Friday, December 20, 2024

The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer


Whan that Aprill, with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour...

The Canterbury Tales has been haunting my reading list for a long, long time. It is with great joy and satisfaction that I have finally read this work in its entirety.  I have read a handful of the tales before, but now I have read them all - and I do mean all.  My Penguin Classics edition only gave The Tale of Melibee and The Parson's Tale in synopsis, but I hunted down the complete versions and read those, too.   If you skip The Parson's Tale, you avoid a 100-page sermon on the Seven Deadly Sins, but you will also miss the most epic tirade against tight pants ever written, so you have to make a choice.  I read all of the tales in modern English, though, like many, I have played with learning a bit of the Prologue in Middle English.

Chaucer employs a frame story to tie all of the tales together: a disparate group of pilgrims have a storytelling contest as they travel to Canterbury to visit the shrine of Thomas Becket.  But the really fun thing about The Canterbury Tales is that the tales are written in a variety of literary forms: courtly romance, beast fable, fabliau, mock heroic poem, and sermon, to name a few.   Chaucer's writing style will fit the form he's chosen - but the form will fit the particular character telling the story.  And what a cast of characters!  The knight, the miller, the Wife of Bath, the clerk, the reeve, the friar, the summoner - the list goes on.  It's important never to skip the prologue to any tale.  That's where the teller's personality is developed, through their own words and their interactions with other pilgrims.  All of this will give us clues as to how to read the individual tales.  Sometimes a tale is told in response to another character - look out for sly digs and insults! 

The Wife of Bath

Sometimes bawdy, sometimes serious, sometimes hilarious, sometimes critical, sometimes romantic... The Canterbury Tales is a literary tour de force, and a rollicking good time.  A tale or two plucked from its context in a literature class really doesn't do justice to the work - you lose the sense of the whole and all of the interplay between the characters.  

I enjoyed it so much, I have two other books on my list to deepen my understanding of Chaucer and the tales.  The first is Chaucer and His Poetry by George Lyman Kittredge.  You might say Kittredge was the OG Chaucer scholar, and his work remains influential.  Then there is Chaucer by G.K. Chesterton.  I really liked his biography of Robert Louis Stevenson, so I want to read more of his literary lives. 


I leave you, dear Reader, with an edifying quote from The Parson's Tale:

"After that, let us speak of scorn, which is a wicked sin; especially when one scorns a man for his good works. For truly, such scorners are like the foul toad, which cannot bear to smell the sweet odour of the vine when it blossoms."

Saturday, November 9, 2024

The Golden Ass by Lucius Apuleius

The Golden Ass (also known as the Metamorphoses) is a picaresque novel from the 2nd century, and the only ancient Roman novel in Latin to survive in its entirety.  It has a notorious reputation, well-deserved, because it is as rude and ribald as people say it is.  The narrator, Lucius, is interested in the magical arts and convinces his lady friend (maid to a witch) to sneak him into her mistress' room so he can try out a spell.  Lucius attempts to transform himself into a bird, but his reckless curiosity is justly punished when he is instead transformed into an ass.  The maid tells him not to worry - the antidote is eating roses.  Lucius must spend the night in the stable, and she'll bring him some roses in the morning.  Of course, this doesn't go to plan and Lucius (in his ass form) is stolen by a gang of abusive bandits in the night.  What follows is a cross between an episodic adventure story and a sort of X-rated Black Beauty.  Lucius Apuleius is an engaging storyteller with an exuberant style - unfortunately, his choice of subject matter is often cringeworthy.  There are several inset tales within the narrative - most notably, the story of Cupid and Psyche, here appearing for the first time in Western literature.  

Ultimately, Lucius is transformed back into a man when he calls for divine aid and is answered by the goddess Isis.  There is a marked change in tone in the last bit of the novel, as Lucius prepares for initiation into the mystery cult of Isis through a lengthy course of fasting, abstinence, and study.  He eventually becomes an initiate into the cult of Osiris as well.  

What to make of this story?  Some of the content I just didn't want to dwell on, and some of the tales within a tale didn't really stay with me.  I did notice that descent to the Underworld is a recurring motif - various allusions, the tale of Cupid and Psyche, etc.  A (metaphorical) descent to the Underworld is part of an initiation experience: a death of the old self and rebirth of a new self.  In the beginning, when Lucius tries to transform into a bird (symbolic of spiritual wisdom/elevation), he is grabbing for something without understanding or preparation.  Instead he becomes an ass, a very earthly, plodding beast - also a patient, longsuffering beast.  This is a descent of sorts as well, filled with trials.  It is only when he calls for divine aid that he is able to transform back into a man.  We tend to associate roses with love and beauty, but in ancient Rome, they had additional associations of rebirth and death. They were used as funerary flowers and associated with the Romanized cult of Isis.  Lucius must further undergo physical preparation, devotions, and study to complete his final "rebirth" as an initiate of the mysteries of Isis and Osiris.  So I believe that on one level The Golden Ass can represent the journey of the soul.

The tale-within-a-tale of Cupid and Psyche is a microcosm of The Golden Ass.  Both Psyche and Lucius transgress a boundary - they display improper curiosity and break a prohibition.  Both must then undergo many trials and a descent to the Underworld (literally or metaphorically).  Both must call upon divine aid to complete their metamorphoses.

An English translation of The Golden Ass by William Adlington appeared in 1566, and it likely influenced Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, when Bottom is transformed into an ass.  In addition, C.S. Lewis' novel Till We Have Faces retells the story of Cupid and Psyche from the point of view of Psyche's sister.  That one is on my reading list!

Friday, October 25, 2024

The Vampyre and Other Tales of the Macabre by John Polidori and others


This collection of "Tales of the Macabre" is very uneven in style, tone, and quality.  The introduction tells us that this collection was put together to complement a previous Oxford volume, Tales of Terror from Blackwood's MagazineBlackwood's, based in Edinburgh, Scotland, was extremely influential and widely read in the 19th century, containing essays on political and social issues, as well as literary offerings.  It published works by the likes of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Sir Walter Scott, William Godwin, James Hogg, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, thus contributing to the development of the Romantic movement.  The Tale of Terror was in its heyday, and the magazines supplied the reading public with a steady stream of the macabre, horrific, and sensational.


Not content with limiting themselves with tales of terror from Blackwood's magazine, Oxford produced The Vampyre and Other Tales of the Macabre: "The aim of the present collection, however, is to exhibit the variety and vitality of the terror-tales and similarly macabre fiction published in the rival magazines  of London and Dublin, in the two decades following the appearance of Polidori's tale; that is, the 1820s and 1830s."  These are very narrow parameters, which limit the scope and quality of tales included in this collection.  

"Sir Guy Eveling's Dream" by Horace Smith is written in a pseudo-archaic style so bizarre and convoluted, with vocabulary to rival Jabberwocky, that I thought I might have hit my head and not realized it as I struggled to make sense of it all.

The absolute worst tale here has to be "Confessions of a Reformed Ribbonman" by William Carleton.  It reminded me of the torture that is reading The Valley of Fear, that blight on the Sherlock Holmes canon loosely based on the Molly Maguires and Pinkerton detectives.  The Ribbonmen were a secret society of violent Irish radicals.  While their midnight meeting in a chapel has imagery suggestive of a Black Mass, this tale quickly descends into gruesome (and disgusting) descriptions of violence.  This type of story is not the type of macabre story that I like.

I found "The Red Man" by Catherine Gore lurid and in extremely poor taste.  Miss Gore lived up to her name.

Putting these three aside, the rest of the tales were interesting and engaging to varying degrees, and a couple of them were real gems.  Madness, fears of being buried alive, the bodysnatching craze of 19th century, castles, secret passages, graveyards, and curses all make an appearance.  I loved the fairytale imagery (with a twist) in "The Bride of Lindorf," and the folklore feel of "The Master of Logan."   One of the best tales was "Passage in the Secret History of an Irish Countess" by the Irish Gothic writer Sheridan Le Fanu.  This one is part tale of terror, part locked room mystery, and was later developed into Le Fanu's novel Uncle Silas.  

Of course the real draw of this collection is "The Vampyre" by John Polidori.  I think a discussion of Dr. Polidori's tale merits its own post at some future date.  For now, suffice it to say that this is the tale that launched the vampire craze in literature which carries on to this day, and was the product of that infamous ghost story competition which also gave us Mary Shelley's Frankenstein.  This Oxford edition provides a bit of introductory material and notes on the publishing history.  It includes the "Letter from Geneva" that accompanied the anonymous manuscript to the publishing house, as well as a later "Note on 'The Vampyre'" by Polidori and Byron's "Fragment" which influenced Polidori's tale.

This Oxford collection would earn a place on my shelves for Polidori alone, but I very much enjoyed some of these other tales of the macabre.

Chosen for my Tea and Ink Society 2024 Classics Reading Challenge for October: a spooky classic or short story collection.

Sunday, October 20, 2024

Reading Journal


I'm most eager to share the results of my Classics Club Spin.  Spin #39 was announced last Saturday, and I have been agog with anticipation awaiting the results.  As of this morning, the Wheel has spoken, and I will be reading The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer!  I have only read selected tales, so I am excited to read this work in its entirety.  My list is always compiled using a random number generator, but, weirdly, it generated several Gothic tales this time.  I was convinced that I'd get one of those, but I am not disappointed.

This week I started making my way through Tremendous Trifles, an essay collection by G.K. Chesterton.  There is no writer quite like Chesterton, in style or substance; he's always an interesting read.  I particularly loved a passage from the essay "A Piece of Chalk," which, on the surface, is about young Chesterton drawing with chalks upon brown paper out in the countryside:

They are much better worth drawing than Nature; also they are much easier to draw. When a cow came slouching by in the field next to me, a mere artist might have drawn it; but I always get wrong in the hind legs of quadrupeds. So I drew the soul of the cow; which I saw there plainly walking before me in the sunlight; and the soul was all purple and silver, and had seven horns and the mystery that belongs to all the beasts. But though I could not with a crayon get the best out of the landscape, it does not follow that the landscape was not getting the best out of me. And this, I think, is the mistake that people make about the old poets who lived before Wordsworth, and were supposed not to care very much about Nature because they did not describe it much.

They preferred writing about great men to writing about great hills; but they sat on the great hills to write it. They gave out much less about Nature, but they drank in, perhaps, much more. They painted the white robes of their holy virgins with the blinding snow, at which they had stared all day. They blazoned the shields of their paladins with the purple and gold of many heraldic sunsets. The greenness of a thousand green leaves clustered into the live green figure of Robin Hood. The blueness of a score of forgotten skies became the blue robes of the Virgin. The inspiration went in like sunbeams and came out like Apollo.

I love nature art of all sorts, from Romantic landscape to medieval manuscript borders to natural history illustration, so I was dubious about the start of this passage.  By the end, my breath was taken away.  I love where Chesterton went with this - artists and poets were always taking inspiration from nature on the plane of symbol and emotion, if not as direct copyists.

I finished three books this week, two of them on the same day!  On Wednesday I finally wrapped up Vanity Fair, which I have been reading for weeks, and also finished We Have Always Lived in the Castle, which was a short read.  On Friday I came to the end of The Compleat Angler by Izaak Walton.  Reviews to follow.

I did read some spooky stories from The Vampyre and Other Tales of the Macabre by John Polidori and others, but nothing that has really thrilled me yet.


COMMONPLACE QUOTE OF THE WEEK

"Once I planned to write a book of poems entirely about the things in my pockets. But I found it would be too long; and the age of the great epics is past." - G.K. Chesterton, "A Piece of Chalk," from Tremendous Trifles


ART OF THE WEEK

Jane Morris: Study for "Mariana" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1868

Chalk on brown paper, in honor of Chesterton's essay. :)  This is a study of Jane Morris which Rossetti later referred to for his painting of Mariana, completed in 1870.  "Mariana" is a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson, based on the character of Mariana in Shakespeare's Measure for Measure.  Tennyson's poem very much inspired the Pre-Raphaelites, with Millais and John William Waterhouse also creating paintings based upon it.  The subject of a poem is a woman weary from waiting for her lover to return, forlorn, isolated, and despondent.  I actually prefer this chalk drawing to Rossetti's later painting - it better captures that expression of melancholy weariness on Jane's face, and her very posture seems listless and tired.  What makes you weary, Jane?  Is it your marriage to William Morris?  Is casting you as Mariana a sly comment by Rossetti that you should prefer him?


Monday, October 14, 2024

The Castle of Otranto (1977)

When I finished reading The Castle of Otranto, I checked to see if there had ever been any film adaptations of the story, though I had never heard of any.  Imagine my delight when I discovered this short film from 1977, directed by Czech surrealist filmmaker Jan Švankmajer.  Only 17 minutes long, it's structured as a mockumentary frame story in live action, featuring an adaptation of the story itself presented in cut-out animation.    


The film is set at a castle in Czechoslovakia, where amateur archaeologist Dr. Vozáb is being interviewed by a reporter.  Dr. Vozáb relates that Walpole's Gothic novel is based upon true events, and that the story has its origin not in the Italian town of Otranto, but here at the Czech Castle Orthany, near Náchod.  We are shown artifacts the good doctor has uncovered, and take a walk to the caves where Isabella hid.  The doctor's findings grow ever more fantastic, and I won't say more lest I spoil it for you!


Cut-out animation was the perfect medium to tell the story.  In the very first scene, we are looking at an actual book edition of The Castle of Otranto, turning pages and then focusing on an illustration of a castle.  It fills the frame and we begin to explore the illustration, subtly transitioning into exploring the interior of the illustrated castle, which we could not have have done by looking at the page in the book.  The lines between the tangible reality of the book and the imaginative world of the story have been blurred, mirroring the inner experience of an engaged imagination while reading.  The physical book begins to fade into the background as we read; we "live" in the story.  Cut-out animation is book illustration come to almost life.  It retains a slightly static, paperlike and two-dimensional storybook quality.  We are in a book, but the words are beginning to take on life, as scenes cut back and forth between turning pages and animated figures.  The juxtaposition of the scenes of the archaeologist and the reporter exploring the castle and looking at artifacts with the animated story world blur the lines between reality and imagination even further, until the glorious ending, when the two worlds merge into one.

The artwork and the overall tone of the film have that touch of macabre humor I always enjoy.  I feel like Edward Gorey would have liked this film.

Watch it HERE

Sunday, October 13, 2024

Classics Club Spin #39


An October wind is blowing, the pale moon peeks from behind the clouds, the hoot of an owl rings out in the night as Lady Fortuna's hand hovers at the Wheel... Classics Club Spin #39 is Fraught with Peril!  Gothic novels, fiends, satanic pacts, dark secrets, ruined castles, and Our Mutual Friend!  

What literary terrors await?  We find out on Sunday, October 20th!

1.  Rob Roy - Sir Walter Scott
2.  The Lottery and Other Stories - Shirley Jackson
3.  The Canterbury Tales - Geoffrey Chaucer
4.  Recollections of the Lakes and the Lake Poets - Thomas De Quincey
5.  From the Earth to the Moon - Jules Verne
6.  The Book of Margery Kempe - Margery Kempe
7.  The Mill on the Floss - George Eliot
8.  The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
9.  Faust - Goethe
10.  Nightmare Abbey - Thomas Love Peacock
11.  The Mysteries of Udolpho - Ann Radcliffe
12.  A Sentimental Journey - Laurence Sterne
13.  Gulliver's Travels - Jonathan Swift
14.  Melmoth the Wanderer - Charles Maturin
15.  Confessions of an English Opium Eater - Thomas De Quincey
16.  Lady Audley's Secret - Mary Elizabeth Braddon
17.  Piers Ploughman - William Langland
18.  The Monarch of the Glen - Compton Mackenzie
19.  Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
20.  Barchester Towers - Anthony Trollope

Update:  THE WHEEL HAS SPOKEN!  I will be reading The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer.

Saturday, October 12, 2024

Reading Journal

It's October, so it's time to pull out my collections of ghost stories and classic tales of horror for some spooky seasonal reading.  Where to start?  Perhaps "Green Tea" by Sheridan Le Fanu, or "The Wendigo" by Algernon Blackwood.

Perhaps the biggest news in reading this week is that I finally finished The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan.  It certainly feels good to have come to the end of that particular pilgrimage.  I also read Rasselas this week, completing my first book by Samuel Johnson.  


On Monday morning, I woke early and read Treacle Walker by Alan Garner in one sitting.  Some of Garner's books can go quickly like this.  I have been a fan of Alan Garner ever since discovering the 1969 Granada television adaptation of his novel The Owl Service, in which the Welsh myth of Blodeuwedd manifests in the lives of three teenagers in 1960's Wales.  Treacle Walker and Garner's novel Elidor also explore the theme of myth, folklore, and ancient landscape memory intersecting with the modern "ordinary" world, making our world seem not so ordinary.


I have just started We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson.  The story is told from the perspective of a young woman named Merricat Blackwood.  So far all I know is that the Blackwood family are decidedly unpopular in the small town, for some mysterious reason.  This is my second book by Shirley Jackson.  I absolutely loved The Haunting of Hill House.  I plan to re-read it again someday, and would highly recommend it for spooky season reading.

I have been distressed by the loss of Open Library and Internet Archive this week, as I'm sure many readers are.  How can I read my York Mystery Plays and my Mircea Eliade??  Hopefully both will be back online soon.


COMMONPLACE QUOTE OF THE WEEK

"The best safeguard against bad literature is a full experience of good; just as a real and affectionate acquaintance with honest people gives a better protection against rogues than a habitual distrust of everyone." - C.S. Lewis, An Experiment in Criticism


ART OF THE WEEK

Landscape with Grave, Coffin, and Owl by Caspar David Friedrich, ca 1836

Something for Halloween season!  The German Romantic painter Caspar David Friedrich is best known for his landscapes of mist, craggy mountains, blasted trees, and Gothic ruins.  He sought to experience the sublime in the contemplation of nature.  Full of symbolism and sometimes religious mysticism, his art sought to evoke an emotional response in the viewer.  Several of his works explore themes of mortality, the transience of human endeavors, and the endurance of nature, as in this sepia drawing from 1836.  An owl, long associated with wisdom and death, directly confronts the viewer and serves as a living memento mori, a pale moon rising above his horns like a ghostly crown or halo - or a rising spirit, as birds have deep associations with Spirit and spirit-flight, as well as the wisdom of the Holy Spirit.  No human being is visible in the drawing; we can only infer human presence by the coffin and the discarded tools of the gravediggers.  In the foreground grow two thistles, known for their wild beauty and hardiness: nature endures when man's spirit has flown.

Friday, October 11, 2024

The History of Rasselas by Samuel Johnson


"Ye who listen with credulity to the whispers of fancy, and pursue with eagerness the phantoms of hope; who expect that age will perform the promises of youth, and that the deficiencies of the present day will be supplied by the morrow, attend to the history of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia."

So begins The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abissinia, a short philosophical novel written by Samuel Johnson in 1759.  Dr. Johnson is perhaps best known today for being the subject of the lengthy classic biography The Life of Samuel Johnson, written by the devoted Boswell.  He was, in fact. an eminent man of letters, having written poetry, plays, essays, sermons, biographies, a travel book about the western islands of Scotland, and a Dictionary of the English Language.  His reputation loomed large over the field of English letters for decades, and allusions to him in literature abound.  Even if still known by reputation, readers of his work seem to have diminished.  Truthfully, I'm not sure if Rasselas would have been on my radar had it not been mentioned by Charlotte Mason, and in turn found its way onto the booklists of Ambleside Online.  I've known about Johnson for many years; I haven't read Johnson until now.

Attempting to approach reading Rasselas as one would a conventional novel is likely going to lead to confusion and possibly disappointment.  Sometimes referred to as a moral fable or philosophical romance,  Rasselas may be best considered as an apologue: "a short fable or allegorical story, meant to serve as a pleasant vehicle for some moral doctrine or to convey some useful lesson."  In an apologue, the narrative details and characters are subordinate to the moral truth the author wants to convey.  Some scholars don't like to call Rasselas a "novel" at all.  Once we understand all this, we're in a better position to appreciate Rasselas and what Dr. Johnson was trying to do with this book.



How should we live?  What mode of life will foster happiness?  These are the fundamental human questions at the heart of Rasselas' quest.  Rasselas' story begins when he is a young man, a wealthy Prince of Abyssinia, living a sequestered life in Happy Valley, where "all the diversities of the world were brought together, the blessings of nature were collected, and its evils extracted and excluded."  Life is devoted to pleasure and amusement, delicacies and comforts. "Every art was practised to make them pleased with their own condition."  Happy Valley is surrounded by a mountain fastness, and communication with the outside world is barred by an iron gate, only to be opened once a year for an eight-day festival. "Thus every year produced new scenes of delight, and new competitors for imprisonment."    This is not the only time Happy Valley is likened to a prison.  This Pleasure Garden is a False Eden, a bubble of artificial happiness which depends on shutting out the miseries of the world and keeping its residents in ignorance.  Ignorance is bliss - or is it?

Rasselas feels a sense of discontent, a longing for more, and a curiosity about the wider world.  "Man surely has some latent sense for which this place affords no gratification; or he has some desire distinct from sense, which must be satisfied before he can be happy," he muses.  He befriends Imlac, a poet and engineer who has come to Happy Valley from the outside world during one of the festivals.  The two plot their escape, and tunnel their way upwards and outwards, accompanied by Rasseslas' sister Nekayah and her maid Pekuah.  

The quest begins, and adventures follow, with each short chapter encapsulating some mode or station in life to be evaluated.  Rasselas has told us: "I am resolved to judge with mine own eyes of the various conditions of men, and then to make deliberately my choice of life.”  The choice of life is a phrase which recurs throughout the book.  We meet Epicureans, Stoics, the wealthy, the poor.  We muse about the life lived according to nature, and the life pastoral.  We discuss the merits of marriage and the life of solitude.  Does youth afford the greatest happiness?  Is old age free from vexation?  

The final destination of their travels is the catacombs near Cairo.  They descend and wander in labyrinthine subterraneous passages, discoursing on the nature of the soul.  Confronted with mortality, their thoughts turn to the shortness of their present state.  Is this endless searching after the choice of life really profitable?  “To me,” said the Princess, “the choice of life is become less important; I hope hereafter to think only on the choice of eternity.”  In the end, they determine to return home to Abyssinia.  Perhaps the most important sentence in the book was spoken by our poet-engineer: “It seems to me,” said Imlac, “that while you are making the choice of life you neglect to live."



Since some refer to Rasselas as a "philosophical romance," I wanted to consider the romance elements of the story, so I turned to The Secular Scripture: A Study of the Structure of Romance by Northrop Frye.  Frye tells us that ascent and descent are the primary narrative movements in literature.  In the beginning of Rasselas, we have an ascent from a lower world when Rasselas & co. tunnel upwards out of the prison of Happy Valley.  Frye points out that "the lower world is sometimes a world of cruelty and imprisonment; sometimes an oracular cave."  In Rasselas we do have this prison imagery, and a sense of an enclosed space that must be tunneled out of.  Frye says, "We found that in descent narratives the central image is that of metamorphosis, the freezing of something human and conscious into an animal or plant or inanimate object.  Ascent themes introduce us to the opposite kind of metamorphosis, the growing of identity through the casting off of whatever conceals or frustrates it.  The simplest form of such ascending metamorphosis is the removal of enchantment, in which an animal disguise or something parallel is replaced by the original human form."  The inhabitants of Happy Valley are under a sort of enchantment.  Rasselas makes several comparisons of his own state to those of the beasts there, and while he sees certain similarities, he ultimately concludes that he is something more than they are.  He goes on an identity quest.  For when he seeks to make his choice of life, when he wonders how man should live, the true underlying question is not only Who am I? but What is man?  When the group visits the catacombs, this is a descent into the underworld.  Like the shades in Classical Hades, the bones of the dead in the catacombs impart their own wisdom:  Man is a mortal creature whose earthly time is limited.  His physical body will decay, but his immortal soul is eternal.  The group return to their homeland, their quest complete.

Sunday, October 6, 2024

The Pilgrim's Procrastination: My Journey with John Bunyan


I started The Pilgrim's Progress months ago.  My first encounter with it was way back in high school, when we were given an excerpt to read in a British Literature class.  I was not enamoured of it, and even though one finds allusions and references to it in literature from the seventeenth century to the present, I thought I might well give it a miss.  The turning point for me came when I learned that C.S. Lewis' earliest novel was called The Pilgrim's Regress.  The nod to Bunyan was obvious.  Since it is one of my life goals to read everything by Lewis that I possibly can, I thought I should probably familiarize myself with The Pilgrim's Progress to enhance my understanding of Lewis' book.  Some years went by.  I acquired a copy of The Pilgrim's Regress.  A couple more years went by.  I acquired a copy of The Pilgrim's Progress.  A couple more years went by.  This summer I bit the bullet and started reading.

I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.  Simply put, it is an allegory of the journey of the soul to God.  The whole book is framed as a dream of the narrator - who asserts himself occasionally to remind us that he saw these things in his dream.  Perhaps this fits into the tradition of spiritual wisdom coming to people in dreams.  The main character, Christian, is an Everyman figure: he is there to represent all Christians, rather than to serve as a developed character in his own right.  Christian departs from his hometown, the City of Destruction, leaving his family behind, and embarks on a journey to the Celestial City (representative of heaven, the soul's final destination).  Christian carries a burden on his back, symbolizing the weight of sin.  His journey is long and arduous.  All along the way he encounters various obstacles, trials, and missteps - often represented by allegorical geographical features with fabulous names like the Slough of Despond and Doubting Castle.  Sometimes he must battle adversaries, such as the fiend Apollyon and the Giant Despair.

Christian Reading in His Book, William Blake, 1820's

Perhaps the most famous stop on Christian's itinerary is the not-so-delightful village of Vanity Fair, which lent its name to William Makepeace Thackeray's celebrated Victorian novel.

In the end, Christian does reach the Celestial City.  And it's a good ending.  Which is why it's too bad that Bunyan felt the need to write a sequel.  The Second Part of The Pilgrim's Progress concerns the journey of Christian's wife - called Christiana - and their four sons.  Christiana has decided it's a good idea to leave the City of Destruction after all, and follow after her husband.  This is where I slowed down in my own journey through the book.  Though not entirely without interest, I'm not sure that Part 2 trods enough new ground to justify itself, nor that it quite lives up to Part 1.

Bunyan's purpose in writing the book was to teach Christians to see the world itself as an allegory: to learn to see the spiritual realities (and consequences) that lie behind life's trials and pleasures.  Though his allegorical style might be a bit heavy-handed and unsophisticated for some, I genuinely enjoyed it.  Whereas I am an Anglican and Bunyan was a Calvinist Dissenter, we do not see eye to eye about many things - that being said, I still found spiritual profit in this book, and I understand why it has won the hearts of so many Christians.  And it's a good story.  I suspect that Bunyan profited more than he knew from reading those "popular stories" in the chap-books when he was an unconverted youth.

Friday, October 4, 2024

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole


The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole is considered the first Gothic novel.  It was first published on Christmas Eve 1764, in the guise of ancient manuscript, "found in the library of an ancient catholic family in the north of England" and claimed to have been printed in Naples in 1529 (though undoubtedly composed at some earlier date).  Walpole kept his own identity a secret, even adopting a pseudonym for the personage of the translator of this ancient Italian work: William Marshal, Gent.  Walpole went a step further with this fabricated air of authenticity, suggesting that while "the machinery is invention, and the names of the actors imaginary, I cannot but believe that the groundwork of the story is founded on truth.  The scene is undoubtedly laid in some real castle."  


Undoubtedly.  But the castle in question was not a crumbling stronghold in southern Italy, but a villa in Twickenham on the outskirts of London called Strawberry Hill, which Walpole had purchased in 1747.  Strawberry Hill was an ordinary country cottage at this point, a nice enough place, but lacking in the requisite "gloomth" to suit Walpole's tastes.  He spent the next 25 years adding turrets, towers, cloisters, pointed arches, stained glass, and finials, transforming the house into a Gothic castle in miniature.  Walpole now had a fitting backdrop for his eccentric antiquarian collections and his medieval imagination.


The Castle of Otranto had its dark genesis in a dream of its author, steeped as he was in this atmosphere of medieval Romance and Gothic architecture:

"I waked one morning in the beginning of last June from a dream, of which all I could recover was, that I had thought myself in an ancient castle (a very natural dream for a head filled like mine with Gothic story) and that on the uppermost bannister of a great staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour.  In the evening I sat down and began to write, without knowing in the least what I intended to say or relate.  The work grew on my hands, and I grew fond of it..."

The imaginative background of Otranto is a Gothic story in itself.  Its publishing history gave us the trope of the "found manuscript," it was composed in a Gothic revival "castle," its ghostly armored giant came to the author in a dream.  

Medieval Romance was out of favor in the neoclassical 18th century.  Anything medieval was considered barbaric and uncouth by the aesthetic standards of the time.  We see the first stirrings of Romanticism in the "Gothic Revival" - a sort of pre-Romanticism, if you will, that will lead us on to the likes of Sir Walter Scott, Coleridge, Byron, and the Shelleys.  But that day was not yet come when Walpole first published The Castle of Otranto - he was helping to create this new movement in literature and the arts.  Edmund Burke's A Philosophical Inquiry on the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful had appeared in 1757 (seven years before Otranto).  Burke's new twist on the concept of the sublime  divorced it from mere classical notions of beauty instilling pleasure.  Burke maintained that awe and a sense of horror could also evoke a pleasurable emotional response - as long as the horror concerned was fictitious.  And so we add another ingredient to the simmering cauldron of Gothic literature.  Eye of newt, toe of frog, Burke's sublime, neo-medieval architecture... The Castle of Otranto is taking shape in the rising vapors.

Along with lizard's leg and howlet's wing, we must not forget to toss the plays of William Shakespeare into the cauldron.  Consider the witchcraft present in Macbeth, the chanting and prophecies of the three Weird Sisters, the omens, the dramatic weather reflecting dark deeds.  Think of the ghost in Hamlet.  Think of ancient kings and castle settings, revenge, murder, and high dramatic style.  Shakespearean elements abound in The Castle of Otranto - Walpole explicitly acknowledges his debt to the Bard in the preface to the second edition.  Even the five chapter structure of the novel echoes the five acts of a Shakespearean drama.

This post has not even touched on the plot of the novel in question - rather, its focus has been on setting the scene and the building up of a Gothic atmosphere, which I believe are crucial to the enjoyment of the book.  It can't be read like a modern novel with well-developed characters.  It isn't that sort of book.  It reads like a fast-paced drama peopled with stock characters who speak in elevated style, as one would find in the theater.  In Walpole's story, he sought to blend the imaginative elements of the medieval romance with the more naturalistic touches of the modern novel: and thus, the Gothic genre was born.  This may not be the best Gothic novel, but it was the first.  If we suspend our disbelief, spectres, prophecies, trapdoors, maidens in distress, dark secrets, and subterraneous passages await.   


Edited to add: My review of the 1977 short film version of The Castle of Otranto can be found HERE.

Tuesday, July 23, 2024

Vera by Elizabeth von Arnim


Vera is the third novel I've read by Elizabeth von Arnim, who is fast becoming one of my favorite authors.  Thrilling and unsettling, Vera is substantially darker in tone than The Enchanted April and Elizabeth and her German Garden.  My interest in this novel was piqued when I heard it compared to Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier.  There is some suggestion that it may have influenced Rebecca.  While this can't be proven, the two stories do share some marked similarities, though they differ enough in plot to both stand as strong stories in their own right.  

Vera follows the misfortunes of young and naive Lucy Entwhistle.  Thrown into distress and confusion upon the death of her father, the now orphaned Lucy allows herself to be guided by the recently widowed Everard Wemyss, an older man who takes care of everything for poor little Lucy.  In her bereavement, Lucy comes to rely on Wemyss as her comforter, her protector, and her solace.  We the reader then get to watch Wemyss' progression from ostensibly fatherly concern to romantic suitor to controlling, cruel tyrant-husband.

Wemyss takes Lucy to his house, The Willows, which is still haunted by the memory (and belongings) of his dead wife Vera.  (Here are similarities to Rebecca.)  There are mounting hints that there may be more to Vera's "accidental" death.  Was it murder?  Suicide?  Did I mention that she died from a fall out of the window of this very house?

Wemyss as a character is truly abhorrent.  Utterly lacking in conscience and empathy, he seeks to dominate and control everyone and everything around him. His narcissism would be ludicrous if it weren't so frightening.  Lucy is trapped in this house, with this man, and we are trapped in this nightmare with her.  It's claustrophobic, disturbing, and suspenseful.  What will happen to Lucy?  What did happen to Vera?  Von Arnim's novel is a page-turner, but it's not for the faint of heart.

Sunday, July 21, 2024

The Travels of Sir John Mandeville

 

"There are many different kinds of people in these isles.  In one, there is a race of great stature, like giants, foul and horrible to look at; they have one eye only, in the middle of their foreheads.  They eat raw flesh and raw fish.  In another part, there are ugly folk without heads, who have eyes in each shoulder; their mouths are round, like a horseshoe, and in the middle of their chest.  In yet another part there are headless men whose eyes and mouths are on their backs.  And there are in another place folk with flat faces, without noses or eyes; but they have two small holes instead of eyes, and a flat lipless mouth.  In another isle there are ugly fellows whose upper lip is so big that when they sleep in the sun they cover all their faces with it.  In another there are people of small stature, like dwarfs, a little bigger than pygmies.  They have no mouth, but instead a little hole, and so when they must eat they suck their food through a reed or pipe.  They have no tongues, and hiss and make signs as monks do, to each other, and each of them understands what the other means..."

And it goes on - we hear of many other strange peoples, hermaphrodites, etc.  With chapter titles like "Of the head of the Devil in the Vale Perilous" and "Of Saint John the Evangelist; and of Hippocrates' daughter, turned into the shape of a dragon," Mandeville's Travels is a strong contender for Weirdest Book at the 2024 Book Awards, giving The Beetle by Richard Marsh a run for its money.  If you long to hear about Amazons, cannibals, and men with heads like dogs; if you are curious to know the true purpose of the pyramids of Egypt; if you need a recipe for lemon ointment to repel the snakes that carpet the great pepper forests of India - Mandeville is your man.


Sir John Mandeville (or "Mandy," as my daughter calls him) was purportedly an English knight from St. Albans who travelled across the Holy Land, Egypt, the Levant, India, and China in the early 14th century - though he may not have been a real person at all.  Mandeville's Travels is largely dependent on other sources, in the form of other medieval travel books and legends, and there is no definitive evidence to substantiate his existence.

Well, there is this portrait:


If that's not proof, I don't know what is.

Whether its authorial persona was invented or not, the book was widely popular from the later Middle Ages through the early modern period, even being consulted by Christopher Columbus.  Why did this book achieve such popularity?  What did travel literature offer medieval and early modern readers?  While some may have prepared for actual journeys, and a (insert Severus Snape voice here) select few were sponsored by Kings and Queens for transatlantic voyages, the majority of its readers were not charting courses for the Orient or inquiring about the price of hiring camels in Cairo.  Is "armchair travel"  sufficient explanation for the book's popularity, or is there something more to it in a medieval context?  

Intrigued by these questions and this strange book, my research led me to an excellent article by Dr. Charles Moseley of Cambridge University entitled "The Travels of Sir John Mandeville and the ‘Moral Geography’ of the Medieval World."   I want to touch on two of the topics raised in Dr. Moseley's article: the practice of pilgrimage, and the medieval conception of space and geography.

Mandeville's book describes a journey through the Holy Land and Egypt, giving special attention to sites and places of interest to Christian pilgrims.  Pilgrim itineraries were a type of literature available in the Middle Ages, and these sections of  Mandeville's work has something in common with these.  While some people did make a physical pilgrimage, other readers used these itineraries as a type of devotional literature - a spiritual pilgrimage of sorts.

Dr. Moseley says that Mandeville's work is a 'geographical' encyclopedia cast in the form of a personal narrative.  His subsequent discussion of the medieval conception of space and geography is fascinating. "Their mental maps are not spatial, as ours might be, but narrative, mnemonic and ideological," he writes. We moderns think of "maps" and "geography," and we picture our post-Enlightenment charts with their grids of latitude and longitude and accuracy of scale.  Medieval sea charts were working towards this modern factual accuracy, but other maps and narrative geographies are operating on a different set of principles: "map(s) of moral history, where space becomes symbol."  Jerusalem is the symbolic center of the world; distance is not so much a matter of spatial perspective as a falling away from the moral center.  

While these symbolic conventions of medieval cosmology form the background of his work, Mandy is innovative.  He has praise for other cultures and beliefs, including the Eastern Church and Islam, even sometimes using them to draw attention to the shortcomings of Western European Christians.  He asserts that the same laws of Nature operate the world over, and believes in rational explanations for the apparently marvelous.  He is in many ways a bridge between medieval cosmology and early modern thought.

And yet... he tells you stories of phoenixes and cups made of griffon talons and dog-headed men.  The book fascinates.  This fantastical book stimulates the imagination, and can be experienced on many levels, with many layers: spiritual pilgrimage, moral geography, and imaginative exploration.  It has inspired me to learn more about medieval travel, both literal and symbolic - I've found a great list of resources here.

Oh, MandyWell, you came and you gave without takingBut I sent you awayOh, MandyWell, you kissed me and stopped me from shakingAnd I need you todayOh, Mandy

Saturday, July 20, 2024

Classics Club Spin #38



It's that time again!  Time for Lady Fortuna to spin her wheel of literary destiny and determine my next read!  In other words, Classics Club Spin #38 is coming!

This will be my second time to participate in a spin.  My previous spin book has been completed, but not within the original time parameters, as Lady Fortuna had even grander plans for me: an unexpected  cross-country move!  I have several book reviews to get uploaded here, but for now, I'm excited to jump into a new spin book.  So, without further ado...

Here is my Spin List:

1. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
2. The Woodlanders - Thomas Hardy
3. Gulliver's Travels - Jonathan Swift
4. The Mill on the Floss - George Eliot
5. Vile Bodies - Evelyn Waugh
6. Kipps - H.G. Wells
7. Confessions of an English Opium Eater - Thomas De Quincey
8. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn - Betty Smith
9. From the Earth to the Moon - Jules Verne
10. The Bride of Lammermoor - Sir Walter Scott
11. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
12. Recollections of the Lakes and the Lake Poets - Thomas De Quincey
13. The Beautiful and the Damned - F. Scott Fitzgerald
14. The Pilgrim's Progress - John Bunyan
15. Excellent Women - Barbara Pym
16. The Lark - E. Nesbit
17. The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner - James Hogg
18. Piers Ploughman - William Langland
19. The Monarch of the Glen - Compton Mackenzie
20. The Golden Ass - Apuleius

Update:  THE WHEEL HAS SPOKEN!  I will be reading The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner by James Hogg.  

Wednesday, June 19, 2024

The Awakening by Kate Chopin


The Awakening is one of those books that I've meant to get around to reading for years.  I don't think I was missing anything.  This book is tied with Kim by Rudyard Kipling for least favorite book of the year.  I'm aware of the book's prevailing reputation as a landmark of early feminism - please don't think I'm against books that explore the complexities of women's issues, emotions, and social limitations in the 19th century, as this is an area of interest for me.  I'm simply against this book.  

Set in New Orleans in the late 19th century, the novel tells the story of Edna Pontellier, a Kentuckian transplant to Creole society who grows to resent marriage, motherhood, social obligations, and pretty much the world.  I feel that Chopin used Edna to indict society for the constraints placed upon women, in terms of limited social freedom and under-education.  I'm just not sure that Edna is the ideal Poster Girl for this story.  Narcissistic, capricious, and immature, Edna fails to win my sympathy.  She cares very little about her children, or anyone else, really - except her lovers, who are the worst sort of losers.  Edna's judgment, sense of self-awareness, thoughts, and feelings are stunted and under-developed, and Chopin tries to makes this society's fault, in the same century that gave us the likes of Mary Ann Evans (George Eliot), Elizabeth Gaskell, the Brontës, Mary Seacole, and the novels of Jane Austen. 

At the end of the book, Edna walks into the sea, seemingly to do away with herself, because society has no place for a freethinking woman of superior sensibilities like her - or at least it seems that this is the narrative Chopin is asking us to accept.  I would never begrudge any woman the need to develop a sense of personal identity - but Edna's seems to be framed in terms of a resentment and self-absorption that I found off-putting and, for me, undermined the success of the novel.

Read for The Tea and Ink Society 2024 Reading Challenge (Category: Southern Fiction) - also on my Classics Club list 

Thursday, April 25, 2024

Evelina by Frances Burney

I was eager to read Evelina because I knew Jane Austen considered it a favorite.  Somehow I thought that reading Evelina would be like reading Jane Austen:  a humorous novel of manners set in a rational and moral universe.  Well.  Evelina was not what I expected.  If Jane Austen is a genteel Regency ballroom, Evelina is a wild night at Vauxhall Gardens.  With a monkey.

Evelina Anville is the legitimate, though unacknowledged, daughter of an English aristrocrat.  Upon the death of her mother, Evelina was raised in rural seclusion by her guardian, the Reverend Villairs.  Eventually, Evelina's maternal grandmother, the ridiculous Mme Duval, learns of Evelina's existence and seeks to claim her and whisk her off to France.  To keep her from Mme Duval, the Rev. Villairs sends her to Howard Grove, the country home of friends.  Little did he know that Mme Duval would find her anyway, and a trip to London would soon follow. Most of the novel revolves around humorous situations in which poor, sheltered Evelina tries to navigate her way through society.  She eventually gets a happy ending with Lord Orville. 

The tone of this book was quite surprising.  Sometimes riotous and madcap, the book's wild humor was unexpected.  At one point, two of the characters dressed up like highwaymen just so they could terrorize an obnoxious Frenchwoman.  Then there is the time when some of the characters are bored because they have nothing to gamble on, so they get two eighty-year-old women to race just so they can bet on them.  The plots can be a bit over the top, with some truly wild coincidences and situations occurring.

Evelina has very little personality - despite this being an epistolary novel, with most of the letters written by her.  Her letters are more of a vehicle to deliver the plot rather than to give us her private thoughts.  We have some glimpses, of course, but it's almost like Evelina the character is a pawn to showcase every type of ill-mannered person in London.

In truth, it is the "bad" characters who seem to dominate this novel.  Between fending off the unwanted attentions of the rogue Sir Clement Willoughby, the incessant fighting between Mme Duval and Captain Mirvan, and the crass behavior of the Branghtons, Evelina gets very little peace - and neither does the reader.

I found the character of Madame Duval extremely tiresome.  A little of her would have gone a long way.  She is so over the top, so insufferably rude, tyrannical, and obnoxious, that while one or two scenes of this woman would have been funny, her behavior is so predictably horrid that it becomes boring.  By the same token, the relentless rudeness of the Captain is wearying.  Jane Austen may have learned from this.  Her boorish characters are diverting because she allows them to season her narratives, rather than overwhelm them.



The dubious tastes and want of care of Evelina's relations and their hangers-on land her in many awkward and unsavory situations, and Evelina's own want of social competence and street smarts always makes things worse.  One night Evelina finds herself dragged out to Vauxhall Gardens.  These London pleasure gardens were popular in the 18th through the mid-19th century, and were filled with entertainments and attractions.  At night they were lit up by thousands of lamps.  Spectacle abounded, with fireworks, hot air balloons, and a giant metal waterfall which seemed to flow thanks to a clever trick of the lights.  Poor Evelina becomes separated from her party and ends up in the infamous dark walks - there's a hint of danger in this scene that lends a somber note to the lack of care being taken of her.


Vauxhall Gardens

Evelina as Cinderella 
Evelina has distinct echoes of Cinderella.  Evelina is poor and simple, marked by beauty and inner goodness.  She has a dead mother, and an ineffectual/absent actual father, and a retiring/absent surrogate father.  Mme Duval can be seen as her wicked stepmother, and the Miss Branghtons the obnoxious stepsisters.  She moves from country seclusion into high society, and catches the eye of her prince, Lord Orville.

Evelina and Jane Austen
It's a strange sensation, reading Evelina, feeling that one has met with so many little scenes already.  We have a Willoughby - and the scene where Sir Clement Willoughby carries Evelina from the wrecked coach is a bit like when Willoughby carried Marianne Dashwood.  The carriage seen with Sir Clement reminds me of Emma and Mr. Elton.  Evelina and her low connections are so similar to Elizabeth and the Bennets (though Mme Duval makes Mrs. Bennet look like the epitome of grace and refinement).  Evelina, like Lizzy Bennet, has a "passion for solitary walking."  Evelina and Lord Orville foreshadow  Elizabeth and Darcy.  In her juvenile novel Love & Friendship, Jane Austen hilariously parodies the more ludicrous parts of novels like Evelina - in her more mature work, Austen takes the best of Frances Burney and refines it.

Evelina as a Sentimental Novel
A sentimental novel relies on emotion, both in the response of the characters and the response of the reader.  The capacity to feel, and to show feelings, was thought to be a mark of high moral character.  Sentimentalism as a philosophy favored the untutored "naturalness" of the country person over the cultivated "civilized" nature of the society person.  We often think of the 18th century as the Age of Reason, characterized by rationalism.  Sentimentalism is a countercurrent - one that led to Romanticism later in the century.  Evelina, raised in rural seclusion, exhibits sensitivity, natural goodness, fine feeling, and distress at the misfortunes of others.  Thus she is the perfect sentimental "type," and her character is used by Burney to satirize and critique "cultured" society.   

Evelina was a wild ride!  I'm glad I read it, and look forward to reading more by Frances Burney, and more 18th century novels.  I haven't spent a lot of time in this century, and reading Evelina has helped me to find my feet.  I'm learning as I go!
 
Read for the Epistolary Novel category in the Tea and Ink Society 2024 Classics Reading Challenge and for the Classics Club.