Author: Thomas

A picture paints a thousand words…

Thomas18 Comments

  
Back on May 30th, Simon at Stuck In A Book tagged me to choose a picture that sums up my taste in reading. With moving and travelling and everything else going on right now it has taken me much longer than I would have thought to complete this assignment.

The biggest challenge is that the picture was NOT to include images of books or a character from an adaptation. That made it hard. I was all set to find some picture of a cosy library or a beautiful still from the Merchant-Ivory adaptations of  A Room With a View, Howard’s End, or Maurice. But that would have been cheating.

And then I was thinking that Simon’s picture was apt for me as well. But to copy him would have been the ultimate cop out.

I still had the whole notion of tea and England on my brain, which indeed does sum up a lot of of what I like.

And my recent read of Widow Barnaby by Fanny Trollope reminded me how much I like domestic and housekeeping details in novels. (Although Widow Barnaby doesn’t really go into “downstairs” details.)

Or anything to do with academia or the Church of England…

And all of that reminded me of how much I love a good old fashioned pastoral landscape, whether it is in England…

or the U.S. (this lovely Grant Wood painting sums up much about my taste in U.S. fiction)…

or Italy…

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that any picture that could sum up my reading tastes would have to be old, cosy, and as much as I love the pastoral, it would have to be urban. And not being able to narrow it down, I did manage to limit myself to only three. And in my book, rain seems to equal cosy—maybe it is the thought of being inside reading. For some reason reading doesn’t remind me of sunny days and blue skies. No doubt this is a subject for my therapist. So these then, best sum up my reading interests:

London

New York

And to a lesser extent, Paris

    

Book Review: Widow Barnaby by Fanny Trollope

Thomas7 Comments
   
Widow Barnaby
Fanny Trollope
From what I understand, Fanny Trollope made Widow Barnaby into something of a franchise. The widow, who is a bit of an archetype of the brash, sometimes vulgar, and always clueless social climber, apparently features in other of Mrs. Trollope’s novels (although sitting here in jury duty right now, I can’t really confirm that). I assume it is for this reason alone that the novel is actually called Widow Barnaby. In sentiment, sympathy, and even narrative focus the novel would more aptly be called Agnes Willoughby after our anti-heroine’s orphaned niece. In these two characters we have the classic set-up between the wicked, controlling aunt and the virtuous, obedient niece. Throw in a pious, spinster of a great aunt, a few pretenders and charlatans and more than one possibile Mr. D’Arcys and you start to get the feel of this particular story.

There are very few instances in this 542-page book where one feels even a pang of sympathy for the extravagant Widow Barnaby and her clumsy machinations to marry her way into higher society and live beyond her means. Of course the converse is true of the beautiful, level-headed and studious Agnes who has the singing voice of an angel. As much as I enjoyed the book, it is a little hard to understand while you are reading it why Trollope made Widow Barnaby the focus of the book. She is definitely a humorous character at times and one can understand how her travails could provide fodder for multiple books, but the whole arc of the story so clearly focuses on Agnes that I kept checking the cover to see if the title had somehow changed. And the widow is not so fantastically humorous and wicked that one starts rooting for her despite her nefarious ways. It would take a far more cynical mind than my own to turn against the lovely Agnes.

Which brings up another question: would it have been too much of a stretch to ask for an ugly heroine? Or maybe one without talent? I mean this Agnes really is the total package. You know she is going to come up smelling of roses. Still, there are enough twists and turns to keep one wondering just what is going to happen. And, at least for my taste, Agnes and her virtues never become cloying or annoying.  Just don’t expect this one to challenge your world view.

Not having previously read anything by the great Anthony Trollope’s mother I wasn’t sure what to expect. One area where Mrs. Trollope does not disappoint and certainly foreshadows some of her son’s work is in her seemingly endless references to money. If there are two themes in period British literature that I can’t get enough of, it is housekeeping details (this includes cleaning, trousseau-gathering, travel arrangements, letter writing, tea making and consuming, etc.) and money talk. He has 400 a year, she has 5,000 a year, he has 15,000 a year…bills to be paid, fortunes to be amassed and spent and bequeathed. I must admit though I much prefer the parsimonious over the profligate. In life and art I like the savers over the spenders.

Loving Minnesota, Missing Blogging

Thomas6 Comments

  
I have been having a good time on the road but I haven’t had much time on the Internet since the 28th. I look forward to getting back to DC to catch up with all my blogger friends and to post a few things. I recently finished Widow Barnaby by Fanny Trollope and About Alice by Calvin Trillin. Reviews to come soon.

We had a great time in Northern California over Memorial Day weekend and this weekend I had a great time in Minnesota with relatives.

So, until I get back to blogging for real, I thought I would leave you with this lovely image of one of the many wetlands in my natal land of Minnesota.

Books about Kansas City? (!)

Thomas18 Comments

I just got an email from a reader in Toronto who is going to Kansas City, Missouri next week and asked me if I knew of any good books that take place there.

I don’t know of any books set in Kansas City. However, I have a few ideas about some truly great books–masterpieces, in fact–that at least put you in the general geographic area. The good news is that these are all books that I LOVED.

I have only been to Kansas City once in my life for a brief business trip so I am by no means an expert. The odd thing about Kansas City, MO is that the state of Missouri, although considered part of the Midwest is also kind of the western most edge of the South. But the state of Missouri, and Kansas City itself of course, border on the state of Kansas which is really the start of the Great Plains which stretch north and west and make up the physical and perhaps mythically figurative heartland of America. (I’ve just looked at a few maps of the “the Great Plains” and while they are broad and span many states and provinces, the border is more narrowly drawn in reality than it is in my head. So what, my mental map is going to stand.)

A book that is set in the state of Missouri is Stoner by John Williams. Follows a dirt poor farm kid who goes off to college in Columbia, MO and ends up eventually becoming an English professor there. The contrast between his life on the farm and academia I think presents a theme not uncommon to kids in the rural Plains states.

A book set in the state of Kansas is the bone chilling, compelling, controversial, best selling, and wonderfully written In Cold Blood. Truman Capote’s masterpiece fictionalized volume of non-fiction about a family murdered in their home.

And finally, there are two books that take place in the neighboring Plains state of Nebraska that are true classics in every sense of the word and have a universality that tugged at my heartstrings having grown up in Minnesota which is kind of the northern edge of the Plains before they turn into the north woods. They are of course, My Antonia and O, Pioneers by Willa Cather.

No doubt my readers, maybe Molly from My Cozy Book Nook in particular who lives in the that part of the world, will have some suggestions?

The Oxbridge Literary Complex and Academia in Literature

Thomas19 Comments

  

I think this is probably fodder for more than one post, but here it is all lumped together…

While I make my way through the fabulous 500+ pages of Widow Barnaby by Fanny Trollope I thought I would blog about something that has been on my mind for a while.

In a way this is less of a post and more of an invitation for my British readers to weigh in on the Oxbridge stranglehold on British fiction and an opportunity for anyone to chime in on Academia in literature in general.

In American literature New York City looms large in the same way that London looms large in Britain. But I don’t think there are any equivalent U.S. educational institutions that are as all pervasive as Oxford and Cambridge are in British lit. I suppose Harvard and the rest of the Ivy League may have disproportionate representation in American lit, but again, not as omnipresent as the O&C megaliths. Not just as institutions that produced so many writers, but also as background in so many novels. And it is not just that they seem somewhat ubiquitous but that there is almost a complete lack of mention of other universities. Almost as if there weren’t any other Universities in Britain. It is very easily the case that I am just reading the wrong stuff. After all I don’t read a lot of modern fiction. Is this a story of a publishing industry that wouldn’t give the time of day to the so-called redbrick Unis?

And please, before you yell at me for being a dumb Yank, please know that I cast no aspersions on either Oxford or Cambridge, and I obviously love reading the fruits of their academic loins.

This discussion also begs the question about writers writing about becoming writers, and in many cases the academic milieu from whence they sprung. I love academic novels. The brilliant Stoner by John Williams (at a University in Missouri) is the first one to come to mind, and Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety (at a University in Wisconsin) is the second. But then there is that whole world of academic novels where they focus on the writer becoming a writer. I also love those books as well, but tend to feel like the author is cheating a bit by writing some warmed over autobiography. And although I love those types of books, I think I reserve my highest praise for authors who come up with worlds way outside their own experiences (Margaret Atwood, Ann Patchett, Muriel Spark, Ian McEwan, to name just a few).

So what think ye? Oxbridge, academic novels, writers writing about becoming writers…pick one or all and let me know what you think.

And while you’re at it, tell me your favorite academic novels or your favorite novels about writer’s becoming writers, or any good novel that uses some other British university as a setting. And if you have lots of opinions like me, give me all three.

Although I don’t really know of any specific academic novels about these particular intitutions, here are the three academic settings that shaped my life (some more than others):

University of Minnesota – Twin Cities
(undergraduate days…)
University of Hawaii – Manoa
(first Master’s…)
Cornell University
(second Master’s…)

Book Review: Old Filth by Jane Gardam

Thomas12 Comments

  

Old Filth
Jane Gardam

According to the New York Times Book Review, “Old Filth belongs in the Dickensian pantheon of memorable characters.” Not being a Dickens aficionado I am not sure how true this rings, but it seems more true than not. Sir Edward Feathers is Old Filth. A legend in British legal circles, Filth is an acronym for “Failed in London Try Hong Kong”. Of course to my eyes that would be “Old Filthk”, but that wouldn’t be as entertaining would it.

The book Old Filth follows our hero as an 80-year old widower looking back on his colorful life and his attempt to make sense of his current state of being. His mother died days after his birth, his emotionally troubled father abandons the infant Edward to the native Malays that live on his estate. At age five Edward is sent off to learn English before being sent to Wales to live in a foster home with two other empire-orphan cousins. Then there is school, the War, Oxford (or was it Cambridge? Oops), the Bar, Hong Kong, back to the UK, etc. Told with a fair amount of narrative and temporal shifts, the story is nonetheless fairly easy to follow and often delightful.

Old Filth is full of quiet adventure. The trappings and situations in real life would certainly be an adventure for most anyone, but they aren’t played as such. No swashbuckling, edge of your seat kind of thing. Rather, Gardam focuses on the emotional side of things and the inner workings of Old Filth’s increasingly introspective and searching mind. Along with much that is amusing is a thoughtful, poignant life story with more than a few twists and turns. One twist in particular, perhaps the climax of the book, will surprise even though it has been hinted at here and there.

My only real challenge with Old Filth is that it could have been a much longer book. Following the earlier Dickens comparison, one could easily imagine this in a different time being serialized and stretched to Dickensian or Trollopian lengths. I wouldn’t say any of the characters are one dimensional. In fact most of them, even the bit characters, show enough texture that it leaves you wanting to know more about them. Gardam could have spun this one into a much longer tale if she had wished. But then again, that may have flattened the arc of her narrative too much and made Old Filth something she never meant it too be. This one is definitely worth a read.

(Spell-Check approves of “Dickensian” but balks at “Trollopian”. For those of us who prefer Anthony over Charles, this is a grave injustice.)
  

Book Review: Providence by Anita Brookner

Thomas14 Comments

  

Providence
Anita Brookner

I thought I knew Anita Brookner. Before reading Providence I had read all but 3 of her 24 novels and was fairly confident in the knowledge of what I would find when opening any given Brookner. Without exception her novels are somewhat thin volumes with direct, spare language that focus more on internal thoughts than any external action. Her characters are usually financially secure, upper middle class, academically inclined loners, often without the need of work, who seem to drift from one emotional disappointment to another. Or more accurately, who drift around a single emotional disappointment for 200 or so pages. Her characters never really quite experience tragedy, but the entire arc of their lives could usually and fairly be characterized as tragic.

Describing her work as predictable and depressing could give one the idea that I don’t like Brookner’s work, which isn’t the case at all. And there are some who may think I overstate the case or am entirely off base. I know I am certainly oversimplifying, but to me, after reading 21 of her novels over the course of the past 15 years, I have never really thought much differently than what I describe here. Brilliant, powerful books, but also brilliantly and beautifully depressing. I often describe Brookner’s characters as people who never act but are rather acted upon. Usually solitary women who suffer from almost crippling emotional intertia. Joy or happiness are not words I would apply to Brookner’s work.

So I was more than a little surprised in this, Brookner’s second novel, to discover a world that seemed to me to be very different than any other Brookner I have read. All the emotional paralysis and sad, lonely characters are in place, but in Providence Brookner has created a character who actually attempts to make something happen in her life. Kitty Maule is a scholar of the Romantic period and is profoundly, and mostly unrequitedly, in love with a colleague and she is determined to seal the deal.

But the more I thought about it, the more I began to understand that despite Kitty actively trying to shape her future and develop some outward momentum, her emotional momentum doesn’t really keep up. Little of the external realities seem to impact her internal reality. So maybe this Brookner, at least at a fundamental level, is not really so different after all. But the details of Kitty’s daily life certainly feel different than most of Brookner’s other sad protagonists. At least in this one I’m wasn’t silently yelling at the character to take the bull by the horns. Well, at least not as much as usual.

Reading this, you might think that I don’t really like this (or any other) Brookner character, but there are at least two things that really make me enjoy them. The first is that I like reading about their solitary existence because it appeals to the OCD loner in me. Despite all their angst, their worlds are quite tidy and well ordered. But orderly lives can be lonely lives. The overweening need for peace and quiet and unruffled feathers can often lead to a detachment from others that is ultimately not terribly fulfilling. So the part of me that isn’t basking in the peace of solitude of a Brooknerian life is standing on a proverbial table shouting at the characters to engage life before it is too late. I think I love them because they are cautionary tales for my own life. A “there but for the grace of God go I” sort of thing.

I have no doubt that if Anita Brookner were to read this “review” she would probably sue me for malpractice. I am sure she didn’t write these brilliant, wonderfully nuanced books to have them reduced to “she writes about sad people”. But, there it is. I love her anyway. I guess when you are famous you don’t get to choose your fans.

(And speaking of sacrilegious literary exegesis, I read one analysis of this novel in a book called Understanding Anita Brookner by Cheryl Alexander Malcolm. I know that my analysis might be crap, but I sure didn’t agree with Ms. Malcolm’s take that the whole thing was just about Kitty trying to fit in and be English.)

So tell me, why you haven’t read any Anita Brookner yet? You will either love her or hate her, but you need to find out sometime.