Only smaller books are able to find their way into my schedule lately, but I am thankful that these have been excellent! The volume I most recently finished is a collection of Jane Austen miscellany: one short epistolary novel and two unfinished novels.
Lady Susan. My first question upon finishing this work: Why does no one talk about this one? Unlike the 6 major novels of Jane Austen, Lady Susan never comes up in conversations and yet it tells a story about the relations of a small social circle as well as any of her novels. What is especially impressive is that she does this all by means of letters which the characters write to one another, sometimes dissembling and sometimes manifesting their true intentions. Whereas Austen’s narrator are usually close to the mind of one character in particular, these letters have us going back and forth between two antagonistic relatives whose outward actions would not betray the extent of the drama so well as the letters. The titular Lady Susan also stands out as being perhaps the most seductive character in Austen’s novels, causing destruction and discord wherever she goes. Lady Susan is the only complete work in the collection and the only one that would appeal to all readers.
The Watsons. This incomplete work is the least interesting of the bunch, but still worth reading for an Austen fan. The characters and situations resemble those in her other works, though not matching any of them entirely. Because the novel only barely gets off the ground, it really doesn’t serve for much more than getting one more example of Austen’s writing.
Sanditon. How awful that this novel remained incomplete! From the first pages, this novel seemed different than any other work I’ve read from Austen. The characters are very eccentric: from a funny man obsessed with his town of Sanditon to his family of hypochondriacs to a literate buffoon in need of a wealthy marriage to the eventual heroine who is shocked by the vices and oddities of the people around her. The interior life of this character is markedly different from the more docile characters in Jane Austen novels. “The words ‘Unaccountable officiousness! – Activity run mad!’ – had just passed through Charlotte’s mind – but a civil answer was easy.” And as she continues to interact with the other characters, we see her gently mocking those around while trying not to look too surprised by their irrational manners. If I had to compare this work to another of Austen’s, it probably comes closest to Northanger Abbey, but only inasmuch as it is not afraid to be a bit silly. It really is unlike her other works and might have become one of her most popular. The erudition of some characters as well as the attention to medical fashions looks to me like an anticipation of George Eliot’s novels, which is perhaps another reason I like this work so much.
In sum: I recommend Lady Susan to all, but can only recommend the other two works to fans of Jane Austen. Whereas The Watsons does not show us something different from her major novels, Sanditon indicated a major change from her other works that would have finished as something excellent.
[This work is #26 on my classics reading challenge.]
Without unveiling anything that happens in the course of the book, I will say it becomes a page-turner only about halfway through. Early on, whenever someone asked me what I was reading, the only descriptions I could give made it sound like a simple love story with little else to offer. But it picks up. Once I hit the middle point, I soon read through the rest before anyone else had a chance to ask me about it.
To sum up a moral for the story, it is how one brief bit of carelessness can lead to evils untold, for others and for oneself; consequences that can last far longer than the original act that set them in motion and can endure even to death, and even more. Of course, what does it matter if one is careless, so long as no one finds out? Again, this book demonstrates how great are the repercussions that follow on the smallest revelation—how much more when all things are revealed? Then it will only be those who have no secrets that will be at ease and without shame. Continue reading
Reading Honoré de Balzac, I asked myself the same question I asked upon reading George Eliot, “How is it that no one ever recommended this author to me?” Balzac is one of the great 19th century French authors, considered one of the founders of literary realism, and known for his series of over 90 works called The Human Comedy (La Comédie Humaine). The works in this collection (mostly novels) are divided into sequences which focus on a specific sphere of French life, such his “Scenes of private life” or his “Scenes of Parisian life”. The volume I just completed, Eugénie Grandet, falls into his “Scenes of provincial life”. Upon learning this, I was instantly reminded of George Eliot’s Middlemarch, which bears the subtitle A Study of Provincial Life. Continue reading
Overall, I did not care for Mrs. Dalloway. First of all, I was surprised by the way it was written, not having read anything about Woolf’s fiction before now. After reading for some time, I noticed that I hadn’t quite taken in what was going on, and one minute we were watching Clarissa prepare for a party, and then without pause, we were watching Septimus and his Italian wife, and there was so much apparent nonsense in between. What was I reading? I had enjoyed A Room of One’s Own (a prose work of Virginia Woolf) but Mrs. Dalloway had none of that work’s clarity or ease. I considered quitting after 30 pages, but a voice encouraged me to continue.
What made the book thoroughly unenjoyable was the meaninglessness of it all and the general unlikableness of any of the characters (with a few exceptions). These are the same reasons why I found The Trial by Kafka or Buddenbrooks by Mann thoroughly unpleasant (again, with a few exceptions). Perhaps one might say that there is much meaning and cleverness in the work if one takes the time to tease it out, but whereas I have a divine guarantee that I will find some fruit in the difficult words of Leviticus or Zechariah, I have no such assurance from Virginia Woolf, and so I do not anticipate returning to the work, at least not until someone has helped me see more clearly what she is trying to do. Continue reading
Only a couple years before Dostoevsky had Prince Myshkin say “Beauty will save the world”, George Eliot taught this same doctrine in her novel Felix Holt: The Radical. As two of the characters are sitting in leisure, one of them looks to other “very much as a reverential Protestant might look at a picture of the Virgin, with a devoutness suggested by the type than by the image.” He goes on to say:
“I wonder whether the subtle measuring of forces will ever come to measuring the force there would be in one beautiful woman whose mind was as noble as her face was beautiful – who made a man’s passion for her rush in one current with all the great aims of his life. […] You might be that woman I was thinking of a little while ago when I looked at your face: the woman whose beauty makes a great task easier to men instead of turning them away from it. I am not likely to see such fine issues; but they may come where a woman’s spirit is finely touched. I should like to be sure they would come to you.” Continue reading
John Henry Newman’s Apologia Pro Vita Sua is an excellent book that I would not recommend to most people. If I had attempted it in high school, I would have failed. Even if I had tried in college, I suspect I would have received very little benefit from it. But having become acquainted with Newman’s writings and his life, I became very interested in the controversy surrounding his entrance into the Catholic Church, and was very eager to follow the path which eventually led him to Rome.
The work I want to compare the Apologia with right away is St. Augustine’s book of Confessions, and the circumstances occasioning these works are quite different. Continue reading
I just finished reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy. The novel becomes dramatic within the first few pages, though it takes 100 or so more before it arrives at the central drama of the book.
He includes so many details of the moral life and illustrates them well: habits, virtues and vices; passions, joy, sorrow, anger; jealousy, bitterness, regret; emotions quick and enduring, reasonable and ungrounded; friendships and family relations; men and women, children and parents; the effects of work and of play; faith and doubt, divine and human faith, superstition, ritual; the importance of place, home; thought, intellectual ambition, intellectual despair; contradiction among persons, contradiction within oneself, contradiction with society; death and birth; money, luxury, necessity; the tension between physical beauty and moral goodness.
But when I finished the book, I was disappointed by how it ended. It seems it could have ended the same way much sooner, and it wouldn’t have made a great difference. (I would contrast this with Middlemarch by George Eliot, where I don’t think the novel could have ended anywhere else than where it actually ended.) I could say more about his approach to religion, which I found quite true to reality at the beginning, but a bit superficial and moralizing by the end. Beyond anything, Tolstoy excels at showing the effects of sin, both internally and externally, and in the effect it has on others. Perhaps I did not like the later parts of the book because he does this too well.
[This book is #9 on my Classics List.]