Get it here.
This is quite a short work, but really got me thinking about sexual politics. On the face of it, Daisy is a beautiful, free-spirited American girl who falls foul of European standards of propriety, and simultaneously, by means of metaphor, its disease-laden miasma. I say on the face of it, because a little thought left me unconvinced. For a start, the gatekeeper to 'propriety' in the story is an American woman. As with many such people, she feels that she is never acting on her own initiative, but only trying to protect the reputation of an individual against the slanderous accusations of 'others'.
Daisy is the victim of her attentions, but does herself no good by ignoring all suggestions on how to conduct herself. This is portrayed as a great imposition on her natural, innocent freedom, but, to me, seemed to be little more than common-sense advice. If I decided to conduct the rest of my life completely nude, it might be expected to present me with certain problems. Anyone who cared about me would be duty bound to point this out. I would be free to ignore them, but might be considered a little naïve if I was then surprised at the way I was received.
If you want to be accepted by the 'right' people, they are going to make you jump through their silly hoops. So, either jump through their hoops, and compromise your true self, or reject their whole snobbish hierarchical system, and snub those who decide who is 'in' and who is 'out'. It won't kill you, unlike malaria or a broken heart (allegedly).
I am perhaps being unfair on focusing on the aspects of the story that jarred with me: it seems that Henry James had the ability to breathe life into characters as easily as he takes it away. My reaction to Daisy was as that to a real person - it was only afterward that I appreciated the skill that allowed me to consider the case without any of the barriers of fiction.
It made me wonder about the oppression of women in fiction, both here and in other authors, like Jane Austen. Women were indeed oppressed - but why so often by their own sex, the rule-makers, and executors of social excommunication? And why do women today hark back to these times as being so romantic? Surely a modern woman would find such conditions of life, with its hopelessly limited scope, unthinkable?
Showing posts with label librivox. Show all posts
Showing posts with label librivox. Show all posts
Saturday, November 10, 2007
The Return of the Readear
If anyone is still reading this blog, hello. I have neglected it for the last few weeks, as more pressing adult matters have dominated my time. Needless to say, being adult matters, they are exceedingly dull, and they have not completely gone yet, but the end is in sight.
I therefore return. Huzzah. (Note ironic lack of exclamation mark. Subtle, but telling.)
Anyway, in my absence I have listened to Daisy Miller and the Turn of the Screw by Henry James, and the Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe. I will review these in the next couple of days. I am listening to This Side of Paradise by F Scott Fitzgerald at the moment, not The Other Side of Paradise, as I told lots of people, to my great shame and embarrassment.
One thing I have been doing, as it is the perfect thing to dip into in fifteen minutes bursts, is the Librivox Translation Wiki, where we are trying to translate public domain non-English texts into English (or any language), using a combination of machine translations, and teamwork. Do pop by - http://wertsdfg.com/wiki - I will no doubt go on about this at greater length in the future. Me going on about things at greater length is something my friends have had to learn to tolerate.
I therefore return. Huzzah. (Note ironic lack of exclamation mark. Subtle, but telling.)
Anyway, in my absence I have listened to Daisy Miller and the Turn of the Screw by Henry James, and the Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe. I will review these in the next couple of days. I am listening to This Side of Paradise by F Scott Fitzgerald at the moment, not The Other Side of Paradise, as I told lots of people, to my great shame and embarrassment.
One thing I have been doing, as it is the perfect thing to dip into in fifteen minutes bursts, is the Librivox Translation Wiki, where we are trying to translate public domain non-English texts into English (or any language), using a combination of machine translations, and teamwork. Do pop by - http://wertsdfg.com/wiki - I will no doubt go on about this at greater length in the future. Me going on about things at greater length is something my friends have had to learn to tolerate.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson
Get it here
I recorded a couple of chapters of this, so was quite keen to hear the rest of it when it was finished. I was very impressed with what I had read, and was even more impressed with the whole thing.
This is a novel, in that there are some connecting characters, but really, its a collection of short stories. They all concern themselves with the life or history of one resident of the fictional town in the title, each of whom has his or her internal life revealed in merciless detail.
Each character seems to be trying to say something, striving to find the words to express their experience of life, or their love, or to connect with another person, but is always unable to make him or herself understood. And this isolation makes the words and deeds of the characters seem strange and eccentric. They all live in a small community, the rural sort which is often presented to us as an ideal, and which all the sane ones seem to want to leave.
This is not the point, though. The author himself is telling us that he is one of the people who cannot quite find a way to express exactly what he means. The stories rise up gently and then fall away, unresolved, often with a melancholy air - they seem to be leading somewhere, but ultimately we are left with more questions than answers, with suggestions of the great sadness that lives just below the surface of so many lives that seem to us so unremarkable,
The only false note in the work, for me, is the long central story 'Godliness', where the author seems to be trying too hard to point a moral. But even here, his skill makes every line worth savouring. William Faulkner seems to have borrowed his technique of defining things in terms of what they are not - a wonderful way of suggesting without stating. Anderson's style is much more spare though. At times he reminded me of Samuel Beckett.
I had never heard of Sherwood Anderson before, but am delighted to have found him. I will certainly be reading more. If my review makes you wonder whether he is your cup of tea, may I recommend that you start with the chapter called 'Tandy', which, in its few paragraphs, will tell you all you need to know.
Next: Daisy Miller by Henry James
I recorded a couple of chapters of this, so was quite keen to hear the rest of it when it was finished. I was very impressed with what I had read, and was even more impressed with the whole thing.
This is a novel, in that there are some connecting characters, but really, its a collection of short stories. They all concern themselves with the life or history of one resident of the fictional town in the title, each of whom has his or her internal life revealed in merciless detail.
Each character seems to be trying to say something, striving to find the words to express their experience of life, or their love, or to connect with another person, but is always unable to make him or herself understood. And this isolation makes the words and deeds of the characters seem strange and eccentric. They all live in a small community, the rural sort which is often presented to us as an ideal, and which all the sane ones seem to want to leave.
This is not the point, though. The author himself is telling us that he is one of the people who cannot quite find a way to express exactly what he means. The stories rise up gently and then fall away, unresolved, often with a melancholy air - they seem to be leading somewhere, but ultimately we are left with more questions than answers, with suggestions of the great sadness that lives just below the surface of so many lives that seem to us so unremarkable,
The only false note in the work, for me, is the long central story 'Godliness', where the author seems to be trying too hard to point a moral. But even here, his skill makes every line worth savouring. William Faulkner seems to have borrowed his technique of defining things in terms of what they are not - a wonderful way of suggesting without stating. Anderson's style is much more spare though. At times he reminded me of Samuel Beckett.
I had never heard of Sherwood Anderson before, but am delighted to have found him. I will certainly be reading more. If my review makes you wonder whether he is your cup of tea, may I recommend that you start with the chapter called 'Tandy', which, in its few paragraphs, will tell you all you need to know.
Next: Daisy Miller by Henry James
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Review: Lady Susan by Jane Austen
Get it here.
I am a big Jane Austen fan, but have never read this novella for some reason - perhaps I have always regarded it as a piece of juvenilia. It is fair to consider this an immature work, compared with her later novels, but an immature Jane Austen is still worth ten ordinary novelists at the height of their powers.
The 'Lady Susan' of the title is that rarest of creatures in Jane Austen: a completely evil character, whose only redeeming feature is that she is so funny. Elizabeth Bennet could have written this book, before she realised that there are two sides to every story. Also, she seems to have thought that marrying for the greater good of the family was perfectly acceptable, an attitude I have always noted in her later books as well. Hollywood prefers her romances to be all about the heart, but I suspect that Jane's readers took as much satisfaction in the neat financial arrangements, as in the couple being a willing match. Then again, I suppose Hollywood likes its modern heroes to have a healthy degree of financial independence as well, so perhaps nothing has changed.
This audiobook has a big advantage over the original text: it was written as a series of letters, and when I read such a book, I am always having to remind myself who is writing to who. With one voice for each correspondent, however, this recording has real added value, and frees you up to enjoy the story. Great idea!
I am a big Jane Austen fan, but have never read this novella for some reason - perhaps I have always regarded it as a piece of juvenilia. It is fair to consider this an immature work, compared with her later novels, but an immature Jane Austen is still worth ten ordinary novelists at the height of their powers.
The 'Lady Susan' of the title is that rarest of creatures in Jane Austen: a completely evil character, whose only redeeming feature is that she is so funny. Elizabeth Bennet could have written this book, before she realised that there are two sides to every story. Also, she seems to have thought that marrying for the greater good of the family was perfectly acceptable, an attitude I have always noted in her later books as well. Hollywood prefers her romances to be all about the heart, but I suspect that Jane's readers took as much satisfaction in the neat financial arrangements, as in the couple being a willing match. Then again, I suppose Hollywood likes its modern heroes to have a healthy degree of financial independence as well, so perhaps nothing has changed.
This audiobook has a big advantage over the original text: it was written as a series of letters, and when I read such a book, I am always having to remind myself who is writing to who. With one voice for each correspondent, however, this recording has real added value, and frees you up to enjoy the story. Great idea!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Review: An International Episode by Henry James
Get it here.
In 'Something New' Wodehouse has Joan Valentine, the female writer,
say of the magazine she works for:
'It's a horrid little paper--all brown-paper patterns and advice to the
lovelorn and puzzles. I do a short story for it every week, under
various names. A duke or an earl goes with each story.'
One week, I suspect she chose the pen name 'Henry James'.
This story features the son of a duke, and seems to want to
justify its existence by reflecting on the difference between
English and American Society.
Really, though, its just a romantic yarn, with a will-they-won't-they
conclusion. Seeing that in Washington Square, Mr James would
not allow his lovers any satisfaction, he denies it them here as well.
And he repeats the idea of having the female lover be sincere but naive
and be advised by a cold cynical type, who treats the romantic
happiness of her younger charge as subsidiary to her own triumphs.
One wonders if a pattern is emerging here. Was Mr James a roaring hit
at parties? Did he have a fine line in comic songs?
Still, he certainly writes fantastic dialogue, but he does make you wait for it.
There are two conversations in this piece that justify the price of admission,
so to speak, but the rest is perhaps best read as a companion piece to Washington
Square.
Next: Lady Susan, by Jane Austen
In 'Something New' Wodehouse has Joan Valentine, the female writer,
say of the magazine she works for:
'It's a horrid little paper--all brown-paper patterns and advice to the
lovelorn and puzzles. I do a short story for it every week, under
various names. A duke or an earl goes with each story.'
One week, I suspect she chose the pen name 'Henry James'.
This story features the son of a duke, and seems to want to
justify its existence by reflecting on the difference between
English and American Society.
Really, though, its just a romantic yarn, with a will-they-won't-they
conclusion. Seeing that in Washington Square, Mr James would
not allow his lovers any satisfaction, he denies it them here as well.
And he repeats the idea of having the female lover be sincere but naive
and be advised by a cold cynical type, who treats the romantic
happiness of her younger charge as subsidiary to her own triumphs.
One wonders if a pattern is emerging here. Was Mr James a roaring hit
at parties? Did he have a fine line in comic songs?
Still, he certainly writes fantastic dialogue, but he does make you wait for it.
There are two conversations in this piece that justify the price of admission,
so to speak, but the rest is perhaps best read as a companion piece to Washington
Square.
Next: Lady Susan, by Jane Austen
Saturday, August 4, 2007
LibriVox Second Anniversary
I deliberately chose an early recording for this week, as the second anniversary of LibriVox will be celebrated (in some way, I am sure) on the 10th of August. It also almost exactly matches my first anniversary of downloading a Librivox recording. Strange to think that when I started this blog, I was anticipating a limited range of recordings to choose from. And I can remember lurking on the forum, watching people decide on the best way to do things. And wanting to join in, but dreading being encouraged to read! I was never going to do that...
Strange to hear the disclaimer with a 'blogsome' domain name. And some voices that seem unchanged - Kara still sounds like fresh toast, Gordon could still ask the Red Sea to part, and it would. And the PodChef! Does that take me back! He featured in so many of my earliest downloads - his chapter of The Secret Agent was a real favourite. Where is he now, I wonder? I never even thanked him...
Strange to hear the disclaimer with a 'blogsome' domain name. And some voices that seem unchanged - Kara still sounds like fresh toast, Gordon could still ask the Red Sea to part, and it would. And the PodChef! Does that take me back! He featured in so many of my earliest downloads - his chapter of The Secret Agent was a real favourite. Where is he now, I wonder? I never even thanked him...
Friday, August 3, 2007
Review: Something New by P G Wodehouse
I saw a video of a Rube Goldberg machine the other day, (called a Heath Robinson contraption in this part of the world), and was reminded of the plots of P G Wodehouse. Perhaps it was the other way around. Anyway, bear with me.
The point is, there are number of objects, the behaviour of which is perfectly understood, and is unremarkable. A marble, or a domino, say. And these objects are put together in an absurd and amusing way. A marble rolls, a domino falls over, exactly according to its nature, but the sum of these mundane and predictable acts creates a symphony of movement, leading inevitably to a predictable conclusion. But the destination is the least important part of the process. The journey is what makes it all worthwhile. And the more circuitous and torturous the route, the more wonderful the machine is.
And in this one, P G turns philosopher at the end: "Life is nothing but a mutual aid association." he declares, and I couldn't agree more. So thanks to Debra Lynn for making this recording, and adding to the great mutual aid society that is LibriVox.
Next: An International Episode by Henry James
The point is, there are number of objects, the behaviour of which is perfectly understood, and is unremarkable. A marble, or a domino, say. And these objects are put together in an absurd and amusing way. A marble rolls, a domino falls over, exactly according to its nature, but the sum of these mundane and predictable acts creates a symphony of movement, leading inevitably to a predictable conclusion. But the destination is the least important part of the process. The journey is what makes it all worthwhile. And the more circuitous and torturous the route, the more wonderful the machine is.
And in this one, P G turns philosopher at the end: "Life is nothing but a mutual aid association." he declares, and I couldn't agree more. So thanks to Debra Lynn for making this recording, and adding to the great mutual aid society that is LibriVox.
Next: An International Episode by Henry James
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Expectations of Reading Great Expectations
In all matters, it is generally a good idea to follow the advice of one's spouse. So, Great Expectations it is.
I have always loved Dickens, but discovered rather late that he published all his books serially. So, three chapters or so represented a fortnightly subscription. And he wrote them as he went along, reacting to the public's likes and dislikes, and often had a cliff hanger at the end of a section. In fact, one of the characters in David Copperfield was drawn from a real person, and she sued. So Dickens wrote her back into the story in later sections, revealing her to be a lovely person all along.
Therefore, I wondered what it would be like to have the reading match the original fortnightly sections. It would reduce the number of files from 59 to 18, but would make each file quite large.
I will give it a try, and see what happens. Wish me luck!
I have always loved Dickens, but discovered rather late that he published all his books serially. So, three chapters or so represented a fortnightly subscription. And he wrote them as he went along, reacting to the public's likes and dislikes, and often had a cliff hanger at the end of a section. In fact, one of the characters in David Copperfield was drawn from a real person, and she sued. So Dickens wrote her back into the story in later sections, revealing her to be a lovely person all along.
Therefore, I wondered what it would be like to have the reading match the original fortnightly sections. It would reduce the number of files from 59 to 18, but would make each file quite large.
I will give it a try, and see what happens. Wish me luck!
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Review: Room with a View by E M Forster
Get it here
I saw the film based on this book back in 1988, when I was 20 years old. Perhaps you remember it: Julian Sands got to plant the most romantic kiss in history on Helena Bonham-Carter. The fact that Julian's career didn't quite reach the highest of heights may well be put down to the fact that a generation of young men with floppy fringes envy him with all their souls.
So I was quite keen to dive into the book, especially as I had a cast of characters in period costume lined up in my head. And what a treat it is.
Firstly, its very funny. Secondly, its very wise. Thirdly, it is much more to do with snobbery and class divisions than I expected. Everyone in the film looks roughly equal - something the book makes clear is not the case.
The plot is simple enough - a love triangle between the free thinking George Emerson, the priggish aesthete Cecil, and the lovely Lucy, who is torn between the conventional choices of her upbringing, and the incomprehensible yearnings of her soul.
The horror for me is realising that at age 20, when I thought George Emerson was the coolest man alive, I was actually doing a fairly good approximation of Cecil, who can only appreciate virtues in objects, and not in people - except by treating them as objects.
The emancipation of women is an implicit theme, and it is jarring to realise how little some attitudes have changed since 1908, when this book was written. George's wish for his wife to have her own mind will not be shared with every modern bridgegroom. The weaknesses of the book derive from Mr Forsters attempts to layer the story with a Renaissance vs Gothic theme, and a very Cecil-like summary of the competing merits of Beethoven and Schumann.
This is read by Kara Shallenberg, AKA Kayray, who is an unstoppable force of positivity in all her Librivoxian dealings. Her sunny, warm voice brings the whole work to life, and seems especially alive to the many comic episodes. In the years to come, when they sing folk songs about her (and they will), they may well mention this reading as a keeper.
I saw the film based on this book back in 1988, when I was 20 years old. Perhaps you remember it: Julian Sands got to plant the most romantic kiss in history on Helena Bonham-Carter. The fact that Julian's career didn't quite reach the highest of heights may well be put down to the fact that a generation of young men with floppy fringes envy him with all their souls.
So I was quite keen to dive into the book, especially as I had a cast of characters in period costume lined up in my head. And what a treat it is.
Firstly, its very funny. Secondly, its very wise. Thirdly, it is much more to do with snobbery and class divisions than I expected. Everyone in the film looks roughly equal - something the book makes clear is not the case.
The plot is simple enough - a love triangle between the free thinking George Emerson, the priggish aesthete Cecil, and the lovely Lucy, who is torn between the conventional choices of her upbringing, and the incomprehensible yearnings of her soul.
The horror for me is realising that at age 20, when I thought George Emerson was the coolest man alive, I was actually doing a fairly good approximation of Cecil, who can only appreciate virtues in objects, and not in people - except by treating them as objects.
The emancipation of women is an implicit theme, and it is jarring to realise how little some attitudes have changed since 1908, when this book was written. George's wish for his wife to have her own mind will not be shared with every modern bridgegroom. The weaknesses of the book derive from Mr Forsters attempts to layer the story with a Renaissance vs Gothic theme, and a very Cecil-like summary of the competing merits of Beethoven and Schumann.
This is read by Kara Shallenberg, AKA Kayray, who is an unstoppable force of positivity in all her Librivoxian dealings. Her sunny, warm voice brings the whole work to life, and seems especially alive to the many comic episodes. In the years to come, when they sing folk songs about her (and they will), they may well mention this reading as a keeper.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Review: Ulysses by James Joyce
Get it here.
Well - has the emperor got new clothes, or no clothes? I don't know. Perhaps its a skintight bodystocking.
Its hard to read this book with an open mind. It has become such a tribal piece of literature that it seems that you can either claim it as the greatest novel in history, or a pretentious pile of rubbish, and nothing in between.
I tried reading it a few times, but always failed. I thought it was because I had insufficient knowledge in the classics, so went away to read Homer - about twenty years ago. I found Homer to be far better than anything else I had ever read - awesome and moving, and, if you read a good translation (Richmond Lattimore), as accessible as you like.
But knowing Homer provides very little insight into Ulysses; that seems to be just another blind alley. In fact, there are far more parallels to be found between Joyce's own life. And that is my reading of the book. There is not a plot, really. Each of the 18 episodes would work as a short story, and could very easily fit into 'Dubliners' if written in a more conventional style. But Joyce mimics a cavalcade of styles, expertly, it must be said, and by the end, as with every schoolboy impersonator, you just wish he would shut up and get on with it.
And ultimately, all it adds up to is Joyce saying: 'I am a genius, but would never be acknowledged as such in Dublin. So I'm going. If I stay, I will end up like Bloom' and a few years later writing a book about what a parochial little place Dublin was, and what a genius he still is. That Dublin only has significance to the world, because he lived there.
A few points. This is not an entertaining book, in places it is downright dull. It is deliberately obscure and arbitrary in (large) places. However, through the curtain of obscurity, deliberate puzzles and misleading themes, there are moments of truly lovely writing. But Joyce was brutal on himself, on his characters, and on his readers, and seems to have no wish to entertain - he is doing far more important things; creating an encyclopedia of Dublin.
So, ultimately a frustrating book, which I am glad that I read. But, as Joyce never returned to Dublin, I will not return to Ulysses.
Next: Scaramouche by Sabatini. Read by the great Gordon Mackenzie. It's like coming home...
Well - has the emperor got new clothes, or no clothes? I don't know. Perhaps its a skintight bodystocking.
Its hard to read this book with an open mind. It has become such a tribal piece of literature that it seems that you can either claim it as the greatest novel in history, or a pretentious pile of rubbish, and nothing in between.
I tried reading it a few times, but always failed. I thought it was because I had insufficient knowledge in the classics, so went away to read Homer - about twenty years ago. I found Homer to be far better than anything else I had ever read - awesome and moving, and, if you read a good translation (Richmond Lattimore), as accessible as you like.
But knowing Homer provides very little insight into Ulysses; that seems to be just another blind alley. In fact, there are far more parallels to be found between Joyce's own life. And that is my reading of the book. There is not a plot, really. Each of the 18 episodes would work as a short story, and could very easily fit into 'Dubliners' if written in a more conventional style. But Joyce mimics a cavalcade of styles, expertly, it must be said, and by the end, as with every schoolboy impersonator, you just wish he would shut up and get on with it.
And ultimately, all it adds up to is Joyce saying: 'I am a genius, but would never be acknowledged as such in Dublin. So I'm going. If I stay, I will end up like Bloom' and a few years later writing a book about what a parochial little place Dublin was, and what a genius he still is. That Dublin only has significance to the world, because he lived there.
A few points. This is not an entertaining book, in places it is downright dull. It is deliberately obscure and arbitrary in (large) places. However, through the curtain of obscurity, deliberate puzzles and misleading themes, there are moments of truly lovely writing. But Joyce was brutal on himself, on his characters, and on his readers, and seems to have no wish to entertain - he is doing far more important things; creating an encyclopedia of Dublin.
So, ultimately a frustrating book, which I am glad that I read. But, as Joyce never returned to Dublin, I will not return to Ulysses.
Next: Scaramouche by Sabatini. Read by the great Gordon Mackenzie. It's like coming home...
Monday, July 9, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Starting Ulysses
I wanted to start Ulysses on Bloomsday, to give me an added incentive to read a book I have attempted so many times before. The whole book was only just ready in time, so I downloaded the first chapter from the forum page, to have something to be getting on with.
I had some chores to do on the Sunday, so I got my iPod, and started listening. It was strange, really. The first chapter is recorded in a pub, it seems, with loads of background noise, and with the book being passed between various people, some of whom take the whole thing more seriously than others.
My first reaction was disappointment, and to turn off the recording, and read it properly: I felt the readers were not showing enough respect to such a complex work, and one with which I needed all the help I could get. So I did turn it off, and read it from my old paperback copy.
When I set off to work the next day, however, I still only had the first chapter on my iPod. So I decided to listen to chapter one again. And this time, I realised one of the biggest problems I had with it in the past was that is was SUCH a rite-of-passage type literary monument, that I gave it TOO MUCH respect. I always wanted to understand every word. Reading the book myself, I was transported back to being nineteen and confused, disappointed with myself for being so baffled. Having it read by a bunch of chuckling rugby players (just a guess, there) made me realise: It's Just A Book. Thats All. Just Read It.
Don't expect to get every reference to the Roman Catholic sacrament, or Irish street songs. Get what you can from it, and move on. This is not a test.
So - thanks, rugby guys, who I am sure would find such soul-searching hilarious.
I had some chores to do on the Sunday, so I got my iPod, and started listening. It was strange, really. The first chapter is recorded in a pub, it seems, with loads of background noise, and with the book being passed between various people, some of whom take the whole thing more seriously than others.
My first reaction was disappointment, and to turn off the recording, and read it properly: I felt the readers were not showing enough respect to such a complex work, and one with which I needed all the help I could get. So I did turn it off, and read it from my old paperback copy.
When I set off to work the next day, however, I still only had the first chapter on my iPod. So I decided to listen to chapter one again. And this time, I realised one of the biggest problems I had with it in the past was that is was SUCH a rite-of-passage type literary monument, that I gave it TOO MUCH respect. I always wanted to understand every word. Reading the book myself, I was transported back to being nineteen and confused, disappointed with myself for being so baffled. Having it read by a bunch of chuckling rugby players (just a guess, there) made me realise: It's Just A Book. Thats All. Just Read It.
Don't expect to get every reference to the Roman Catholic sacrament, or Irish street songs. Get what you can from it, and move on. This is not a test.
So - thanks, rugby guys, who I am sure would find such soul-searching hilarious.
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Review: Sarrasine by Honore de Balzac
Get it here.
A can't really give a brief outline of the plot without giving it all away - and a great deal of the effect of the story derives from the surprise ending.
I have read some Balzac, but had forgotten how beautifully he writes - he can take a long time to get to the point, and you just don't care.
This solo is read by ChipDoc, a librivox stalwart, who has read many chapters in other works, and he has a wonderful reading voice. Do yourself a favour: download this book and listen to it. It is shocking, funny, thought provoking and read by a man with a voice that conjours up visions of a book lined study, late at night, after a few glasses of fine brandy. He puts down his cigar and tells you a fantastic story, that you only half believe. But I bet you don't forget it.
Next: Whose Body by Dorothy L Sayers, read by my near namesake Kristin Hughes, and the incomparable Kayray. Yay! I plan to finish this by Bloomsday, so that I start another assault on Mt. Ulysses, this time from the South Face.
A can't really give a brief outline of the plot without giving it all away - and a great deal of the effect of the story derives from the surprise ending.
I have read some Balzac, but had forgotten how beautifully he writes - he can take a long time to get to the point, and you just don't care.
This solo is read by ChipDoc, a librivox stalwart, who has read many chapters in other works, and he has a wonderful reading voice. Do yourself a favour: download this book and listen to it. It is shocking, funny, thought provoking and read by a man with a voice that conjours up visions of a book lined study, late at night, after a few glasses of fine brandy. He puts down his cigar and tells you a fantastic story, that you only half believe. But I bet you don't forget it.
Next: Whose Body by Dorothy L Sayers, read by my near namesake Kristin Hughes, and the incomparable Kayray. Yay! I plan to finish this by Bloomsday, so that I start another assault on Mt. Ulysses, this time from the South Face.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Review: Washington Square by Henry James
Get it here
At first I was fairly sure I would not enjoy this book. It starts slowly, but I could not work out why - Mr James writes very well, but I felt it lacked something. At the start of chapter four I realised what it was: dialogue. Because when it starts, things really start moving, and such great dialogue it is.
The plot concerns a young women, who is prevented from marrying her lover, due to the opposition of her father. The fact that her father's misgivings are entirely justified is what gives the book its potency: father and daughter are locked in a delicate battle that neither can win. In fact, the conclusion of the plot reveals how similar they both are at core, despite being told the opposite several times: both have had an awful experience of loss, from which neither can ever recover. The lady's aunt supplies the comic relief, and she is great value.
I have seen this novel compared to Jane Austen elsewhere, and there are similarities - at one stage the book felt like Pride and Prejudice with Jane Bennet as the heroine. However, the book overall lacks one of Austen's great virtues: she cares for all the characters in her books, most probably because she was related to them herself, and could see their strengths and weaknesses co-mingled. Henry James sometimes seems to be looking at his creations like a biologist peering down a microscope.
This audiobook was a solo recording by Dawn Murphy, who brings a warm and friendly voice to the novel, and was an absolute pleasure to listen to.
At first I was fairly sure I would not enjoy this book. It starts slowly, but I could not work out why - Mr James writes very well, but I felt it lacked something. At the start of chapter four I realised what it was: dialogue. Because when it starts, things really start moving, and such great dialogue it is.
The plot concerns a young women, who is prevented from marrying her lover, due to the opposition of her father. The fact that her father's misgivings are entirely justified is what gives the book its potency: father and daughter are locked in a delicate battle that neither can win. In fact, the conclusion of the plot reveals how similar they both are at core, despite being told the opposite several times: both have had an awful experience of loss, from which neither can ever recover. The lady's aunt supplies the comic relief, and she is great value.
I have seen this novel compared to Jane Austen elsewhere, and there are similarities - at one stage the book felt like Pride and Prejudice with Jane Bennet as the heroine. However, the book overall lacks one of Austen's great virtues: she cares for all the characters in her books, most probably because she was related to them herself, and could see their strengths and weaknesses co-mingled. Henry James sometimes seems to be looking at his creations like a biologist peering down a microscope.
This audiobook was a solo recording by Dawn Murphy, who brings a warm and friendly voice to the novel, and was an absolute pleasure to listen to.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Reading Shakespeare
Much harder than I thought. One of the many problems (leaving aside the physical difficulty of making it sound natural) is the temptation to try an cram in too many meanings: the guy was obsessed with puns. When he says 'made' he also, on another level (usually a more rude level) meant 'maid'. 'Sun' means 'sun' and 'son'.
The troublesome bit, when reading this, is that you have to choose one meaning for the poem to make any sense. The temptation is the stress the words with double meanings, sort of 'winking' to the listener, but after a few lines you find you've winked half a dozen times.
The only way to leave the ambiguities to the listener is to read in a completely flat way, which I feel would be a wasted opportunity. But it places a big responsibility on the reader to give Will his free will.
The troublesome bit, when reading this, is that you have to choose one meaning for the poem to make any sense. The temptation is the stress the words with double meanings, sort of 'winking' to the listener, but after a few lines you find you've winked half a dozen times.
The only way to leave the ambiguities to the listener is to read in a completely flat way, which I feel would be a wasted opportunity. But it places a big responsibility on the reader to give Will his free will.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Review: Typee by Herman Melville
Get it here.
I was left a little dissatisfied with this book. I think my frustration was founded on one main problem: Is it fact or fiction? A nagging part of me felt that this shouldn't matter, besides, these things are subjective. But the author protests many times that it's all factual. And if the eventual escape of the hero is a report of a true event, then it's quite thrilling, but if it is fiction - then it's quite poorly thought out.
But - first things first. The story is very simple. The narrator, on board a badly run ship, decides to take his chances on a South Sea island. After much crashing through undergrowth, he and his companion stumble across a tribe of indigenous people, who are reputed to be cannibals. Nonetheless, the villagers treat our heroes with great kindness, being so hospitable, in fact, that they can't seem to bear for their guests to leave. Then the narrator's friend disappears unexpectedly, and escape seems to be his only chance of surviving.
Which is all simple enough, but the real interest comes from the contrast between the westerner's lives and that of the islanders. It seems they have very different ideas on morality, propriety and marriage - and guess what? Everyone seems very happy, healthy and has all of life's wants and needs on hand, without effort. Which seems like paradise - but as the narrator finds out, paradise without liberty is meaningless. Which, as a work of fiction, is what I would expect the book to be getting at. Kind of a 'Herman Melville's Utopia', where the place held up as a satirical mirror to our society is imaginary. But the author does not seem to think it is a work of fiction. Perhaps Herman Melville was so far ahead of his time to have deliberately used an 'unreliable narrator', just to tease out the additional meanings this would create. But what sits uncomfortably with this is an obviously heartfelt rant against the behaviour of the missionaries in the region. (Interestingly, Melville clearly felt that it was right to convert the natives; he just didn't like the way they were going about it.) If the book is factual, these passages have an urgent purpose, if not, they are just rhetorical hot air.
The thing that redeems the book again and again for me, is the voice of the author; sarcastic, funny, friendly and wry, he is a companion it would be a pleasure to share any experience with. And, putting my pedantic quibbling to one side, the book is full of interest and incident, and builds the tension up to a fever pitch.
Michael Scherer reads this with all the skill of a professional, which, I believe, is exactly what he is. All the more reason to add this to your 'to read' list. Ignore my reservations about 'truth'; the story of colliding cultures is highly relevant today.
Next: 'Typhoon' by Joseph Conrad. Which shares the first three letters of its title with 'Typee'. Coincidence? Or Typical?
I was left a little dissatisfied with this book. I think my frustration was founded on one main problem: Is it fact or fiction? A nagging part of me felt that this shouldn't matter, besides, these things are subjective. But the author protests many times that it's all factual. And if the eventual escape of the hero is a report of a true event, then it's quite thrilling, but if it is fiction - then it's quite poorly thought out.
But - first things first. The story is very simple. The narrator, on board a badly run ship, decides to take his chances on a South Sea island. After much crashing through undergrowth, he and his companion stumble across a tribe of indigenous people, who are reputed to be cannibals. Nonetheless, the villagers treat our heroes with great kindness, being so hospitable, in fact, that they can't seem to bear for their guests to leave. Then the narrator's friend disappears unexpectedly, and escape seems to be his only chance of surviving.
Which is all simple enough, but the real interest comes from the contrast between the westerner's lives and that of the islanders. It seems they have very different ideas on morality, propriety and marriage - and guess what? Everyone seems very happy, healthy and has all of life's wants and needs on hand, without effort. Which seems like paradise - but as the narrator finds out, paradise without liberty is meaningless. Which, as a work of fiction, is what I would expect the book to be getting at. Kind of a 'Herman Melville's Utopia', where the place held up as a satirical mirror to our society is imaginary. But the author does not seem to think it is a work of fiction. Perhaps Herman Melville was so far ahead of his time to have deliberately used an 'unreliable narrator', just to tease out the additional meanings this would create. But what sits uncomfortably with this is an obviously heartfelt rant against the behaviour of the missionaries in the region. (Interestingly, Melville clearly felt that it was right to convert the natives; he just didn't like the way they were going about it.) If the book is factual, these passages have an urgent purpose, if not, they are just rhetorical hot air.
The thing that redeems the book again and again for me, is the voice of the author; sarcastic, funny, friendly and wry, he is a companion it would be a pleasure to share any experience with. And, putting my pedantic quibbling to one side, the book is full of interest and incident, and builds the tension up to a fever pitch.
Michael Scherer reads this with all the skill of a professional, which, I believe, is exactly what he is. All the more reason to add this to your 'to read' list. Ignore my reservations about 'truth'; the story of colliding cultures is highly relevant today.
Next: 'Typhoon' by Joseph Conrad. Which shares the first three letters of its title with 'Typee'. Coincidence? Or Typical?
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Volunteering again
Close readers of the LibriVox forum will know that I have volunteered to do a solo recording of Shakespeare's Sonnets. I have always loved these poems, and know several of them by heart. This is a cause of great grief to my friends and family, who object to someone rattling off fourteen line stanzas without due cause.
Volunteering for something does focus the mind, however, and I find myself mouthing lines at the strangest times. 'From FAIREST creatures... no ... From fairest CREATURES... no... FROM fairEST creaTURES...' etc etc.
Wish me luck. I have found a cupboard I can sit in, and will no doubt while away many a balmy evening inside it. 'Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?/Sorry - I can't remember what they're like...'
Volunteering for something does focus the mind, however, and I find myself mouthing lines at the strangest times. 'From FAIREST creatures... no ... From fairest CREATURES... no... FROM fairEST creaTURES...' etc etc.
Wish me luck. I have found a cupboard I can sit in, and will no doubt while away many a balmy evening inside it. 'Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?/Sorry - I can't remember what they're like...'
Friday, May 11, 2007
Review: Anthem by Ayn Rand
Get it here
This is a dystopian science-fiction novel. That's something of a genre nowadays, but I get the feeling that this an original. The problem now is that one is constantly reminded of the many followers who borrowed its ideas. Within no time you get the idea - no names, just numbers, horrid ruling class doling out extreme punishment for crimes of individuality, etc etc.
I was reminded of the first half of Jane Eyre, with its shrill, hysterical self pity: our hero is treated very badly for no good reason.
The novel works better in context with its time: it was published in 1938 when powerful contrasting forces seemed to be competing for the future of mankind, and Rand had experienced Stalinism at first hand. By contrast, western capitalism must have seemed heaven sent.
I expected this to be a change from Tolstoy, but was not prepared for this. In 'Master and Man' Tolstoy theorises that human happiness is only possible by losing the self, and giving oneself entirely to others. Ayn Rand seems to think that happiness can only be possible by forgetting others, and concerning oneself only with one's own happiness.
In my very humble opinion, both views are right, wrong, and out of date. It seems that there is no one answer to the problem of human happiness - who said humans had a right to expect to be happy in the first place? And, speaking personally, I am made happy by different things at different times; sometimes by being selfless, sometimes by being selfish, and following either extreme for any length of time is a recipe for unhappiness.
Chapter 11 is the heart of the philosophy of the book - a hymn to the word 'I', and a hate-filled diatribe against the word 'We'. I am sure I would have agreed with every word as a teenager - when being asked to turn the music down seemed like a huge infringement on my human rights. But as a parent, I know that the greatest joy I ever experience is through the joy of my children. So 'We' is greater than 'I'. To 'Me'.
This is read by Chere Theriot, who has a truly lovely reading style, and voice. She would sound charming, and would command attention, if she just talked about the weather. I hope she records some more, and she is to be thanked for recording such an interesting book, which, although I disagreed with it, provoked a good deal of soul searching.
Next: Typee by Herman Melville
This is a dystopian science-fiction novel. That's something of a genre nowadays, but I get the feeling that this an original. The problem now is that one is constantly reminded of the many followers who borrowed its ideas. Within no time you get the idea - no names, just numbers, horrid ruling class doling out extreme punishment for crimes of individuality, etc etc.
I was reminded of the first half of Jane Eyre, with its shrill, hysterical self pity: our hero is treated very badly for no good reason.
The novel works better in context with its time: it was published in 1938 when powerful contrasting forces seemed to be competing for the future of mankind, and Rand had experienced Stalinism at first hand. By contrast, western capitalism must have seemed heaven sent.
I expected this to be a change from Tolstoy, but was not prepared for this. In 'Master and Man' Tolstoy theorises that human happiness is only possible by losing the self, and giving oneself entirely to others. Ayn Rand seems to think that happiness can only be possible by forgetting others, and concerning oneself only with one's own happiness.
In my very humble opinion, both views are right, wrong, and out of date. It seems that there is no one answer to the problem of human happiness - who said humans had a right to expect to be happy in the first place? And, speaking personally, I am made happy by different things at different times; sometimes by being selfless, sometimes by being selfish, and following either extreme for any length of time is a recipe for unhappiness.
Chapter 11 is the heart of the philosophy of the book - a hymn to the word 'I', and a hate-filled diatribe against the word 'We'. I am sure I would have agreed with every word as a teenager - when being asked to turn the music down seemed like a huge infringement on my human rights. But as a parent, I know that the greatest joy I ever experience is through the joy of my children. So 'We' is greater than 'I'. To 'Me'.
This is read by Chere Theriot, who has a truly lovely reading style, and voice. She would sound charming, and would command attention, if she just talked about the weather. I hope she records some more, and she is to be thanked for recording such an interesting book, which, although I disagreed with it, provoked a good deal of soul searching.
Next: Typee by Herman Melville
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Review: War and Peace Book 1, by Leo Tolstoy
I just finished this about ten minutes ago, so my impressions are rather unformed. I can, however, say this. It is brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. Really, I hear you cry, so a historic work of world literature is worth reading in your opinion? Stop the press.
I know, I know. Still - I was expecting something much more stodgy. This is Jane Austen for men, with extra testosterone and a full beard. And his characterisations! Every one a masterpiece, even if only a few lines are spoken, they seem to breathe all by themselves. And there are a lot of characters. At first I thought I was going to lose track of all the princesses and countesses, but each one is so finely drawn that they are unmistakable.
Perhaps things change over the course of the succeeding books, but here the main concern is people and their domestic lives, and how Tolstoy lays their inner lives bare - not by telling you what they are thinking - but by directing you to look at their body language and microscopic facial tics.
So: I look forward to part two.
Next: Haven't decided.
I know, I know. Still - I was expecting something much more stodgy. This is Jane Austen for men, with extra testosterone and a full beard. And his characterisations! Every one a masterpiece, even if only a few lines are spoken, they seem to breathe all by themselves. And there are a lot of characters. At first I thought I was going to lose track of all the princesses and countesses, but each one is so finely drawn that they are unmistakable.
Perhaps things change over the course of the succeeding books, but here the main concern is people and their domestic lives, and how Tolstoy lays their inner lives bare - not by telling you what they are thinking - but by directing you to look at their body language and microscopic facial tics.
So: I look forward to part two.
Next: Haven't decided.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Review: Youth by Joseph Conrad
Get it here.
I have developed quite a taste for Conrad recently. Many of his works are complex and highly symbolic, but this, by contrast, is a simple story of a young man setting out on his first sea voyage to the East, as remembered and narrated by his older self. Or is it quite so simple?
At the beginning he hints that the story is intended to describe a moral. In my opinion, it is this: The virtue of young men is that they see all problems as on opportunity to be a hero, born from the joy of testing ones strength. The tragedy of older men is that when they are old enough to see real problems to solve, and have the experience to solve them, they lack the strength and resolution to attempt anything heroic. That by the time you realise the virtue of youth, you have lost it.
Speaking as an older(ish) man looking back on a youth of tilting at windmills, I feel this is a wise observation. Now, if I just had the strength and resolution to do something about it...
I recorded this one, so at least I can prove beyond doubt that I have read it.
I have developed quite a taste for Conrad recently. Many of his works are complex and highly symbolic, but this, by contrast, is a simple story of a young man setting out on his first sea voyage to the East, as remembered and narrated by his older self. Or is it quite so simple?
At the beginning he hints that the story is intended to describe a moral. In my opinion, it is this: The virtue of young men is that they see all problems as on opportunity to be a hero, born from the joy of testing ones strength. The tragedy of older men is that when they are old enough to see real problems to solve, and have the experience to solve them, they lack the strength and resolution to attempt anything heroic. That by the time you realise the virtue of youth, you have lost it.
Speaking as an older(ish) man looking back on a youth of tilting at windmills, I feel this is a wise observation. Now, if I just had the strength and resolution to do something about it...
I recorded this one, so at least I can prove beyond doubt that I have read it.
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