J’accuse!

Even though I have only read 16 of the 42 novellas in Melville House Publishing Art of the Novella series, I was harboring hope that I might actually finish all 42 by the end of August.

After the first eleven I realized I was suffering existential angst every time I had to choose the next one to read so I decided to read them in chronological order. So I lined them all up according to when they were written and began with the oldest. (Wag of the finger to Melville for not having the original dates in all of their editions. Most of them have it but about five oddly don’t.) That was going along great, in fact I really enjoyed reading them in chron order, it gave a continuity to the otherwise disparate series of books.

And then, Balzac. Ugh. I didn’t necessarily hate The Girl With the Golden Eyes, but I was really not in the mood for it which made it seem tedious. I could see myself liking this book some other time, but not right now. Pretty much everything else I have read had strong narratives and this one–at least the first 30 pages–read more like an essay. So I put it away.

But the net effect of the Balzac disaster is that I lost my urge to complete the rest of the volumes by the end of the month. Not only did it make me realize that there may be others in the series that I find equally uninteresting right now but it also pissed off my OCD which can’t bear the thought of having a hole in my plan to read chronologically.

So, with my interest in high-style, high-meaning, novellas by classic authors at an all time low, I picked up a Persephone (Miss Buncle’s Book) and I couldn’t be happier.

Overall I am loving this challenge and loving the Melville novella series. And I am still going to try and finish at least five more of the novellas by the end of the month so I can make it to the fittingly named “Obsessed” level of 21 novellas.

    

I didn’t realize it until I started reading, but I had already read The Touchstone a few years ago. What quickly became clear is that I was liking it much better this time round. I am a pretty solid fan of Edith Wharton overall so I am never too disappointed with her. And there is really nothing to disappoint here, except perhaps the last line as Frances notes.

Glennard, in need of money decides with some hesitation, to sell the personal letters sent to him by a now dead famous author who was in love with him. One of the reasons he sells is to be able to have enough money to marry his girlfriend. Once the letters are publish the become scandalously popular which makes it even harder for Glennard to assuage his guilt over having sold them. He becomes particularly upset that his wife–who only could become his wife thanks to the money he got from selling the letters–is reading the volumes of letters and he is worried what she will think of him if she finds out. Eventually he wants his wife to find out so that he can be somehow redeemed or at least relieved by her scorn for his actions.

I think Glennard’s shame over the publication of the letters has less to do with the fact that he profited from selling them and much more to do with how the published letters put a mirror up the coldness of his soul. And frankly the way he was willing to let a chasm of disinterest and even hate grow between himself and his wife further suggest tha Glennard can be one cold fish.

The Verdict: Vintage Wharton is always worth reading.

    

Good god I hated this book. It is a good thing that the front flap told me that father-daughter incest was involved because I never would have figured that out. When I got to the part where it was revealed I had to read it three times because the reference was so opaque that I never would have realized it was incestuous love. I am not unused to books from this period being full of protestations of love that seem over the top by today’s standards but certainly don’t indicate incest. And then once the incestuous fascination of father with daughter is revealed about half way through, the rest of it was just lots of hand wringing and anguish.

Incest is one of those taboos that really makes my flesh crawl. (Are you listening Penelope Lively?) I just don’t want to read about it. But I could have gotten over it if something had happened in this book that would have made it less tediously overwrought.

Jessica from Virtual Margin explains the overwrought part perfectly.

Nicole at Bibliographing is more appreciative of the swooning Romanticism.

The Verdict: Hated it for so many reasons. Go read Frankenstein instead, fewer monsters in that one.

    

Although I have read most of Fitzgerald’s novels, it has been a long time since I have read anything by him. In that time I think I may have forgotten just how enjoyable Fitzgerald’s writing is.

Not surprisingly, May Day takes place on May 1st. The year is 1919 and crowds of soldiers recently returned from World War I are plentiful on the streets of New York. Among the characters that populate this novella the conflicts of the American class system play out over the course of twenty-four hours. We see affluent Yalies, working class soldiers who misdirect their leftover angst and agression toward socialists, and two women of vastly different worlds both hoping to make a match with Gordon Sterrett an impoverished artist having trouble readjusting to life after the war. And we see booze. Lots of booze.

Despite much humor, May Day is filled with many minor tragedies that make contentment difficult, life a struggle, and lead to truly tragic closing curtain.

The Verdict: Didn’t want to put it down. Almost missed my train stop.

    

Until now I had only ever read one short story by de Maupassant. Does anyone want to hazard a guess which one it was?

This edition of The Horla (roughly translated: “the outsider”) is actually one story told three ways. The Horla (1887), Letter From a Madman (1885) and finally The Horla (1886). Melville House puts the 1887 version first and I think they did the right thing. Not only is it the longest but it is also the most substantive. Letter from a Madman might be interesting in itself, but I think it would have been much less so if I hadn’t had the background of the 1887 version. Finally by the time I got to the 1886 version I am not sure I cared all that much.

The basic story is the protagonist’s descent into madness. Insomnia leads to paranoid delusions. In the end he thinks he has trapped the invisible horla in the house and sets it on fire. What’s that? Oh yeah, when he locked the house up and set it alight he failed to remember the servants sleeping on the top floor.

The Verdict: I was intrigued by the very real seeming descriptions of the descent into madness.

    

In general I am not a fan of talking animals, but I must admit that with Lucy in our lives, I am more amenable to talking dogs now than I would have been previously. Apparently, if you believe the front flap, this is the first instance in western literature of a talking-dog story.

While taking treatment for syphilis, Ensign Campuzano overhears Scipio and Berganza, two Mastiffs talking to each other for what turns out to be their first time. And they have much to say. As Berganza tells Scipio about the different masters he has had over the years he simultaneously transmits Cervantes’ commentary on the vagaries of human nature. According to the front flap of this edition Berganza’s tales (tails?) provided a new way to discuss morality without relying on empiricism. The stories are interesting enough and they are indeed effective in accomplishing Cervantes’ aim. It took a while getting used to the translation which includes enough 21st century vernacular to be a little jarring at first. But I think overall I liked the modern language. It seemed more appropriately whimsical for the dogs than more antiquated language.

The Verdict: While it didn’t knock my socks off, the novella included many interesting stories with moral messages that never got preachy.