A Work in Progress

The Flowers of War by Geling Yan

In the opening pages of Geling Yan's novel, The Flowers of War (Jingling Shisan Chai, translated from Chinese by Nicky Harmon) a young girl awakens in the middle of the night to discover her first menstrual period has arrived.  She's torn between curiosity and disgust by it.  Shujuan is one of more than a dozen girls left behind in Nanking as the Japanese invade the city.  Most of the other girls are orphans, but Shujuan's family are in America.  She feels utterly betrayed by her parents who have left her there alone when the other parents have already come for their daughters. 

"Clearly her cowardly parents had not wanted to come back to a capital city abandoned even by the Chinese government."

The girls are in the care of two American missionaries who are unable to lead the girls into the city's Safety Zone, though they feel assured that the Japanese Army will act with honor once the city is secured.  The girls hide in the attic of a Catholic Church protected by the elderly Father Engelmann and Deacon Fabio Adornato, an Italian-American who was raised in China and speaks nearly flawless Chinese.  It's mostly through the eyes of Shujuan, not yet even fourteen, that the events of the story are played out.  Feeling abandoned and confused, though mostly angry, Shujuan and the other girls are juxtaposed with a group of courtesans who have fled a nearby brothel to seek refuge in the church. 

Both Fabio and Father Engelmann try to discourage the women from entering the grounds for fear they will put their young wards in danger, but the women disregard them and climb over the compound walls until the men have no choice but to allow them to shelter there as well.  Some of the prostitutes are nearly the same age as the girls, but for ill luck they might have had the same chance for a safe and secure life with more hope and opportunities.  They are, however, seen as interlopers by the girls.  Already food and water are in scarce supply, and now the women with their flashy clothes, dissolute ways and seemingly voracious appetites hasten the depletion of what little they have creating tension and animosity between the two groups ending in a fight between the two. 

"The Japanese were still abstract enemies, but this teenage prostitute was an enemy they could see."

For Shujuan the women repulse her but they also exude a certain fascination, particularly Zhao Yumo, who is the most elegant and beautiful of the group.  Shujuan feels so many emotions like any girl of her age who is on the cusp of maturity, but she hates both the Japanese for cutting her off from her family and the prostitutes for reasons she likely doesn't even understand herself.

"She was overwhelmed with anguish, and hatred for everything and everyone.  She even began to hate herself, now it turned out she had the same body and organs as those women downstairs, and the same cramping pains expelling the same unclean blood from her body."

Putting the already precarious neutrality of the church at risk, three Chinese soldiers beg entrance and help from the missionaries.  Two have been injured in what turned out to be a massacre of POWs and a third, an office, managed to escape the carnage when a group of soldiers were fired upon by their own troops who thought the men were fleeing rather than understanding they had received the order to retreat.  They, too, force their way in, which of course sets the story up for a somewhat disquieting climax.

This is a slim novel told in simple unadorned prose.  Yan, to some extent, explores the lives and experiences of each group of individuals from the priests to the soldiers to the prostitutes.  Some in more depth than others.  I found the story surprisingly easy to read as I was expecting it to be both  horrifying and harrowing considering the subject of the novel is the 1937 Rape of Nanking where hundreds of thousands of Chinese were murdered.  There were certainly some disturbing scenes but none so horrendous as to make the story wholly demoralizing. 

Therein lies a problem, as I feel slightly ambivalent about the book.  Is it strange to say I "enjoyed" it on one level--particularly the moral dilemmas posed by such disparate groups of people thrown together in a time of war and who may be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice for others (perfect setting then to have the story take place in a church), yet I wonder if for all that it still feels a little more "slight" than I had anticipated for a story about such a horrific event?  I'm not entirely sure and need to mull it over a bit more.  It was made into a movie in 2011 (you can watch the trailer for it here), which I have not yet seen but plan to (it's already been requested from my library).  It appears many changes to the story were made, but it looks visually striking, and perhaps the horrors of what occurred are more pronounced in the movie than they were in the book.  

For all that, and despite a few reservations, I did very much like the book and am planning on reading more of Geling Yan's books.  I've read far too few Chinese authors so look forward to exploring more of the culture and literature.  You can read Caroline's thoughts (as well she'll link to more reviews) here.  Next up for March is Elizabeth Bowen's The Heat of the Day.  Bowen is an author I've read before and been impressed by, so I am happy to have an excuse to get back to her work.

Letters Between Friends

I brought a really interesting book home from the library today.  Actually I discovered it in my online meanderings and requested it from  interlibrary loan on a whim, but I have a feeling it may end up being a little treasure.  I think I was searching around for books by women about WWII when I was working on compiling this list.  Intrigued by not only the war aspect of it, how could I pass up a book of letters as well?  I'd not heard of Joyce Grenfell before, but it sounds like she's quite famous in the UK.  Joyce and Ginnie: The Letters of Joyce Grenfell and Virginia Graham is a collection of letters covering a fifty year correspondence.  Imagine!

I don't know if I'll read the book straight through (it's pretty massive and a heavy hardcover that would have to be lugged around), or if I'll  just dip into it and maybe read the letters covering the war years.  Perhaps I'll start reading and be so captivated I'll just keep going.  I thought I'd share a few interesting bits that I've read in the preface and introduction that have me thinking this is a book worth spending time with (and would of course fit in perfectly with my other letter-writing-reading I am doing this year).

This is Virginia Graham and Joyce Grenfell.  The two met first when they were seven and became close friends when they were teenagers.  They began their correspondence when they were nineteen and it lasted until Joyce's death in 1979.  Joyce was an actor, writer, comedian and musician and Ginnie was a writer.  When they were apart they wrote almost daily.

In her autobiography Joyce wrote:

"My only continuous practice of putting words to paper was in the diary-letters I wrote to my mother and in the letters I had written to Virginia ever since we were about fifteen and one of us was away from London. These were unedited communications: they rambled on, were sometimes graphic, occasionally funny, sad, 'holy', thoughtful.  Their main merit was their liveliness.  Virginia told me they read as I spoke.  It is amusing to compare how differently in the war, I described the same incident to my mother in America and to Virginia, then living in Bristol to be near Tony who was with an anti-aircraft battery.  Because I knew my Ma was agonised about my being in and near London during the bombing, I was gentle about what I told her, played down the unpleasantness of the raids and made light of the damage done.  To Virginia, undergoing her own noisy raids in the West Country, I was not so delicate.  You would hardly think the letters were written about the same events, or from the same pen."

In writing about Joyce, Virginia notes:

"These letters, written daily when she was not in London, provide a very thorough survey of the world development over the past fifty years in all fields save the political, and as fodder for future historians they are surely invaluable.  Joyce wrote at great speed and just as she spoke: if anyone wants to know the price of a Melton Mowbray pie in 1962 or what one wore to a wedding in 1949, it is all here.  Here, too, in detail, a whole assortment of people and birds and flowers, all of which she loved.  Incidentally, in writing letters she not only demanded of herself full particulars, but also accuracy."

At a time when the US postal service is faltering to a point that it is stopping Saturday delivery and annually raise the prices of stamps, I am amazed to read that in the early days of their correspondence, "sending letters was a fast and efficient business: there were five deliveries to homes a day.  A letter posted at breakfast-time reached its destination by tea-time."  The two women were close friends and had an obvious affection for each other.  Joyce wrote nearly 4,000 letters to Virginia, and Virginia wrote more than 2,000 to Joyce which I also find sort of amazing.  Letter writing really is a lost art I think.  I am trying to be a better correspondent to my own friends (because there is nothing like writing about the world--even if it's not necessarily the larger world--and getting a reply back).  I'm looking forward to dipping into the book as well as reading more books of letter or books on letter writing this year.  I'll let you know how it goes.

February 26: Reading Notes

Joy!  A good mail day as you can see.  The only thing that is missing from my photo is the mailer that has a book in it, which I forgot to grab for my photo.  They all sit unread and unopened at the moment (have only just cut the tops of the envelopes to pull out the contents), as I like to get all my chores out of the way first and then sit leisurely to read my postcards, letters and open my parcels at the end of the night.  I sort of like the anticipation and having something to look forward to before bedtime (mail and then a few pages of a good book).  I rarely get so many good things at once (has the mailman been holding back on me?)--five postcards (two are Postcrossing cards) and three letters.  A few of you might recognize these missives and I thank you in advance and will be replying soon.

So, the perfect segue into my next topic of business before I get into my regular bookish mode.  Just a few random items today, the first of which is once again mail-related.  Have you seen these very cool commemorative stamps for the 200th anniversary of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice?  I don't really collect stamps per se, but I do greatly appreciate a letter that comes with colorful and unusual stamps.  I am hoping one of my British friends will include one or two on a letter or card sometime in the future.

It seems the season of book prizes is upon us once again.  Thanks to Marg for the heads up on The Stella Prize.  This is a new prize for Australian women's writing, and they have just unveiled their inaugural longlist.  Whatever you think about book prizes, I see them as a way to discover new authors and some potentially good books I might not have heard about otherwise.  I definitely need to read more Australian Literature, so I am looking forward to exploring the list. 

The Sunday Times EFG Private Bank Short Story Award (that's quite a mouthful) has announced their shortlist.  I had thought I would read all the stories on the longlist, but I've not had a chance to track down the original publications where the stories were published.  The stories are available digitally for Kindle users but not outside the UK sadly.  It's akin to waving some little treat in front of my eyes and then saying sorry none for you.  Not that I am at a loss for good stories to read.

The L.A. Times has announced the finalists for their 2012 Book Award.  I've only read one of the books from their mystery/thriller list and have a few more on my reading pile. 

I'm curious about the longlist for the former Orange Prize, now the Women's Prize for Fiction (the name's just  not the same, is it?--sort of bland).  I thought the list comes out in March, but I don't see a date for it yet.  

A little closer to home I have my own list of reads that I hope to tackle in March.  I'm very much looking forward to reading Elizabeth Bowen's The Heat of the Day for Caroline's Literature and War Readalong next month.  Perhaps I'll also manage a few of Bowen's short stories, too, for Mel u's Irish Short Story Month.  I have a thick collection of her work on my shelves which I think I'll go grab now.

While I am still working my way through Iain Pears' An Instance of the Fingerpost for Cornflower's most recent book club choice (which she notes is well worth persevering to the end, so I shall keep reading), but I have ordered her March selection as I'm in the market for a good nature book (is it too early for Spring fever?), Richard Mabey's Nature Cure (hmm, maybe that's what's in my mailer waiting to be opened).

The Slaves of Golconda are going to read Diana Athill's Stet: An Editor's Life in March.  Of course anyone is welcome to join in.  It's "a beautifully written, hardheaded, and generally insightful look back at the heyday of postwar London publishing by a woman who was at its center for nearly half a century".  Sounds good, don't you think?  I have a book of short stories by Athill I'd like to read sometime this year. 

And I've got the last book for this round's Postal Reading Group, Lisa St. Aubin's The Palace.  It sounds like a retelling of Alexandre Dumas' The Count of Monte Cristo, which is one of my all-time favorite books, so I'll be very curious to read it. 

Of course there will be the usual Art of the Novella installments, and a new NYRB Classic (to add to the pile--I am quickly falling behind there).  I made the mistake of looking through my most recent New York Review of Books and discovered that March's book will be Pitch Dark by Renata Adler.  I sort of like the element of surprise, but now I know since I had to read the ad so will just look forward to getting the book.

As you can see I have my work cut out for me next month.  Maybe I need to plan a few afternoons off from work for a little quiet reading time.  Good thing March is a long month.  Now I'm off to read my mail!

Heidi's Alp by Christina Hardyment

I've forgotten how much I like reading travel narratives.  I have two very full shelves full of them and probably could fill another with more books of travel adventures that I've got spread out in other places.  Written in 1987 and one of a series of travel books published by Atlantic Monthly, Christina Hardyment's Heidi's Alp: One Family's Search for Storybook Europe combined a  number of really interesting elements.  It's not just a straightforward narrative about the family's travel adventures (and sometimes misadventures), but the focus is on literary Europe, in particular children's literature--a few classics as well as folk and fairy tales.  There's also a fair bit of history and social history and even pop culture included, as it wasn't meant to be all study and no play. 

Inspired by Toad's adventures in The Wind in the Willows, which she had been reading to her younger daughters, Hardyment decided that her own life had become one of routine and monotony and a little family adventure was called for. 

"Four daughters aged between five and twelve: eighteen years of lunchboxes and swimming money, lost textbooks and missed music lessons.  What had happened to my old dreams, of exploring Trebizond like Rose Macaulay, excavating in Anatolia like Freya Stark, daring the desert in memory of Lady Hester Stanhope?  Was a family a ball and chain for life?"

Once arrangements had been made with the childrens' schools, since they would be leaving before the end of the academic year, they found a suitable means of transportation.  In this case a motorhome was borrowed from friends, which the family dubbed "Bertha".  In the first leg of their journey they were joined by a friend and her baby, and the latter half Hardyment's husband shared driving and navigating responsibilities.  I was reminded of Patrick Leigh Fermor's earlier adventures, which he wrote about in A Time of Gifts, as the Hardyments also set off, too, from the Hook of Holland.

"We had one other travelling companion.  By April I had done enough research to be reasonably well-informed on the obscurer aspects of the books and authors we were to pursue.  One writer above all the rest had emerged as vivid, urgent, and demanding.  At first I didn't even particularly like him, but like a doppelgänger he kept turning up at my shoulder in the most unlikely places, always with a question.  Ugly, unsettled, an embarrassment to many of his friends and yet the most obsessively read and reread of all European storytellers, Hand Christian Andersen haunted me as effectively as 'The Travelling Companion' of his own macabre story."

Much of their journey loosely follows Andersen's own life, writings and his own travels through Europe.  If you've ever wondered what inspires an author to write the stories they do, the Hardyments visit the places and see first hand the cities or villages, the landscapes and even the homes and always with book in hand.  Did you know that Hans Brinker and the Silver Skates was actually written by American Mary Mapes Dodge, who hadn't even been to Holland before writing the book?  She checked facts with Dutch friends living in New York. 

There's lots about Hans Christian Andersen, poor unattractive man that he was, whose mother was barely literate and highly superstitious.  She, however, instilled in him the idea that whatever he wanted to be in life was entirely acceptable.  This was probably pretty progressive thinking for the early 19th century.  The family followed him from Denmark (with sidetrips to Legoland and the Tivoli Gardens) to Germany exploring his many fairy tales along the way.

An entire chapter is devoted to the historical basis of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, which reminded me, too, of Jeremias Gotthelf's The Black Spider.  It's best to pay off your debts lest something awful befalls you if you don't.  Were those children really spirited away and just what was the real reason why?  The Hardyments follow the Fairy Tale Road in Germany (and even in the 80s much of it, including a sidetrip to Neuschwanstein Castle, was something of a tourist trap), learn about Pinocchio in Italy, Heidi's Alp in Switzerland and Babar in France. 

This is such a charming read and Hardyment manages to thread everything together seamlessly.  It's obvious that she did her homework either along the way or after as she writes not just about what she sees but what the literature and tales mean.  It's those bits that I really appreciated as they reinforced or shed light on my own fairy tale reading last fall.  Hardyment shared a wonderful quote from Italo Calvino, which makes me want to find and read his Italian Folktales.

"These folk tales are a catalogue of the potential destinies of men and women, especially for the stage in life when destiny is formed, that is, yought, beginning with birth, which itself often foreshadows the future; then the departure from home, and finally, through the trials of growing up, the attainment of maturity and the proof of one's humanity."

I don't know when I'll get back to reading fairy tales, but I know how important they are in the scheme of things since so much hinges on those stories.  It's quite nice to think how it's all interconnected and this was such a pleasurable way to think about it.  I'd be curious to know where the family is now, since their travels are a quarter century past.  Their journey even took them behind the Iron Curtain and into East Germany.  So much has changed but the stories remain a part of our culture.

This is the second book from my list of books to read this year (the other being Alice McDermott's At Weddings and Wakes).  I had to mention that as I'm so pleased with myself for staying on track for once.  I have tentatively picked Chaim Potok's Davita's Harp for my next read, but I've not yet started it and have to decide if that's really what I'm in the mood for at the moment.

**Christina Hardyment is still writing books, and you can check out her website here!  Heidi's Alp is published under the title The Canary-Coloured Cart in the UK.

Short Story Sunday: Roman Fever & Dimanche

So many stories to read this year, so many collections sitting on my reading pile, and every weekend another great story from the Persephone collection that I've decided to ramp things up just a bit and have read two this weekend. Edith Wharton's brilliant "Roman Fever" (my favorite short story by her that I've read so far, though I've so many more to explore), and Irène Némirovsky's "Dimanche" (which is another taste of her work and a slight prod to read more of her, too).  If I can manage it I might continue reading two stories every Sunday, but we'll see how it goes. 

Waiting in the wings I have a collection by Helen Simpson sitting patiently by my bedside, and that new (new for me that is) Ann Beattie collection just purchased.  And then there is Alice Munro's newest collection that I plan on reading along with Buried in Print.  Caroline has reminded me what a wonderful short story writer Elizabeth Bowen is (and there is Mel's Irish Short Story Month coming up that I think I need to try and participate in).  You see, so many opportunities to read short stories.  How strange there was a time I couldn't be bothered with short stories, but now I can't imagine going without a weekly dose of them.

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First up, however, Wharton's "Roman Fever", which happens to be a reread for me.  The story was published in 1934, apparently after Wharton had suffered from influenza on a visit to Rome.  It's been compared to stories written by Saki and O. Henry in that it has a shocking twist at the end that you might not see coming.  I love Saki's work, though I have yet to read O. Henry.  Saki is very good at throwing the reader for a loop that's for certain.  This story puts me in mind of Guy du Maupassant's "The Necklace", which also has an ironic twist at the end.  "Roman Fever" is a marvellous story and one I highly recommend.  It's been several years since I read it, and I was surprised once again by the ending.

The story begins happily enough in Rome.  Two wealthy American widows are vacationing there with their daughters.  As Alida Slade and Grace Ansley overlook the Forum and enjoy the languid afternoon they talk about their own pasts nostalgically, which have criss crossed over the years.  Their grandmothers were warned to take care of Roman fever, easily caught when out at night.  And their own mothers guarded them from "sentimental dangers". Alida and Grace's daughters seem to have far more free reign.  They've gone off to lunch with two Italian aviators, one being a highly suitable match.  To the chagrin of Alida, Grace's daughter, Babs (who's lovely and vivacious), will likely catch the young man's eye and attention.

As young women Alida and Grace spent time in Rome as well.  As the talk turns to their own Roman experiences, the women seem to talk to cross purposes.  Suddenly it's not all so sunny and picturesque anymore.  Alida was betrothed to a handsome and successful lawyer, Delphin Slade.  Despite being betrothed, there was some flirtatiousness between Grace and Delphin.  Jealousy and vindictiveness overtook Alida and she wrote a letter to Grace asking her to come to the Colosseum one night after dark, but signing Delphin's name.  I'll stop here and not give anymore of the story away, but I will say that Grace caught a fever.

Despite the 'shocking' ending, the story is actually quite subtle and very well crafted.  She leads up to the denouement very carefully and with a close reading you are suspicious of the relationships and probably will see it coming.  I believe this was a later work and it's obvious she was at the top of her game.

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I seem to be collecting Irène Némirovsky's work, but I haven't been very good at reading what I've acquired, save for a library copy of Fire in the Blood.  I apparently never got around to writing about it, however.  I believe Irène Némirovsky was quite popular in the 1920s and 30s.  She published ten novels and more than forty short stories but perished in Auschwitz during WWII.  Her books went out of print until her unfinished Suite Française was rediscovered and published posthumously, and now there has been a resurgence of her work.

"Dimanche" was originally published in 1934, and is yet another melancholy story about a mother and daughter, neither particularly happy in their relationships with men.  The mother having made her mistakes looks on the youthfulness of her daughter and the potential her life offers with some jealousy, while the daughter sees only a woman who appears placid and gullible and a little naive.  Neither sees the other clearly and without misperceptions.

"Where do we find happiness?  We pursue it, search for it, kill ourselves trying to find it, and all the time it's just here.  It comes just when we've stopped expecting anything, stopped hoping, stopped being afraid."

It's with the experience of time and maturity that the mother reflects back on her life and the mistakes she has made.  Of course someone with only youth on their side and a fresh view of the world thinks only they experience real emotions.  They look upon their elders as someone who is perhaps feeble and unable to love and live life in the same way as they do.

". . . as she looked at her mother with bright, innocent eyes that made it impossible to read the secret thoughts within them:  mother, the eternal enemy, pathetic in her old age, understanding nothing, withdrawing into her shell, her only aim to stop youth from being alive!"

And the daughter is scornful of her mother.  She believes she is so trustful and with an "untroubled heart".  The mother watches on helplessly as her husband has his affairs, and the daughter is preparing to make the same mistake choosing a man who will and has already cheated, too.  The cycle is set to repeat itself once again.  Némirovsky offers a perfect glimpse into two women's lives.  It's a story steeped in irony.

Next up are stories by Phyllis Bentley and Betty Miller.

Lost in the Stacks Home Edition: Simon

If, like me, you are a fan of early twentieth century literature, and you've not yet had a chance to meet Simon, let me direct your attention to Stuck in a Book now.  Simon is a graduate of Oxford where he studied Literature focusing on this era in particular.  He's working on his dissertation which is on middlebrow novels and the fantastic between the world wars.  On many an occasion I've taken up reading suggestions from Simon, and there is lots to explore on his blog including a list of "fifty books you must read but may not have heard about" (links to the books are on his sidebar).  While you're there make sure, too, you check out his series of My Life in Books posts, where he pairs readers and their answers about books.  The twist is each reader doesn't know the identity of their opposite pair until the answers have been posted!  Simon recently began working for Oxford University Press where he quite fittingly manages their blog, OxfordWords.

1. Describe your library/bookshelves. Are the books randomly placed or do you have them organized in a special way?

Firstly, I should tell you that most (maybe three-quarters?) of my books are at my parents' house in Somerset, while the rest are with me in Oxford.  That makes things a wee bit complicated... Ok, noted?  On with the show.  My books have a sort of order, loosely based around the alphabet... well, they are alphabetical by author (in both Somerset and Oxford), but in Oxford I've divided them into 'old' and 'new', which is very subjective and subject to change.  Basically, the bookcases are 'pretty' and 'less pretty', so reprints of old books might go in 'new', depending on how nicely the edition has been produced... scientific, no?  And then of course there are lots of exceptions, like all my Persephone books together...

2. Do you like to weed and recycle as you read or do you prefer to hold on to all your books?

I'm definitely a hoarder by nature, but space has been running out... so about once every two years I spend hours in my room in Somerset, being ruthless with myself.  And usually it's surprisingly easy, as I realise I don't *really* need two identical copies of Barbara Comyns' Our Spoons Came From Woolworths, however much I love her writing.  The books I cull usually go to the church bookstall my Mum runs from our garage on Saturdays, but last time I sold quite a few through my blog - since I knew they'd be even more likely to go to good homes (and I was penniless!).

3. Are your books confined to one area or are they spread out over your house?

Ah, this one we've addressed a little already!  Mine are spread across counties... but in both houses, I only really have one room that's mine.  I don't think my parents (or, in Oxford, my housemates) would appreciate it if I left piles of books in the living room.  Once I have my own house, in the dim and distant future, I can't imagine anywhere being safe from books.  As it is, every surface of my bedroom (including the floor - oh, very definitely including the floor) is covered with piles of books.

4. How long has your oldest unread book sat on your shelves.

If we're not counting unread children's books, then it's probably A Name To Conjure With by G.B. Stern, which I bought when I was 16 (just over a decade ago).  So, not enormously long, but about as long as it could possibly be with my caveat of discounting children's books!  I've still not read any fiction by G.B. Stern, but I have enjoyed her co-authored books on Jane Austen.

5. What is your most treasured book?

Probably Gay Life by E.M. Delafield, because she's one of my very favourite authors and it is signed by her.  I did know, when I bought it online, that it was (I've had lovely surprises with books by Dorothy Whipple and Owen Seaman, only discovering they were signed once I got home) but it gives me such a thrill to think she once held it.  Oddly, I can't think of any books which have deep personal attachments... my friends and family need to give me more heartfelt books!  Having said that, the Alice's Adventures in Wonderland which my parents gave me last Christmas, illustrated by my beloved Tove Jansson, is one of my most precious books - half because it's so beautiful, half because of the givers.

6. If you could pick one "lost in the stacks/on your bookshelves" book to rediscover and share with other readers, which would it be?

This is my forte, so it's so difficult to pick one!  I was so thrilled when Frank Baker's brilliant Miss Hargreaves came back into print - that used to be the one I forced onto everyone.  And last year I did manage to spread the word on Guard Your Daughters pretty successfully - causing a rush on copies online.  So, which book do I love which *hasn't* caused much of a stir in the blogosphere... I think it might be Economy Must Be Our Watchword by Joyce Dennys.  I never blogged about it properly, since it's impossible to find copies of it, but it's a hilarious take on a rich woman who has bizarre ideas about economising (and zero self-awareness) during the Second World War.  I treasure my copy, which I was lucky to find on Charing Cross Road.

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**Must note that Guard Your Daughters was one of the first books I read this year, and that Simon and I read Gay Life in tandem a couple of years ago (alas I read a library copy,  not one I own, but was happy to have found it on my library's shelves).  I have grabbed my copy of Miss Hargreaves from my TBR pile (shamefully have owned it for years and have decided this is the year I finally must read it).  Oh, and have checked Worldcat for the Joyce Dennys book, but as a mere four libraries own it, my chances are less than slim that I'll be able to borrow a copy.  See what I mean by those reading suggestions? 

I must also say that like so many other flat dwellers who have limited space for their books, Simon's arrangement is very pleasing (love that top photo). 

Many thanks to Simon for sharing photos of his bookshelves and piles with us.  Check back next Friday for a peek into another reader's library.

Totally Indulgent and Completely Unapologetic, or New Books

New used books that is.  So, as you see, I went book shopping yesterday.  The splurge was planned and very much enjoyed, and it is a generous pile, but I actually did put some books back (including two I couldn't quite remember if I owned, which I do, so am happy I didn't duplicate myself).  I've not been to a real bricks and mortar bookstore for ages, so it was long overdue.  In this case I stopped by my favorite (independently owned by the way) used bookstore, which has an amazing selection of good, used literary fiction (among other sorts of books).  I went looking for Viragos (found four as a matter of fact but two I already own) and whatever else caught my eye.  In this case, short stories and shorter fiction seemed to be the theme of the day. 

From top to bottom:

I am Mary Dunne by Brian Moore -- I read Moore's The Magician's Wife quite a while ago so have little recollection of what it was about exactly, but I have this feeling that when I read Moore now as a slightly more mature reader that he is going to become one of my 'great finds' of the year.  "For each of her three husbands Mary had assumed a different personality.  It was hardly surprising that, at the first signs of strain in her current marriage, she began to wonder who she really was.  One morning she forgot her name at the hairdresser's, and from then on the bizarre events of the day took her further and further into a crisis of identity."

The Wish to Kill by Janet Hannah -- I love Soho Crime books, but I don't think I've ever come across this author or this series of mysteries featuring Alex Kertész as sleuth.  He is actually a biochemist at the University of Jerusalem.  At least it seems to be a first in the series of books (three from what I can tell) and now out of print.

Happy All the Time by Laurie Colwin -- I need to read more contemporary literature by American women authors, and I am hoping to have the same sort of luck with Laurie Colwin as I did with Alice McDermott.  "This delightful comedy of manners and morals is about romantic love--about four people who are goodhearted and sane, lucky and gifted, and who find one another."  I like the sound of a happy story.

Reading in the Dark by Seamus Deane --I seem to be drawn to Irish authors or stories about Irish families at the moment.  How did I never hear of Seamus Deane?  "Set in postwar Northern Ireland where unquiet ghosts of the Troubles walk alongside the warriors and changelings of Celtic legend, Seamus Deane's first novel is the transfixing story of a boy trying to uncover the secrets of the adult world."  The NYTBR blurb on the book reads, "the intimacy of a memoir . . .  the suspense of a detective story . . . A novel suffused with magical loveliness."

Teaching a Stone to Talk by Annie Dillard -- This is subtitled "Expeditions and Encounters" and is a collection of nature writings.  As I am contemplating getting back to reading about nature (the desire for spring is strong, but the weather just won't cooperate--reading about nature is the next best thing).

A Scrap of Time by Ida Fink -- I read Fink's The Journey in my pre-blogging days (again another case of having only the vaguest recollection of the story), and was pleased to come across this collection of stories by her.  They are translated from Polish (bonus--I don't think I've read many books translated from Polish).  "A Scrap of Time is a haunting collection of stories about life in Poland during World War II.  Based on authentic experiences, many autobiographical, these shattering stories, told in a whisper, have more than the force of eyewitness accounts."

Park City by Ann Beattie -- "For more than twenty-five years, Ann Beattie's short fiction has held a mirror up to America, portraying its awkwardly welded families, its loosely coupled couples, and much-uprooted children with acuity, humor, and compassion."  This is a collection of 36 stories including eight which have not appeared in book format previously.  I believe she is supposed to be another excellent short story writer and I look forward to finally reading her.

The Ladies from St. Petersburg by Nina Barberova -- This is a collection of three novellas about the beginning of the Russian Revolution.  "Writing with a resonating clarity, unsentimental yet full of human sympathy, Nina Berberova stands as one of the treasures of twentieth-century literature and the continuance of the great Russian tradition."

The Brimming Cup by Dorothy Canfield Fisher -- Yay, a pristine Virago (two!  See below).  I've yet to read DCF but am very keen to do so.  She is also a Persephone author.  "First published in 1919 this intuitive novel explores the emotional turmoil one woman faces as she struggles to resurrect her own identity."

Saraband by Eliot Bliss -- Another new to me author.  "First published in 1931, this beautiful, atmospheric novel, like Antonia White's Frost in May quartet, charts the emotional and intellectual growth of a young girl."

You just need an occasional bookish indulgence now and then don't you, and I needed one yesterday.  The bookstore owner saw me with my pile and jokingly asked 'a little reading for the storm', which elicited a guffaw from me as today and into tomorrow we are being slammed with up to a foot of snow.  I guess when I thought--how happy for me that the storm the Northeast had to deal with last week passed us by, well, now we're getting ours.  To add insult to injury we are due yet more snow Sunday into Monday.  Fingers crossed (cross yours too, please) that I may just get a snow day out of all the snow (if it's going to snow that much I think the least that can happen is a day off, right?).

Now the question is whether to start one of these books now (more indulgence) or remain strong and keep focusing on my books in progress.

At Weddings and Wakes by Alice McDermott

Isn't it funny how readers can have such vastly different reactions to the same book?  I think I loved Alice McDermott's At Weddings and Wakes for just the reasons many other (Amazon) readers panned it.  Too wordy?  Beautifully lyrical.  And actually I felt that she told her story with a perfect economy of prose.  Pointless and plotless?  Maybe we didn't read the same book.  This is not a plot-driven story by any means, it's all about an Irish-American family living in Brooklyn in the 1950s and 60s.  It's not a difficult read, but the structure is slightly complex and she does ask of the reader for their attention and a certain active participation in the storytelling process.  Chick lit?  No, we didn't read the same book.  If a story is primarily about women does that make it boring chick lit?  I suspect you already know how I feel about that one.  Yes, there is much about the inner lives of women in this story, which I didn't find the least boring (just the opposite as a matter of fact) and definitely no less worthy than any other subject an author chooses to write about.  I guess it all comes down to personal taste, right?

I'd say it's a nod to the author's abilities that it took me well into the middle of the book to realize that the chapters could almost be read as interlinked short stories (of course I'm partial to short stories, too), though the book is classified as a novel.  Best to consider it as novel that is episodic in nature.  I was too caught up initially in the beauty of the prose  and the story(ies) she was telling to pay as much attention to how it is crafted to be honest.  It's told from the perspective of three children, keen observers despite their youth of the faults and foibles, petty grievances, unhappiness and discontents as well as moments of pure bliss and enlightenment of their tight-knit extended family.

Twice a week in every week of summer, save for their summer holiday at the end of July and beginning of August, Margaret, Bobby and Maryanne travel from their home in Long Island to that of their grandmother's in Brooklyn.  It's a ritual that includes a stop at a local candy shop for butterscotch Life Savers, bus and train rides and the purchase of warm, floury bread, the sort that "Christ ate at the Last Supper", to bring to Momma's.  Momma is Lucy's stepmother, and the children's grandmother.  She's also the sister of Lucy's mother who died in childbirth.  Four daughters Annie and Jack had before departing the world.  Momma took up caring for the girls and eventually married Jack adding a son to the brood before Jack decided to die, too.

Lucy's life is not how she imagined it would be.  In her mind she thinks about leaving her husband and she discusses this possibility to Momma and her sisters, but at the end of the day when her husband arrives to take her and the children home, she fixes her hair and reapplies her lipstick and returns once again to her life.  Her three sisters life spinster-lives with Momma, but John has left.  Both John and Veronica, the youngest daughter--the one who never knew her mother--rely too much on alcohol to see them through life's difficulties.  

The story of each adult sibling, as well as Momma's life is touched upon and reflected on.  Some small or big event as witnessed by the children becomes the focus in turn.  Agnes, the eldest leads a refined and cultured life as a career woman with elegant tastes and a decided opinion about how life should be lived.  May was once a nun, but left the religious life behind when she became too dependent on it--loved it too much.  She has a second chance at happiness when a romance sparks between her and the mailman.  So smitten by her he sends her flowers every week.  And Veronica, the youngest, leads a life once hopeful but tinged by sadness as she carries with hera scar on her face.  She's a little too reliant on the cocktails that Agnes mixes to perfection for her sisters and Momma. 

It's not just weddings and wakes that bring the family together, even though a cousin jokingly tells the the children "aren't you glad that you only have to see your relatives at weddings and wakes?", though the story is peppered with them.  They're just the more obvious symbols of the joys and sadnesses that fill the lives of this family.  A strength of the story is how representative their stories are of the greater world around us, no matter what the period. 

Maybe Alice McDermott is not for everyone, but she is definitely for me.  Why did I wait so long to pick this book up?  It has been sitting patiently on my bookshelf for its turn for far too long (why I need to keep reading from my own shelves).  I won't wait so long to read another book by her and am now off to scan my shelves for my copy of That Night, which I've heard many good things about. 

Baudelaire's Fanfarlo

Charles Baudelaire.  I don't think I would have read him had it not been for the Art of the Novella edition of La Fanfarlo (La Fanfarlo translated by Edward K. Kaplan) which came as part of my subscription.  I'm still not sure I'll read more of his work (having and on again off again--mostly off again love affair with poetry), but he's an intriguing individual.  His photo does not match the idea I have in mind when thinking of the somewhat dissolute lifestyle he led.  It sounds as though he was something of a dandy spending lots of money on clothes leading to financial problems that would plague him for much of his short life.

He traveled to India in 1841, and upon returning to France began writing poetry,  mostly while sitting in taverns.  He was a critic and for a time a journalist.  He translated the work of Edgar Allen Poe, who, according to the blurb on the book, he called a "twin soul".  If you have ever read anything about Poe, you'll know what a telling remark that is.  Baudelaire's most famous work is a collection of poetry called Flowers of Evil (Les Fleurs du mal), which like all good literature caused a stir upon publication. It was, however, praised by Gustave Flaubert and Victor Hugo, and became Baudelaire's masterpiece.  What I find most interesting is that he coined the term modernity (modernité) "to designate the fleeting, ephemeral experience of life in an urban metropolis, and the responsibility art has to capture that experience".  I'm not sure how his work fits in with this idea of modernity, but I might be tempted into exploring this aspect of Baudelaire and his work a bit more.

La Fanfarlo is his only work of prose fiction about the obsessive love affair of a young artist with a Parisian dancer, which is lifted right out of the pages of Baudelaire's own life.  He had a long standing affair with creole actress and dancer Jeanne Duval.

Samuel Cramer is an artist, a poet.  Respectable by birth he is however, a man of "failed works of beauty". 

"He is at once a great lazybones, pitifully ambitious, and famous for unhappiness; for his entire life he has had practically nothing but half-baked ideas.  The sun of laziness, which ceaselessly glows within him, vaporizes him and gnaws away that half-genius that heaven bestows upon him."

One afternoon while walking in the Luxembourg Gardens he comes across a woman he knew when she was only a girl.  Matured now and living in one of the aristocratic neighborhoods of the city, Madame de Cosmelly and Samuel begin discussing art, literature and philosophy.  Samuel no doubt has in mind the possibility of seducing this woman who was once an object of infatuation.  She confides to Samuel that her husband has been having an affair with the actress Fanfarlo, a woman Madame de Cosmelly calls both stupid and beautiful.  Samuel offers to help break up the affair, but not for altruistic purposes.  He hopes to find "in the respectable woman's arms compensation for the commendable deed." 

As it turns out it's Samuel who ends up being seduced by Fanfarlo.  In pursuit of her he studies her on stage, he goes to her home but decides an outright declaration of love won't work.  What can he do to to be noticed when her lover is wealthy and she's adored by him? 

"Strangely, their harmony of opinions on the good life, and similarity of tastes, bound them together vigorously; that deep agreement on the sensual life, which glowed in Samuel's every glance and every spoken word, greatly impressed Fanfarlo."

So Madame de Cosmelly gets her husband back and Fanfarlo, "probably in love with Samuel" (with an underlying bitterness), gets Samuel.  And Samuel?  His often feigned passion?  Well, he's now forced to know it. 

There's lots of name dropping in this story, mostly people and literary references, which comes with a handy list of notes in the back of the book.  I fear that the philosophizing went mostly over my head, though the story itself is straightforward.  Perhaps someday I'll revisit it, but I've at least had a taste of Baudelaire's work, and that's the beauty of these wonderful little Art of the Novella books.  Next up and I will be reading him this week (since the next two are lined up and I don't want to fall behind) is Mark Twain's The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg.

Bartleby the Scrivener, by Herman Melville

Oh Bartleby.  I've been thinking about you ever since I finished (last year!) Melville's story about you, perplexed by your behavior and just what it means.  Pondering what to write about you, but then over the weekend I had an epiphany.  I had a Bartleby moment and all of a sudden, your retort to so many questions, "I'd prefer not to" suddenly began making sense.  Should I admit that?  Only something separates us.  I understand that "I'd prefer not to" emotion, but I can't quite seem to act upon it.  Not in the same way you did, however, which was not to act at all really.  The question is, should I see that as a good thing or bad?

Have you read Bartleby the Scrivener?  Here in the U.S. it's a high school staple and I have a vague recollection of reading it, but that was so many years ago that rereading the Art of the Novella edition was like discovering it for the very first time.  I've read a little criticism about just what the story of Bartleby means, but it's all very vague and open ended.  It's one of the more ambiguous stories I've come across in a while, which is not a bad thing at all since it gives me the chance to mull it over and reflect and try and interpret what the story means to me.

I read that Bartleby may have been written in response to the bad reviews that his previous novel received, perhaps a thumbing of the nose to the literary critics, if you will.  He may have been inspired too by the works of the Transcendentalists (the argument of materialism versus idealism), though I don't think Herman Melville was part of that school of writers.

The narrator of the story, a successful lawyer in a firm on Wall Street, hires Bartleby to help his two law-copyists with an influx of work.

"In answer to my advertisement, a  motionless young man one  morning stood upon my office threshold, the door being open, for it was summer.  I can see that figure now--pallidly neat, pitiably respectable, incurably forlorn!"

At first he's pleased with Bartleby's work, but soon requests for tasks to be completed by Bartleby are met with the reply, "I would prefer not to".  Had Bartleby appeared angry, impatient or impertinent, the lawyer would have dismissed him immediately.  But there is something forlorn about Bartleby so he simply asks one of his other law-copyists to do the work.  When it keeps happening, however, the lawyer decides that Bartleby must go, so he gives him six days and then he must go look for a new job.  But Bartleby prefers not to.  Worse, Bartleby has taken to living in the law office, a desolate place after the hustle and bustle of the work day.  Wall Street after hours is empty and Bartleby simply stands looking out of the window. 

No matter what the lawyer does, he can't seem to rid himself of Bartleby and his "I prefer not tos".  Sympathy and pity turns to annoyance and then a solution that he things is both inspired and final.  If Bartleby won't go, then the law firm will.  He packs up and moves to another office leaving Bartleby there.  When a new firm moves in, Bartleby continues to haunt the premises.  He begins sleeping in the doorway to the consternation of the new tenants.

I won't give away the ending in case you've not yet read it, but am curious to know what you make of it if you have.  Such a curious character, Bartleby.  The lawyer characterizes him as someone who does no harm.

"I now recalled all the quiet mysteries which I had noted in the man.  I remembered that he never spoke but to answer; that through intervals he had considerable time to himself, yet I had never seen him reading--no, not even a newspaper; that for long periods he would stand looking out, at his pale window behind the screen, upon the dead brick wall; I was quite sure he never visited any refectory or eating house, while his pal face clearly indicated that he never drank beer like Turkey, or tea and coffee even, like other men; that he never went out for a walk, unless indeed that was the case at present; that he had declined telling who he was, or whence he came, or whether he had any relatives in the world; that though so think and pale, he never complained of ill health."

To call Bartleby an eccentric seems an understatement.  He's an elusive character, his ending is ironic considering his life experiences.  So how to read him?  With pity?  Perhaps he was suffering from a form of extreme Depression.  As a hero?  He chose his own path rather than what Society expected of him.  A victim?  Maybe his idealistic attitude couldn't compete with the materialism of the world.  A cautionary tale?  Bartleby's ending is what happens when Society doesn't step up and help take care of our neighbors. 

Such a short work of literature yet so much to think about.  And isn't this what a really good piece of writing challenges a reader to do?  I'm not sure when I'll read Melville again (the thought of Moby Dick, so many pages and so much symbolism intimidates me just a little), but Bartleby the Scrivener is a story that is worthy of reading and rereading.