Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky

This is a novel about an axe murderer.  It can be considered as a psychological novel, though not in the sense that a modern secular humanist would use that term.  Dostoevsky's psychology is deeply rooted in Orthodox Christianity.  Raskolnikov's sickness is fundamentally a spiritual sickness, and the alienation he experiences as the result of his crime is not only from the human race as a societal body, but from the Body of Christ and the life of the world in its most Christian sense.  Raskolnikov is a young student who swallows some bad ideology, of the nihilistic type that elevates the individual and damns everyone else.  The very name 'Raskolnikov' comes from a Russian word meaning schism or division:  he is a divided soul.  This division and alienation are a sort of private hell for Raskolnikov, and Dostoevsky explores the need for wholeness, restoration, and redemption masterfully, without ever once overtly "preaching" at his readers.

The characters in this book are vivid and unforgettable.  There is Sonya, who is essential to Raskolnikov's journey of the soul.  Her occupation is low and repellent, yet it is she who embodies compassion, faith, and love.  There is Porfiry Petrovich, who on the surface seems like a sort of Russian Poirot investigating Raskolnikov's case, but proves to be more than that.  He knows - he waits, he sympathizes, he wants rehabilitation - not just punishment.  There is a terrible, vile villain called Svidrigailov, whose presence in the novel shows us what true alienation from God and man looks like.  He is a sort of foil for Raskolnikov, for whom there is still hope.  Raskolnikov's best friend Razumihkin is his voice of reason and sanity, and the love plot between Razumihkin and Raskolnikov's sister Dunia adds another interesting layer to the story.

Crime and Punishment is one of the truly great works of literature.  It is both rich in symbolism and gritty in its realism.  It forces us to confront our own prejudices and capacity for compassion.  By turns psychologically gripping and suspenseful, terrifying, profoundly sad, and hopeful, this work demands much of the reader, and gives much in return.  

Victorian Reading Challenge 2025

The Victorian Reading Challenge returns, dear Reader!  After careful deliberation, duly considering the investment of time and fatigue of the wrists occasioned by these ponderous volumes, I have concluded that the profit to the intellect and imaginative faculties far outweighs any perceived disadvantages. (As the Victorians might put it.)  The 2024 Victorian Reading Challenge  was one of the highlights of my year in reading, and I have decided to repeat the challenge for as many years as I can.

This year I have changed up a few of the categories, while the decade categories remain the same to ensure broad reading across the Victorian era. 

Here are this year's categories, along with my choices:

The Woman Question - The Odd Women by George Gissing

Book with a place as the title - Deerbrook by Harriet Martineau

Book published in serial format - East Lynne by Ellen Wood

Book published 1837-1840s - Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell

Book published in the 1850s - David Copperfield by Charles Dickens

Children's Book - The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley

Book Published in the 1870s - A Pair of Blue Eyes by Thomas Hardy

Book published in the 1860s - The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot

Wilkie Collins - Armadale

Mystery, Suspense, Sensation - Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon

Book published 1890s-1901 - Trilby by George du Maurier

Book published in the 1880s - The Woodlanders by Thomas Hardy

The Woman Question replaces Female Author, as I will always read several female authors anyway.  In Victorian times, "the woman question" referred to debates surrounding women's roles and rights.  Book with a place as the title replaces Book with a name as the title.  Wilkie Collins is replacing Anthony Trollope in the specific author category.  I've kept Children's Book as a category this year, to prompt myself to read the weirdness that is The Water Babies, though we will probably lose that category next year.  And yes, I am already planning next year's challenge!  I might host it as a more formal challenge next year.  Feel free to join me this year at any time, if you like!

My book choices for this year are heavy on sensation novels and women's issues, with a couple of Thomas Hardys thrown in for good measure.  And, of course, David Copperfield, because it's high time I read it.

Tea and Ink Society 2025 Classics Reading Challenge

I enjoyed last year's Tea and Ink Society reading challenge so much, I've decided to participate again.  I love the unexpected categories Elsie devises - not only are they fun, but they draw me into reading things I might not otherwise have picked up at a particular time.  Like last year, the idea behind this challenge is to read one classic book (pre-1970) for each month in the year.  Here are this year's categories:

January: A classic you discover in a used bookstore

February: A Russian novel or short story collection

March: A classic about immigrants or pioneers

April: A classic set on your own turf

May: A book you were supposed to read in school

June: Nonfiction nature writing

July: A science fiction novel or short story collection

August: A classic by an author you’ve only read once

September: A classic World War I or World War II novel

October: A Jane Austen novel

November: A poetry collection by one of the Romantic poets

December: A Medieval or Renaissance classic

And here is what I have so far:

January:  A Man for All Seasons by Robert Bolt

February:  The Shooting Party by Anton Chekhov

March:  O Pioneers! by Willa Cather

April:  The Shepherd of the Hills by Harold Bell Wright

May:  Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling

June:  Summer by Dallas Lore Sharp

July:  The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham

August:  Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope

September:  The End of the Affair by Graham Greene

October:  Persuasion by Jane Austen

November:  Lyric Poems by John Keats

December:  

A classic you discover in a used bookstore is such a delightful category.  Ideally I would go browse the shelves this month and select something that catches my eye, but I am far away from used bookstores at present.  Instead I've chosen A Man for All Seasons by Robert Bolt, which I picked up on a memorable day in my very favorite used bookstore.  I received an unexpected discount that day for expressing my appreciation of the New Wave music on the radio and generally having a good time.

For February, we're turning to Russian literature, which will have some people quaking in their fur-lined boots, and others rubbing their mittened hands together with glee.  Though I have a few suitable titles already on my Classics Club list, I went rogue and chose The Shooting Party by Anton Chekhov.  Chekhov is best known for his plays, but this, his only novel, is... a murder mystery!

I went for the obvious choice for March.  A book about pioneers - let me see, how about O Pioneers! by Willa Cather?  My first Willa Cather novel ever.

A regional classic was a real challenge.  I'm away from home right now, but will be back home by the time April rolls around.  I chose The Shepherd of the Hills, an Ozark classic written in 1907 by Harold Bell Wright, well known here and probably never heard of outside this region.  Basically I didn't want to read True Grit right now.

May brings us A book you were supposed to read in school.  In my fourth grade classroom, there was a shelf of books we were encouraged to read if we had free time.  Among these was a copy of Just So Stories by Rudyard Kipling which I started but never finished.  Now's my chance. 

For nonfiction nature writing in June, I've chosen a volume from a seasonal series I'm reading by Dallas Lore Sharp (1870-1929).  I will have completed the Winter and Spring volumes by the time June is here.  The series was written between 1909 - 1913, so it's an interesting example of early American nature writing.

In July the Triffids menace the world!  Here is a post-apocalyptic tale of giant plants with poisonous stingers who turn on their human masters.  Are they alien?  Were they bioengineered by the Russians?  We shall see.  I've been wanting more John Wyndham ever since I read The Midwich Cuckoos, which I will always rave about.

It's Trollope for August as I continue to make my way through his Chronicles of Barsetshire.  I've only read The Warden so far, and Barchester Towers is next in the series.

A classic WWI or WWII novel was the most daunting category.  I decided on The End of the Affair, my first Graham Greene.  Though I was tempted by Elsie's suggestion of Green for Danger, a murder mystery by Christianna Brand.  Maybe I'll do both?

2025 marks the 250th anniversary of the birth of Jane Austen.  Many celebrations and read-alongs are taking place, so it is only fitting that she gets a category this year.  I'll be re-reading Persuasion, for the first time in a long time.  I adore Jane Austen, so this is a treat.

Romantic poets for November was a surprise, and another treat.  I shall walk amongst the withered sedge along the lake where no birds sing with Keats.

I love the idea of a medieval or Renaissance classic for December.  Perfect for the contemplative mood of Advent or the festive mood of Christmas.  Candlelight, evergreens, and medieval literature - what could be better?  I'm leaving this category open, though I do have Piers Ploughman on my Classics Club list.

Tea and Ink Society 2025 Classics Reading Challenge - official page

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."

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!

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 Magazine.  Blackwood'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.

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?