of pleasure are usually more harshly punished than those of the rich. The book could be strengthened by a conclusion or similar to bring it all together, but mostly it's just a collection of attempts at repression. Also, it feels odd that there's so little about homosexuality. Contains photographs and reproductions of artwork, the most striking being censored drawings of the Cerne Giant.
Peter Fryer
Mrs. Grundy: Studies in English Prudery
Original price $6.75, purchase price $5.99
OK condition hardcover with worn dustjacket
B
Fryer traces the history of British killjoys, with some American examples, like the various euphemisms for cock (in the sense of rooster) and bull (in the sense of "gentleman cow"). There's lots to shake your head over here, with horrified reactions to, among other things, Sunday baking, Gilbert & Sullivan's Ruddygore, the Waltz, and the Twist. And having read about maypoles and "man-midwives" from the feminist pagan perspective, it's interesting to get Fryer's take. He was a marxist (and didn't capitalise some concepts, "freudian" among them), and he does address the issue of class in that working-class pursuits of pleasure are usually more harshly punished than those of the rich. The book could be strengthened by a conclusion or similar to bring it all together, but mostly it's just a collection of attempts at repression. Also, it feels odd that there's so little about homosexuality. Contains photographs and reproductions of artwork, the most striking being censored drawings of the Cerne Giant.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Suburbia's Coddled Kids
1962, possibly first edition, from Doubleday
Peter Wyden
Illustrated by Frank B. Modell
Suburbia's Coddled Kids
Original price $3.50, purchase price unknown
Worn hardcover
C+
As an early example of criticism of the Baby Boomers, and of course suburbia, this is of some historical interest, although it's not very good journalism. In fact, partly I think due to Modell's cartoons, it shows up as "humor" on the Google search. Wyden sometimes doesn't cite his sources, and the book is as full of vague anecdotes ("a mother of two preteens") as Paar's autobiography, although there are cases where he's more specific. Some of his conclusions are unsupported, and even he admits he's unsure of what will eventually happen to these "coddled kids." The book is very dated-- Sixth-graders having school dances??? Horrors!-- and sexist. "What about all the housewives who wear pants, perform rugged chores around the house, and call themselves Billy or Sydney? What notions about femininity will a little girl glean from a mother who acts much of the time in a bi-sexual capacity?"
All that said, Wyden does have a point that that generation, or at least the more privileged parts of it (in cities as well as the 'burbs), was growing up differently than past generations. He was wrong that they would always be so over-scheduled that there would be no time for "navel-gazing." Within five years, some of them would revolt against "the junior rat race" and suburban conformity.
As for Wyden's two sons? Well, one of them grew up to be a liberal senator.
With only 50 years to go, I've finished another bookshelf, but things will be slowing down shortly, as I've got roughly four bookcases after this one.
Peter Wyden
Illustrated by Frank B. Modell
Suburbia's Coddled Kids
Original price $3.50, purchase price unknown
Worn hardcover
C+
As an early example of criticism of the Baby Boomers, and of course suburbia, this is of some historical interest, although it's not very good journalism. In fact, partly I think due to Modell's cartoons, it shows up as "humor" on the Google search. Wyden sometimes doesn't cite his sources, and the book is as full of vague anecdotes ("a mother of two preteens") as Paar's autobiography, although there are cases where he's more specific. Some of his conclusions are unsupported, and even he admits he's unsure of what will eventually happen to these "coddled kids." The book is very dated-- Sixth-graders having school dances??? Horrors!-- and sexist. "What about all the housewives who wear pants, perform rugged chores around the house, and call themselves Billy or Sydney? What notions about femininity will a little girl glean from a mother who acts much of the time in a bi-sexual capacity?"
All that said, Wyden does have a point that that generation, or at least the more privileged parts of it (in cities as well as the 'burbs), was growing up differently than past generations. He was wrong that they would always be so over-scheduled that there would be no time for "navel-gazing." Within five years, some of them would revolt against "the junior rat race" and suburban conformity.
As for Wyden's two sons? Well, one of them grew up to be a liberal senator.
With only 50 years to go, I've finished another bookshelf, but things will be slowing down shortly, as I've got roughly four bookcases after this one.
The Golden Notebook
1962, 1973 Bantam edition
Doris Lessing
The Golden Notebook
Original price $1.95, purchase price $1.30
Very worn paperback
D+
Despite the condition of the book, I don't think I've read it more than once or twice in the last quarter century. When I first read it in my early 20s, I'd only neck+ed with one person, so I assumed that love/sex/romance generally were the way Lessing described them, or at least had been in the 1940s and '50s, the timeframe of the book. Reading it now, I think that it's no more insightful into women's sexuality and emotions than, say, Catch-22. Women's nipples "burn" when they feel desire, and they feel desire when they're repulsed by a man. They only date married men who've had several affairs, and then wonder why none of the men can commit. Or at least these are the conclusions to be drawn if we assume that the heroine is Everywoman. But having split personalities does not make you an Everywoman. It doesn't even make you an Anywoman.
The protagonist Anna is a writer with writer's block. Now, I've never seriously had writer's block (quite the opposite, as I'll talk about when we get up to 2005's The Midnight Disease), but my impression is that it makes it difficult to write anything resembling what Lesley Conger would call "The Book I'm Supposed to Be Writing." Shopping lists, letters to friends, rants about pet peeves, no problem. But Anna can write fiction, at least in pieces, without much trouble. Her main protagonist is Ella, who has a writer's block and sleeps with married men. I think Ella has a heroine she's writing about, too, but I lost track.
For over 600 pages, Lessing/Anna/Ella tells the same stories in different forms but, again like Catch-22, not gaining anything through repetition. At many points she/they contradict her/themselves, and not just because things change as they become fictionalised. There is no good reason for Tommy, the son of Anna's friend Molly, to be 17 in 1950 and 20 in '57. Is he married to a "Tory Socialist," or is he single, living with his mother, and having an affair/ intense platonic friendship with his stepmother?
There's a streak of homophobia in the book, with Anna worrying that having gay roommates will have a bad effect on her preteen daughter, as opposed to the straight mind-fuckers that Anna brings home. Anna also worries that she and Molly will become lesbians, not because they're physically attracted to each other (which they don't seem to be), or because they're the only people that understand each other (even though Anna doesn't confide in Molly all that much and Molly can disappear for months without contact), but because they like to bitch about men. If that were the case, wouldn't most women be lesbians?
I found Molly the more interesting and likable of the two "free women," but that may be because we spend much less time with her. The summary of the shortest and last section is "Molly gets married and Anna has an affair." No, actually, Molly just talks about her engagement to a man that Anna and the reader have never met, and Anna has a one-week fling with Max/Saul, the American we just read about in the most horrific part of her notebooks. (Characters change names for no reason sometimes.)
Oh yeah, the notebooks. Anna keeps four notebooks as diaries, each reflecting a different side of herself, e.g. for red for Communism and other politics. The fact that they overlap in content confuses the issue, for her and the reader. In the end, she buys a golden notebook, to reflect her now supposedly more integrated self. Then she gives it away to Max/Saul so he can write a novel in it. They give each other starting lines, and it's awful to realize that his line for her is the first line of The Golden Notebook. (His novel sounds equally dreadful, and I assume it's meant to be ironic that it's successful.)
So why aren't I giving this a lower grade? Well, there are moments when Lessing has a genuine insight, like about Hollywood or colonialism. I like the times when Molly and Anna are sitting around talking, and not just about men. I did at first think I was going to give the book a C+, but it just got more and more painful as it went on. On the other hand, it does mention Lloyd Bentsen, so that's of historical interest.
Wikipedia says, "In 2005, the novel was chosen by TIME magazine as one of the one hundred best English-language novels from 1923 to present." Suffice to say, it would not make my list.
Doris Lessing
The Golden Notebook
Original price $1.95, purchase price $1.30
Very worn paperback
D+
Despite the condition of the book, I don't think I've read it more than once or twice in the last quarter century. When I first read it in my early 20s, I'd only neck+ed with one person, so I assumed that love/sex/romance generally were the way Lessing described them, or at least had been in the 1940s and '50s, the timeframe of the book. Reading it now, I think that it's no more insightful into women's sexuality and emotions than, say, Catch-22. Women's nipples "burn" when they feel desire, and they feel desire when they're repulsed by a man. They only date married men who've had several affairs, and then wonder why none of the men can commit. Or at least these are the conclusions to be drawn if we assume that the heroine is Everywoman. But having split personalities does not make you an Everywoman. It doesn't even make you an Anywoman.
The protagonist Anna is a writer with writer's block. Now, I've never seriously had writer's block (quite the opposite, as I'll talk about when we get up to 2005's The Midnight Disease), but my impression is that it makes it difficult to write anything resembling what Lesley Conger would call "The Book I'm Supposed to Be Writing." Shopping lists, letters to friends, rants about pet peeves, no problem. But Anna can write fiction, at least in pieces, without much trouble. Her main protagonist is Ella, who has a writer's block and sleeps with married men. I think Ella has a heroine she's writing about, too, but I lost track.
For over 600 pages, Lessing/Anna/Ella tells the same stories in different forms but, again like Catch-22, not gaining anything through repetition. At many points she/they contradict her/themselves, and not just because things change as they become fictionalised. There is no good reason for Tommy, the son of Anna's friend Molly, to be 17 in 1950 and 20 in '57. Is he married to a "Tory Socialist," or is he single, living with his mother, and having an affair/ intense platonic friendship with his stepmother?
There's a streak of homophobia in the book, with Anna worrying that having gay roommates will have a bad effect on her preteen daughter, as opposed to the straight mind-fuckers that Anna brings home. Anna also worries that she and Molly will become lesbians, not because they're physically attracted to each other (which they don't seem to be), or because they're the only people that understand each other (even though Anna doesn't confide in Molly all that much and Molly can disappear for months without contact), but because they like to bitch about men. If that were the case, wouldn't most women be lesbians?
I found Molly the more interesting and likable of the two "free women," but that may be because we spend much less time with her. The summary of the shortest and last section is "Molly gets married and Anna has an affair." No, actually, Molly just talks about her engagement to a man that Anna and the reader have never met, and Anna has a one-week fling with Max/Saul, the American we just read about in the most horrific part of her notebooks. (Characters change names for no reason sometimes.)
Oh yeah, the notebooks. Anna keeps four notebooks as diaries, each reflecting a different side of herself, e.g. for red for Communism and other politics. The fact that they overlap in content confuses the issue, for her and the reader. In the end, she buys a golden notebook, to reflect her now supposedly more integrated self. Then she gives it away to Max/Saul so he can write a novel in it. They give each other starting lines, and it's awful to realize that his line for her is the first line of The Golden Notebook. (His novel sounds equally dreadful, and I assume it's meant to be ironic that it's successful.)
So why aren't I giving this a lower grade? Well, there are moments when Lessing has a genuine insight, like about Hollywood or colonialism. I like the times when Molly and Anna are sitting around talking, and not just about men. I did at first think I was going to give the book a C+, but it just got more and more painful as it went on. On the other hand, it does mention Lloyd Bentsen, so that's of historical interest.
Wikipedia says, "In 2005, the novel was chosen by TIME magazine as one of the one hundred best English-language novels from 1923 to present." Suffice to say, it would not make my list.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
A Wrinkle in Time
1962, 1973 Dell Yearling edition
Madeleine L'Engle
A Wrinkle in Time
Original price $3.50, purchase price $1.75
Worn paperback
B-
This won the Newbery and its heroine loves math. It has a theme of love and nonconformity. It shows a variety of aliens, from cuddly Aunt Beast to horrifying IT (as in "it," not "Information Technology"). And the book irritates the heck out of me.
I think as a child I respected the story as a "modern classic" and liked aspects of it, but I always preferred the third book in the series, A Swiftly Tilting Planet. I read the books mostly for Meg, the bespectacled misfit I somewhat identified with. (Although I was a much better student than she was, and my rebellion took a quieter form.) And since I wasn't yet aware of what a cliche "You're beautiful when you take your glasses off" was, I was touched by Calvin's interest in her. Now that, and his immediate love of her family, feels rushed and unmerited, at least at this point in the series.
The book is very frustrating, because of its mixture of good and bad. Perhaps I should've been warned by the opening sentence, "It was a dark and stormy night." You think that L'Engle is parodying cliches, and then you realize that she's embracing them. Calvin seems like a believable teenager, and then he says, "Jeepers."
Also, the Christianity is heavy-handed, as in Charles Wallace's "Oh, duh, Jesus of course" moment. In Little Women, the girls' religion is integral to their lives, like them being New Englanders. Here it feels forced. Also, the message of light vs. dark is bungled when the sightless beasts wonder if the humans are from a "dark planet," even though later Aunt Beast can't understand the concepts of light and dark. L'Engle should've chosen another symbol, at least for that planet.
All that said, the book keeps almost working. It just doesn't hold up as well as Island of the Blue Dolphins, a less ambitious story.
Madeleine L'Engle
A Wrinkle in Time
Original price $3.50, purchase price $1.75
Worn paperback
B-
This won the Newbery and its heroine loves math. It has a theme of love and nonconformity. It shows a variety of aliens, from cuddly Aunt Beast to horrifying IT (as in "it," not "Information Technology"). And the book irritates the heck out of me.
I think as a child I respected the story as a "modern classic" and liked aspects of it, but I always preferred the third book in the series, A Swiftly Tilting Planet. I read the books mostly for Meg, the bespectacled misfit I somewhat identified with. (Although I was a much better student than she was, and my rebellion took a quieter form.) And since I wasn't yet aware of what a cliche "You're beautiful when you take your glasses off" was, I was touched by Calvin's interest in her. Now that, and his immediate love of her family, feels rushed and unmerited, at least at this point in the series.
The book is very frustrating, because of its mixture of good and bad. Perhaps I should've been warned by the opening sentence, "It was a dark and stormy night." You think that L'Engle is parodying cliches, and then you realize that she's embracing them. Calvin seems like a believable teenager, and then he says, "Jeepers."
Also, the Christianity is heavy-handed, as in Charles Wallace's "Oh, duh, Jesus of course" moment. In Little Women, the girls' religion is integral to their lives, like them being New Englanders. Here it feels forced. Also, the message of light vs. dark is bungled when the sightless beasts wonder if the humans are from a "dark planet," even though later Aunt Beast can't understand the concepts of light and dark. L'Engle should've chosen another symbol, at least for that planet.
All that said, the book keeps almost working. It just doesn't hold up as well as Island of the Blue Dolphins, a less ambitious story.
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