My friend Jeff Crompton led me to this book. I'd seen episodes from the TV series Rumpole at the Bailey, but had never read any of John Mortimer's RumMy friend Jeff Crompton led me to this book. I'd seen episodes from the TV series Rumpole at the Bailey, but had never read any of John Mortimer's Rumpole books. (I should mention that Jeff also turned me on to P.G. Wodehouse's books, so he's batting 1.ooo.)
As many know, Rumpole is a classic fictional character in all senses of that word, and John Mortimer was a writer who could make readers laugh. In my experience, that's not an easy thing to do.
If you need to smile, chuckle, or laugh - and who doesn't these days? - I recommend a dosage of John Mortimer's Rumpole stories.
The essence of Rumpole (or at least part of it):
"As I rested, I looked for a moment at His Honour, Judge Bullingham, an Old Bailey judge now promoted to trying murders. To call them trials is perhaps to flatter the learned judge, who conducts the proceedings as though the Old Bailey were a somewhat prejudiced and summary offshoot of the Spanish Inquisition. One of my first jobs as a defending counsel in the present case was to taunt and tempt, by many daring passes of the cape and neat side-steps in the sand, the bellowing and red-eyed bull to come out as such a tireless fighter on behalf of the prosecution that the jury began to see him as I did. They might perhaps, acquit my client because an ill-tempered judge was making it so desperately clear that he wanted her convicted."
And a classic exchange between Rumpole and his wife Hilda (She Who Must Be Obeyed):
"I didn't like the way he kept telling the jury my client was guilty." "Well, isn't he guilty Rumpole?" In all innocence, Hilda had asked the awkward question. "Well. Quite possibly. But that's for the jury of twelve honest citizens to decide, not Mr. Justice Gravestone." "Gravestone? Is that his name?" No. His name's Graves. I call him Gravestone." "You would, wouldn't you, Rumpole?" "He speaks like a voice from the tomb. It's my personal belief that he urinates iced water." "Really, Rumpole. Do try not to be vulgar."
The last exchange reminds me of dialogues that my wife and I have had when I've made what she considers to be an offensive or distasteful comment about someone (usually a politician). Needless to say, I play the part of Rumpole....more
As is true of all of the Maigret novels that I've read - perhaps more particularly the earlier ones - this isn't about the solution of a crime, althouAs is true of all of the Maigret novels that I've read - perhaps more particularly the earlier ones - this isn't about the solution of a crime, although there is a solution. It's about atmosphere and psychology, with the spectre and, at the same time, reality of a yellow dog pervading everything. If someone is new to Simenon's Maigret novels, this might be as good a place to start as any.
I read an amusing anecdote recently that I thought I'd share here:
A recent letter in the London Review of Books tells a story of Alfred Hitchcock telephoning Simenon at his home in Switzerland, only to be told by his secretary that the writer couldn't be disturbed because he had just begun a new novel. Hitchcock, aware of Simenon's prodigiousness, replied: "That's all right, I'll wait."...more
While reading An Unnecessary Woman I thought many times of Donne's Meditation 17 with its well known passage: No man is an island, entire of itself; eWhile reading An Unnecessary Woman I thought many times of Donne's Meditation 17 with its well known passage: No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.
Aaliya Saleh, a 72 year old autodidact living alone - very alone, at this point in her life - in Beirut, has fashioned a life for herself surrounded by the literature and music she loves. Her life begins to change when a neighbor protects her. This is followed by Aaliya performing an act of great kindness. Performing this kindness is perhaps what allows her to open up and to accept an act of kindness which may change her life.
The novel contains numerous discussions of and opinions on authors and literature. I wondered whether those opinions were those of the author, Rabih Alameddine, or were those he created for his character, Aaliya Saleh. I hope that the latter is true, though perhaps it doesn't matter much.
"... if literature is my sandbox, then the real world is my hourglass - the hourglass that drains grain by grain. Literature gives me life, and life kills me. Well, life kills everyone."
"Among the many definitions of progress, 'enemy of trees' and 'killer of birds' seem to me the most apt."
"Like most Lebanese, Joumana speaks rapidly, one sentence dovetailing into another, producing guttural words and phrases as if gargling with mouthwash. I prefer slow conversations where words are counted like pearls, conversations with many pauses, pauses replacing words. I prefer my visitors elsewhere."
"I didn't dream of becoming a star, but I thought I might have a small nonspeaking role in a grand epic, an epic with a touch of artistic credentials. I didn't dream of becoming a giant - I wan't that delusional or arrogant - but I wanted to be more than a speck, maybe a midget. I could have been a midget."
"I used to dream that one day I'd have friends over for dinner and we'd spend the entire evening in sparkling conversation about literature and art. Laughing and cavorting and making merry. Wildean wit and sassy, delightful repartee parried back and forth across the room. My salon would be the envy of the world, if only the world knew about it."
The last pages of this novel may lift your heart.
A side note - I read a library copy of this book. While reading it, I found various passages that had been lightly checked off by a previous reader. None of those passages corresponded with the passages that I made note of on a piece of paper. That's one of the great things about reading - people find their own paths and mark them accordingly....more
Ross Macdonald opened this novel with the following lines:
"He was the ghastliest hitchhiker who ever thumbed me. He rose on his knees in the ditch. HiRoss Macdonald opened this novel with the following lines:
"He was the ghastliest hitchhiker who ever thumbed me. He rose on his knees in the ditch. His eyes were black holes in his yellow face, his mouth a bright smear of red like a clown's painted grin."
Some people might be put off by those lines. When I read them, I was hooked into reading Find a Victim.
"I thought of the palm rat running in his shadow on the sidewalk. He lived by his wits in darkness, gnawed human leavings, listened behind walls for the sounds of danger. I liked the palm rat better when I thought of him, and myself less."
"There were no chairs in the room. I sat on the bed. Love or something like it had broken its back."
"I found a doctor and had eight stitches put in my face. The doctor seemed to take it as a matter of course and asked no questions. When the job was finished, though, he asked me for twenty five dollars in cash. He was that kind of a doctor, and I was that kind of a patient."
There are those who say that Ross Macdonald wasn't worthy to inherit the mantle of Raymond Chandler. I'm not one of those....more
When I started reading this, I had the impression that it would be mere cleverness. I continued reading, and it took off into a mix of dialogues and mWhen I started reading this, I had the impression that it would be mere cleverness. I continued reading, and it took off into a mix of dialogues and monologues on art and politics; comedy; memories; and vaudeville, all wrapped up in a take off on The Importance of Being Earnest. It was a hoot to read and I would love to see it performed....more
Penelope Fitzgerald created quite a world within 160 pages: a possible couple - Fred, a naïf who's in the process of discovering himself, and Daisy, aPenelope Fitzgerald created quite a world within 160 pages: a possible couple - Fred, a naïf who's in the process of discovering himself, and Daisy, a self assured young woman, who on the one hand, is street smart, and on the other hand, is vulnerable to anyone who seems to need help; a scoundrel, who is determined that if he can't have Daisy, no one else can either; a group of scientists who are almost the scientific equivalent of Keystone Cops in early films; an academic who narrates a wildly entertaining ghost/horror story, which purports to be the solution to a crime; male academics who, when a woman inadvertently enters their enclave, can only cry out and wail helplessly; and an Edwardian British society that is showing cracks and is about to split open.
After all of this, The Gate of Angels is essentially a love story. I probably should say that it's a sort of love story with an open ending that readers can take wherever they want it to go. All I'll say is that I wanted the ending to be a beginning.
"The bushes, too, were motionless, but from the crowded stalks and the dense hedges there came a perpetual furtive humming, whining and rustling which suggested an alarming amount of activity out of sight. Twigs snapped and dropped from above, sticky threads drifted across from nowhere, there seemed to be something like an assassination, on a small scale, taking place in the tranquil heart of summer." This is a wonderful bit of writing on its own. Within the context of the novel, it's a foreshadowing of personal and societal upheavals.
"Fred asked Daisy whether in spite of their short acquaintance he might call her Daisy and whether she would like to come out for a walk, a walk in the country. She said it would be the very thing. What about (Fred asked) taking the train to Whittlesford and walking from there to the mill at Great Chishill, only they wouldn't, probably, get so far. Daisy said she was game." (Reviewer's note - Daisy sounds like a prize.)
"Fred sighed. Was it one of the differences between men and women, that women like to live on their imagination? It's all they can afford, most of them, said Daisy."
"'How does it lie, Daisy?' 'Well, this is the second time we've ever met. We don't hardly know each other and we aren't anything to each other.' Fred was appalled. 'Don't you know what you are to me?' he asked. Daisy considered. 'I suppose I do know, Fred. To tell you the truth, a child of six would notice it.'"
"Taking tea at the hostel after Fred had gone back to his lab and Daisy to her duties, Mrs. Fairly returned to what Julia had said, 'or rather to the way you put it, Julia. A vacancy! Surely Fred can't even for a moment be thinking of leaving St Angelicus. And as to the girl herself -' 'Well, what about the girl herself?' Hester asked. 'You know I'm no respector of persons, but can you imagine her in the parish?' 'I don't have to imagine her in the parish,' said Hester. 'I can imagine her selling Votes for Women.'"
I bow to the wizardry of Penelope Fitzgerald. She managed to create a world in the space of what is essentially a novella. Such imagination! Perhaps, as Daisy said, imagination is what she could afford....more
First things first - Credit where credit is due. A couple of months ago, I wrote a review of a book that disappointed me and mentioned that I had beenFirst things first - Credit where credit is due. A couple of months ago, I wrote a review of a book that disappointed me and mentioned that I had been looking for a something that was not so serious/intense and might loosen me up a little. A GR friend, Cheryl https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/2..., was kind enough to offer a suggestion that I might try one of Alan Bennett's books. I'd had Keeping On Keeping On on my Want to Read shelf for some time and decided to give it a go. Cheryl's suggestion was on the money and was just what I needed.
Keeping On Keeping On is a collection of Diaries (half of the 700 pages), essays, a film diary of The History Boys , two plays, and introductions to those two plays and four others which are not included in this book. All of these parts of the book (excepting the plays) are of a piece, in that they tend to be anecdotal. Reading Keeping On Keeping On is like visiting an intelligent and entertaining old friend. Alan Bennett has lived a long (81 years at the end of this book) and interesting life, and he shares a part of it in this book.
Mr. Bennett has his pet peeves - though I should probably call them more than "peeves". Two that are high on his list are politicians - I can't disagree with him there - and architects - I don't spend that much time thinking about architects, but there are enough ugly buildings around that I have to agree with him there too. And, as he notes, those two are often in league with each other. Mr. Bennett writes passionately about the loss of public libraries in England and the destruction of the English education system - two subjects that I feel are essential for the existence of a free and healthy society.
Some selections from the Diaries:
1 December 2005: In America there is now no taking evolution for granted. What was (and still is here) a universal rational assumption, in the US has become a position. 'Are you an evolutionist?' Jonathan M. (Jonathan Miller, one of Mr. Bennett's associates in Beyond the Fringe) recounts an argument he has had with a woman in the Natural History Museum who asked him just this question. Later, talking to his students, he says he wishes he had answered the question 'Are you an evolutionist?' with 'Only in the sense that I'm a gravitationalist.'
9 July 2007: Going round some primary school paintings:
Me: There's a good name. James Softely Haynes. Maya (my guide, aged nine): Excuse me. Are we looking at Art or are we looking at Names?
8 April 2009: Fairly obvious that the newspaper seller who died in the G20 demonstrations was pushed over by a policeman. Equally obvious that even if the calls for a public inquiry are conceded no policeman will be charged or even suspended. According to the Economist, in the last ten years there have been more than 400 deaths in custody, with no convictions for murder or manslaughter, the police always vindicated. This isn't simply against the laws of England, it's against a more fundamental law - the law of averages.
1 August 2011: R. goes home to Wales for a family gathering. It's only a small house and again he shares a room with his Aunty Stella who, true to her promise made earlier in the year, has learned some new poems. So in the darkness of a Penarth bedroom this ninety-year-old lady recites Houseman's 'Loveliest of trees, the cherry now' and Browning's 'Home-Thoughts, from Abroad'. And not a fluff in either.
(An aside from the reviewer - I read this passage and was ashamed of my own ignorance. I'm unable to recite even one poem. I've made it a mission to be able to recite Shakespeare's "Sonnet 18", which Aunty Stella was reported to have recited in an earlier passage of the Diaries, plus at least two other poems by the end of the year.)
From "The National Theatre at Fifty": Nobody would call the National Theatre a homely place but it has been my artistic home for twenty-five years and for that I count myself very lucky. ... It has enabled me to go on working much longer than I could have imagined through turning up a play every three or four years. I am happy not to have acquired any dignity in the process. When I came in for the first rehearsal of People someone at the stage door said, 'Oh hello. Still hanging on then?'
From the play The Hand of God: Int. Garrard's (an auction house) Evaluation Department
Here serious clients are waiting to have estimates put on their possessions. Some have pictures, others porcelain wrapped in newspaper. The atmosphere is not unlike that of a doctor's waiting room, though here there tends to be just one disease, avarice.
Int. Garrard's Valuation Department
Dunlop: God, he looks like a ruffian. Marryatt-Smith: He is. But we mustn't look for virtue among collectors of art. As soon look for intellect among the lovers of opera.
(My deepest apologies to an opera loving and intelligent GR friend - you'll know who you are if you read this - for including these lines. I couldn't resist.)
When Cheryl recommended that I read some Alan Bennett, she wrote: "Not serious, often funny, and warm with the love of humanity, without the sentimentality." She got it right. Thanks for getting me started. I'm off to Untold Stories, Writing Home, and a collection of plays....more
So Much Blue is comprised of three scenarios - a trip to the chaos of El Salvador in 1979, searching for a good friend's brother; Paris some 25 yearsSo Much Blue is comprised of three scenarios - a trip to the chaos of El Salvador in 1979, searching for a good friend's brother; Paris some 25 years later, where the narrator is having an affair with a woman 25 years younger than he; and scenes which occur within the narrator's family in New England. Each of these scenarios is serious and intense in its own way, each contains secrets, and the fact that Mr. Everett is able to create those intensities and sustain them is proof once again that he is a masterful writer.
While reading, I had the thought that if So Much Blue were a film, a very different soundtrack would be needed for each segment. And what a amazing set of soundtracks they could be.
"My father contended that common sense has nothing to do with good sense. just as common fashion has nothing to do with taste. One might have the common sense necessary to see a painting as a waste or abuse of pigments, linseed oil, and linen, but not have the good sense to buy it. It was clear to me as I packed a bag that I was practicing neither."
If I ever think that I have any idea of how someone else should live their life, I hope that I think of Emma and that I give my inflated ego a good kiIf I ever think that I have any idea of how someone else should live their life, I hope that I think of Emma and that I give my inflated ego a good kick in the ass.
However, a great book is more than one that merely teaches a lesson, and Emma is a pure delight to read. Jane Austen has drawn the characters in a vivid and nuanced style, whether they are characters which she obviously liked (most of them, though none pass through without some criticism) or ones she had little use for (Mr. and Mrs Elton and Frank Churchill). My favorite character was Miss Bates, though only on the page. If I met someone like her, I would have to find a way to escape her garrulousness (chattiness would probably be a more apt and kinder word to use).
p. 16 - "Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School ... a real, honest, old-fashioned Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments were sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might be sent to be out of the way and scramble themselves into a little education, without any danger of coming back prodigies."
p. 34 - "She had always wanted to do everything, and had made more progress both in drawing and music than many might have done with so little labor as she would ever submit to."
p. 35 - "Here is my sketch of the fourth, who was a baby. I took him as he was sleeping on the sofa, and it is as strong a likeness of his cockade as you would wish to see. ... That's very like. I am rather proud of little George. The corner of the sofa is very good."
p. 55 - "Mr. Knightley might quarrel with her, but Emma could not quarrel with herself."
p. 66 - "That is the case for us all, papa. One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other." Amen, Jane Austen....more