When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain was just as enchanting as its predecessor. Maybe even more so, as the incredibly subtle and nuanced – if not to When the Tiger Came Down the Mountain was just as enchanting as its predecessor. Maybe even more so, as the incredibly subtle and nuanced – if not to say twisted – way it depicts love and sexuality makes for an even more enticing read.
The story is full of danger, betrayal, and reluctance to help a fellow person. Musings on different versions of the same tale by very different interpreters makes their fate even less certain. Yet, there is something about Nghi Vo's that makes you feel all warm and secure. There is emotional depth and ambiguity to every encounter and I'm sure the novel would fully unfold its depth only on when you really slow down and relish the experience on multiple rereads.
When in popular science fiction adventurer and pioneers travel to other planets it's to explore the unknown, it may lead to first contact, or even offWhen in popular science fiction adventurer and pioneers travel to other planets it's to explore the unknown, it may lead to first contact, or even offer an opportunity for human progress. If you've read any Gene Wolfe you will know that with him nothing is that simple. His The Fifth Head of Cerberus problematizes spacefaring from a postcolonial perspective. And I mean this in the genuine sense of the literary tradition.
The book consists of three novellas. If I begin with the third, V.R.T., maybe I can best explain how planetary occupation can become an issue. The titular initials refer to a boy whose at least on his mother's side descendant to the Aborigines that inhabited the planet before the arrival of the French settlers from Earth. Since then they fully made the planet their own. Whoever lived there before seems now extinct, their sacred sites destroyed or exploited for resources, their stories forgotten. What remains are legends and clichés.
Uprooted from his heritage the boy grows up in the limbo that the settlers wouldn't even recognize. In his preconscious identity crises he sees an opportunity to better understand his own history and even become the cultural bridge between the Free People and the colonizers. Through his business-minded father he makes acquaintance with an anthropologist from Earth whom he believes – or is told by the pompous specimen himself – is influential enough to educate and speak for a people that can no longer speak for itself. Eventually, V.R.T. assumes the role of John V. Marsch.
In this function he becomes the originator of the second novella, "A Story" by John V. Marsch. The mythical tale depicts the story of the boy's people in the events that lead to the Frenchmen's arrival. Our protagonist is John Sandwalker, member of the hill-people and twin brother of John Eastwind who is kidnapped at birth by the marshmen.
In this way we realize that the Aborigines – or Annes, so-called after their planet Sainte Anne – are not the uniform group that they are in the minds of the future colonizers. In fact, there is a third people, the enigmatic Shadow children whose psychic abilities and origins are far from the only mystery in this initially almost impenetrable legend.
That's quite tangible, right? This is the point where I have to admit that what I presented was my tacked down account of the overall narrative. The beauty of Wolfe's writing lies in the fact that very little is for certain. Much of it the astute (or at least patient) reader has to gather from passing remarks. More often than not we have to build our mental model on the most speculative foundations. We do learn thinks more directly or explicitly, only that then there is no independent evidence to consolidate the assumptions.
For me it's an endlessly fascinating experience. In the suggested realm of possibility the reader is encouraged to rearrange the "facts" and to shift her understanding of what is of core importance. Culture and identity, the tragic experience of individuals, power relations and the political climate in a postcolonial society, or even the destructive consequences of science and exploitation, these things all figure prominently in your very own attempts to make sense of it all.
Science, now this is something I haven't even talked about yet. It's the métier of the first novella, the eponymous The Fifth Head of Cerberus. Again the story is driven by the crisis or even conflict of identity. At that point we don't really know about history or the Aborigines. Instead, it focuses on the narrator's struggle to come to terms with who he is.
Somewhat early on we learn that his father calls him "Five", now if that isn't a predictor for identity in crisis, what is. His father's relationship to him is even more sinister. This becomes clear when we discover that he subjects his two sons (the other being "David") to most horrifying experiments. As you will have realized at this point, Sainte Croix (the other of the two twin planets) is a very bleak and dark place. And that is even before we gain insight into the Kafkaesque bureaucracy depicted in the third novella. It's a very engaging mystery story fully of shock-factor reveals about the nature of Five's family. With potential consequences for the state of their society.
I thought about how I would talk about the endless list of questions that the stories never conclusively answer or even explicitly address. After reading the book you passionately want to talk about these things. Yet this clearly isn't the place. Instead I should be talking of how faithfully the overall experience mirrors the academic engagement with cultures inaccessible to readers of the Global North.
If you've read works of cultural anthropology and ethnography you will recognize the desperate attempt to solidify something essentially in flux. After colonialism it has become even harder to discern truth from fiction and to discover past reality in the legends of the present. We all know the local myths, the touristy fabrications that make us roll our eyes. Yet for anthropologists it might be what the have to go on.
It's mesmerizing how Wolfe was able to capture the unique form of uncertainty in the medium of science fiction.
The Secret Lives of Church Ladies is a collection of nine short stories. They are all about Black women and result from conflicts between sexuality anThe Secret Lives of Church Ladies is a collection of nine short stories. They are all about Black women and result from conflicts between sexuality and being a member of church.
I have to admit, it wasn't quite what I thought it would be. The prose is very stripped down. I think Deesha Philyaw was going for the neutral viewpoint that frees the reader from a predefined judgment that comes with a more personal or reflective narrative. Instead, the depiction of events is very direct and on-point. Still, to my mind the writing style felt somewhat cold.
Without the more experiential storytelling, I think much depends on whether you can personally identify with the characters. I would be lying if I said I could (which probably shouldn't come as a big surprise). Or to put it differently: although the stories are sad or melancholic, they didn't make me feel sad or otherwise moved on any deeper level.
This is not to say that they weren't full of memorable moments. Philyaw demonstrates a great sense for the intricacies of interpersonal relationships. For instance, the first story tells us of two bachelor women around 40 who certainly have feelings for each other. Even when their relationship becomes sexual, one of them still expresses regret that they never found the right man. She doesn't even consider being with the woman she... well, it's not an easy matter to decide whether they love each other, but the ambiguity only adds to the quality of the story.
The stories hit you when you imagine the people to be real. It's not too difficult, since there really isn't anything too much out of the ordinary. Well, it's the not-quite-ordinary, but you get what I mean. No big disasters or life-changing decisions. Only the hardships of the everyday.
Above I've talked about the sober prose. I should clarify that this doesn't mean that it's simplistic. In fact, the different stories are told in very different modes of narration. We have a letter (to a lost sister), a guide (or a second-person account on how to make love to a physicist), instructions (for how to handle the affair). We have stories that talk of a single episode, and others that span many years. We have diary entries read by, and commented on, by another person with a very different viewpoint (young vs. old). It renders the stories playful even within a rather narrow framework.
The Secret Lives of Church Ladies a good book with all the potential to be a very special book. Maybe for me it couldn't have been.
In traditional political theory, freedom is thought of as being determined by what people are allowed or capable to do or say. Over centuries these idIn traditional political theory, freedom is thought of as being determined by what people are allowed or capable to do or say. Over centuries these ideas have been codified in legal principles that now articulate the core values of liberal democracies. Some of its achievements are due to the so-called sexual revolution of the 1960s and 1970s. However, there have been marginal (or marginalized) figures that fought against more fundamental forms of oppression based on the kind of body you inhabited.
In Everybody Olivia Laing traces the efforts of those individuals that shared the dream of a free body, or of all bodies being equally free. Her starting point is the idea that all important experiences take deep roots in what I guess you would call the subconscious. Many chapters take up and discuss biographical nodes in the life of Wilhelm Reich, a psychoanalyst and protégé of Sigmund Freud that firmly believed that bodily liberation would lead to a better world. In his early works bodily liberation was sexual in nature.
Frankly, it's easy to make fun of Reich. He's perhaps most famous for his orgone energy accumulator, a medical device designed to bring healing by channeling life forces or energy. It's fascinating, though, to reproduce the factors that led him so fully astray. Unlike most of his peers, he worked with the least advantaged members of society and cared deeply for how to better their plight. He lived in Nazi Germany and witnessed the effects of its despicable repression.
His life was fully thrown out of joint when he was rejected by an ailing Freud for differences over the role that should be assigned to social matters in psychoanalysis. He was cast out of the society of psychoanalysts (or whatever it is called) and from then on pursuit his research that culminated in his pseudoscientific writing and practice. Later in his life he was violent and believed he was fighting against alien invaders.
His story is well integrated in the overall ark. Still, given the book's subject matter, I wasn't entirely sure what justified the focus on Reich. If you go into it with some common preconception you might for instance think of prisons as the most obvious locus of bodily restriction. Laing indeed discusses the subject, but only in one of the last chapters. She is more concerned with how historical circumstances put more metaphorical bars around individuals, which also becomes the focal point of the prison chapter.
So far I have only talked about political freedom and liberation. Naturally, ailment too can be conceptualized as an oppression of the body. It's especially in illness that we realize how completely and utterly at our body's mercy we actually are. What I thought was very striking, though, was how relentlessly the individual might fight to liberate itself from this oppression. The depiction of the kind of procedures Susan Sontag allowed to be performed on her body to free herself from breast cancer – I have to say, it was not easy to read.
Quite befitting the subject matter, reading Everybody is a very visceral experience. Approaching the book with a background in political philosophy, whose principled models usually abstract away from the meatier or harsher realities, I was (should I say) shocked by how graphic it was. For instance, at the time when Reich sought approval of Freud, his mentor suffered from buccal cancer for many years. The book doesn't shy away to talk about what this implies. Similarly in cases of violence and tragedy.
Bodily oppression is not of one kind. A main concern of Laing's is how societal prejudice and law put up a framework that not all bodies fit in. In some instances she talks about her own experiences as someone who grew up with Lesbian parents, as someone who identifies as non-binary in gender, and as someone who dropped out of university to fight in social movements. The book is personal, but it's primarily about her, nor is it written from her point of view. Except of course of the usual framing that authors provide.
Experiences can be shared to some extent, but are essentially unique. In Laing's portrayals of other individuals – political thinkers, activists, artists, musicians – there is nothing like the unified stance to take or the unambiguous clarity of how to conceptualize matters. The overall narrative is refreshingly unpreachy and the cases speak for themselves.
Maybe this is the best kind of "theory", the one that makes you think differently by turning your gaze to matters you usually don't think about at all.
Surfacing starts out as mystery detective novel. A woman returns to her hometown after she received a message that her father disappeared. They had beSurfacing starts out as mystery detective novel. A woman returns to her hometown after she received a message that her father disappeared. They had been alienated for many years, ever since she got a divorce. The town is somewhat secluded and his home can only be reached by boat. He couldn't have left the island, yet there is no obvious trace to pursue.
The woman narrates her own story. For her the return is coupled with deep-rooted emotions. When certain events and objects trigger memories, inner and outer sensations enter her account. There is no real danger, yet her prose is very brutal and intense, and the more so the more she readopts to the environment. People grow their own food, live without electricity, strongly endorse separatist politics. When they eat fish or meat, they kill the animals themselves.
It feels as if almost every moment is important in her change of character ever since she came back there. The scene when she accompanies a friend on a fishing trip is a case in point. He has no experience, for him it's more like a game, something you do when being on such kind of vacation. The narrator, on the other hand, she is very upfront about how she kills a frog as bait or how the stumps on a fish to kill it. It's relentless, somehow as if heady ideals don't even figure in her actions.
She travels with others, but she talks about them almost as disinterested spectator. Joe, a man you might even call her lover, is a very good example. She lives and sleeps with him, to some extent the perhaps confides in him, yet there has never been any real connection. In an important moment he asks her to marry her and although it's clear that she wouldn't, it's fascinating to read about her inner struggle.
The novel is often praised for its feminist qualities. It's evident how her sentiments and actions contrast with ideas usually associated with femininity. The narrator clearly suffers from societal expectations and the lack of perspective and among the strongest aspects of the novel is how themes of oppression are reflected in the way that people think and act. Marriage, masculinity, make-up, the pill, inequality, adultery, in the harsh environment these ideas take on a unique form that shapes the narrator's perception.
The experiential language is incredibly cold and vivid. She describes unpleasant smells and uses unsettling metaphors like amputation. There are phrases like "death is logical, there is always a motive". There are many references to WWII and the reflects about whether violence is innate and part of the human condition. Before she didn't feel anything; here, in the wilderness, she might reconnect with this evolutionary heritage.
The narrator often thinks about how her father might have gone mad. In the end, isolation and overwhelming emotions lead her down the same path. At this point the prose seriously got under my skin and becomes this haunting account of back-to-nature. These days you might get used again to the dankish autumn weather that makes you long for a warm tea at home. Imagine that instead you would spend the night in a forest outside town – this is essentially what reading Surfacing feels like.
**spoiler alert** "Was it really better for human beings to discover more of their past ... and then more and more? Or was it simply better to know as**spoiler alert** "Was it really better for human beings to discover more of their past ... and then more and more? Or was it simply better to know as little of the past as possible and even to forget what small amount was remembered?"
The Bastard of Istanbul Is less about the current events in the lives of our main protagonists and more about how people and relationships might be defined by what happened in the(ir) past. The frame of reference is the Turkish-Armenian conflict that escalate when in 1915 600,000–1.5 million Armenians were killed.
I know very little about this dark chapter at the very end of the Osman Empire. Or generally about Türkis history for that matter. If it's the same for you, it shouldn't discourage you to read the novel. In fact, knowledge of the past is a conceptual issue the story explicitly reflects upon. I think in Germany too we are familiar with the idea of collective responsibility, and collective memory is closely related as prerequisite to fully comprehend and meet the claims that others might rightfully make.
Yet, it's evident from our personal lives that shameful memories can be hurtful. Parts of the story are construed as thought-experiment that pose the question whether it would be better to forget – or never know – than it would be to face what happened and to come to terms with that. The big twist of the novel very graphically illustrates how this might manifest itself on an individual level. Obviously, spoilers ahead.
The plot opens with a young woman, Zeliha Kazancı, who is about to get an abortion. For one reason or another (mostly coincidental), the doctor doesn't go through with the procedure and afterwards she quickly decides to have the baby. When she is grown-up her daughter, Asya, often wonders about who her father is and she experiences what we might call a perceived lack of history or past. It's only in the last chapters that we learn that Zeliha was raped by her brother Mustafa. Would Asya rather forget that she is the product of rape and close incest?
It's a horrible act and one that perhaps might never be redeemed. Mustafa left for the United States and the connection to his family in Istanbul became more and more sporadic. In this way he was able to forget (or suppress) the memories of what he did and he could become someone he was not. However, it's clear that he is responsibility for what he did. Similarly, a people might still be responsible for its past even when its individuals forgot (or never learned) what actually happened.
There is another aspect about the rape that might be grounded in the past. It makes us wonder how a man might be capable to do something this terrible. In order to understand the following chapter frames the event in socio-cultural terms. Their father, Levent, was a very authoritarian man that required order and discipline from his children. After his death, Mustafa might have felt as only male in the family he needed to take over his father's role. Yet, Zeliha was mocking his claim to authority as well as his sexuality that he consciously suppressed as impure or malicious. Of course, these factors don't excuse him, but they make us better understand the act.
There is another central plot thread I haven't talked about, yet. The Kazancıs in Istanbul are only one of the two families portrayed in the book. The Tchakhmakhchians are an Armenian family located in San Fransisco. They are (only) loosely connected through Mustafa Kazancı's wife, Rose, who had a child with her ex-husband Bissen. Here too we have a time leap and their daughter, Armanoush (whom Rose calls Amy after their divorce), is nineteen when she decides to explore her Armenian roots by visiting her stepfather's relatives in Istanbul.
What she finds is that the Turks are very similar to the Armenians of her own family. Sure, they have different names, speak a different language, and their are Muslims (while the Armenians are Christians). But they welcome her with open arms, eat very similar food, and her age-peer Asya has similar interests as she does. It feels natural to the reader how the two quickly become friends, even though Asya was worried that the American would come to study them as if exploring the oppressed condition of women in Turkey. In fact, even the more religious members of the family pride themselves with living in a modern and liberal state (which is not to say that the generations don't clash on certain issues). What they don't acknowledge, though, is the genocide that is the focus of Amy's perception of the past. Apparently, for them it doesn't even matter much.
There are some points throughout where the novel discusses the normative issue of whether the Turks should remember or whether it was the moral obligation of the individuals to seek out information on what actually happened. It's not presented as a clear-cut issue. For instance, it's openly acknowledged that many Armenians too lack knowledge of the details. This is only natural, since only very few people are genuine historians. Of course, the story cannot give us any easy answer on how to deal with the issue. Yet, the hopeful message seems to be that close contact, openness and communication are the only way to build trust.
There is another big reveal at the end of the story. Above I've said that the two families are only very loosely related. As it turns out, this is not true at all. It's much more accurate to say that they are the same family with shared Armenian roots. Oblivion and deceive were necessary for survival. The hidden family ties structure insights into the past, especially the terrible events of World War I. I have to admit, I had to read these parts two times to figure out how exactly the two families are related. You might argue that the narrative is a bit convoluted here, but I think the exact details don't really matter much.
The story features a cast of highly enjoyable characters. Of course, overall the story is very dark and reflective, but it's full of amusing dialogs. There are other qualities, too. For instance, I didn't even talk of the docile auntie Banu, the mystic of the family. With her Shafak introduces a minor element of magic into the story, since her djinn allows her to experience the events of the past and learn things that would otherwise be inaccessible.
The Bastard of Istanbul is not a historical novel. It doesn't intent to teach the reader facts about the past (if there was something that simple). Instead, it offers ideas on how to frame conflicts without pretending to give ready-made answers. Personally, I feel it very well succeeded in this goal.
**spoiler alert** I have long been a great admirer of the cozy side of British crime and horror fiction. It has been my intention to explore the roman**spoiler alert** I have long been a great admirer of the cozy side of British crime and horror fiction. It has been my intention to explore the romantic origins in the classics that inform the warm and welcoming aspects cherished by modern readers of otherwise dark genre fiction.
Yet, the works of writers like Jane Austen or the Brontë sisters have confirmed their standing in the literary canon by their thematically immensely rich narratives often described in the most detailed prose. This means that it can be overwhelmingly difficult to ease your way into their complex works. That is, until the magic sets in.
Pride and Prejudice circumnavigates all the common tropes (nowadays) associated with romance in literature and on screen. The crucial events are very well plotted out over the course of many months and, at least to me, it was often virtually impossible to tell where things would be going next. It's full of big reveals that struck you with all the effectiveness of a well-placed climax, yet the length of the novel makes it evident that many more surprises are awaiting the already charmed reader.
We are today accustomed to the idea that book titles are of only minor significance and are in fact often the result of last minute suggestions on the part of publishers or editors. So it only gradually dawned on me that, at least in some sense, Pride and Prejudice are the actual subjects of the novel. Don't get me wrong, unlike more pretentious classics this is not about the meaning of abstract ideas. The two personality flaws figure prominently in the plot as the motives for actions and attitudes of the widest consequence.
Naturally, they are the driving forces of characters, and I was delighted to find what is likely the most memorable and lively set of characters I ever came across. It hardly needs mention that the book gained the most passionate following and I'm sure this fact is due to its highly recognizable cast.
It usually takes Austen only a single paragraph to establish a very firm acquaintance with the protagonists variously situated in England of the Regency era. Especially the less central characters are introduced into the story by their most distinguishing features. It's difficult to imagine how you would ever forget the likes of Mrs. Bennet, the simple-minded mother dedicated to see her daughters married; Mr. Collins, the silly yet somewhat likable fool oblivious to the impressions he gives; Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the imposing and quite intimidating patroness; or Mrs. Gardiner, the highly observing well-meaning favorite of her nieces who is secretly pulling the strings in the quests for their happiness. It was difficult to resist the urge to quote the wonderful descriptions that the author is giving of her creations.
Yet, Pride and Prejudice are to wield their fateful influence because of the elusive nature of what makes us who we are. What is worse, due to some curious fact of human psychology we are prone to make up our minds about others in the instant of our first impression and with too little to go on to warrant any judgement at all. We expect to know the other based on subconscious cues like clothing, exterior demeanor, or the manner of speaking. In one word, the importance of prejudice in human affairs cannot be overstated.
Mr. Darcy is the subject of many such unfounded opinions. To him Elizabeth quickly comes to ascribe an overarching sense of pride. At an earlier occasion she even explains her understanding of this concept: "By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that (pride) is very common indeed; that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves ; vanity to what we would have others think of us."
It's only much later that she recognizes her own vice of prejudice and injustice. But it's not only the lack of evidence available to her from her own observation. More important still is the influence of public opinion upon our own ideas, and we are all too familiar with the dynamics by which public opinion manifests itself. Reason and argument are often peculiarly absent in these fast-paced processes. Many events hint at the more communal surroundings of the aristocracy of early nineteenth century Britain that are operating in the background.
Of course, we also like to define others by simple catchwords that inform our behavior and reactions to them. It's a strength of the story – one that so evidently distinguishes it from modern rom-coms or works of romance – is that it fully embraces the fact that real characters cannot so be reduced. In her relationship with others Elizabeth perpetually reevaluates her acquaintances in the light of new information. This willingness makes her a more likable protagonist than perhaps she would otherwise have been.
This is not the only way in which ambiguity figures in our most reflective moments. Identities refuse to be conclusively determined as they are the result of ongoing interpersonal negotiations. Similarly, emotions can be hard to define. Interestingly, while everyone has privileged first-hand experience of her or his own emotional states, it's often the most difficult to come to terms with what they actually mean. Another reason why it's so easy to emphasize with Elizabeth is because of how the narrator relates to us her inner struggles.
I was genuinely moved especially in those moments when Elizabeth has to accept her own misperceptions. This was the case not necessarily because of the laudable attitude represented by the willingness to admit one's faults. Her discoveries gradually unveil the true person hitherto concealed by obstinate prejudice. Romance is about love and by the end Elizabeth will have realized she fell in love with Mr. Darcy. The events are so brilliantly construed that, by that time, the reader too will share in her love for him.
In one of my favorite chapters, Elizabeth and her aunt and uncle are the guests at Mr. Darcy's most impressive estate. The landlord is absence, though, so his housekeeper is free to express her every admiration for her master. She, who has known him ever since he was a little boy, describes him in so fond words that something in you changes. Elizabeth sees him through her eyes and it becomes inevitable for her to draw a much more favorable picture of him.
In fact, it was a literal picture of his that marks the occasion when Elizabeth falls in love with him: "There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth's mind, a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs. Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people's happiness were in his guardianship! How much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow! How much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character; and as she stood before the canvas, on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before: she remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression."
The plot provides suspense in many different guises. In the beginning, we share the thrill of whether the lovely and well-meaning Jane, Elizabeth's elder sister, would gather the heart of the nobleman who moved into an impressive mansion in the Bennet's neighborhood. There are social gatherings and balls and our heart already prepares for their marriage – when this Mr. Bingley (as he is called) suddenly moves to London never to return. It's easy to find fault in his jealous sisters who presumably wanted for their brother (and themselves) a richer estate than Jane's family would have been able to afford. We genuinely hate them with a passion.
We later find out that it was Mr. Darcy who was behind the change of mind. However, at that point he already long fallen from grace. There is one occasion in particular that gives Elizabeth cause to suspect Mr. Darcy. She makes the acquaintance with an officer called Mr. Wickham who tells her of how Darcy insidiously deprived him of the inheritance that would have allowed him to follow his calling and join the clergy. In regard to his advice for Mr. Bingley, though, what pains Elizabeth the most is that she herself sees the shameful faults of her family that (among other things) gave Darcy reason for his council.
Pride and Prejudice are not the only vices that play a crucial role in the turn of events. I think it's a fair observation that many adolescents are guilty of self-importance and the desire to be admired. Elizabeth's two younger sisters, Lydia and Kitty, represent very familiar character types. In a moment that shows Elizabeth uncharacteristically affectionate she cries out to her father how Lydia would make a laughingstock of herself and her family if she was given permission to accept the invitation to some Colonel's ball. She would be flirting with everyone and give herself to the very first officer that would ask for her hand. Just when we came to despise the man that Mr. Wickham turned out to be, he reemerges as the villain of a new subplot that has Lydia running away with him and disappearing in London.
I absolutely loved the worrying thrills that accompanied these new developments. Even the usually very calm Mr. Bennet is agitated. Is Wickham really planning to marry her, and if not, what perfidious agenda might he be following? Most importantly, where are they? The family is looking at Mrs. Bennet's brother, Mr. Gardiner, whose connections in the capital seem to be the last chance of saving their public face. In the end he is able to find the fugitives and it's suspected that he must have offered Wickham a very significant amount of money to agree to marriage. I was genuinely moved by this devotion to his family as well as by Mr. Bennet's determination to pay him back. Stupidly – though hopefully not as stupid as the mesmerizing ignorance of Mrs. Wickham after the marriage – I was most delightfully surprised to find that it was Mr. Darcy who arranged the whole affair.
It all ends on a wonderful happy end. Who would have thought in the beginning that this would turn out to be the story of numerous threads that would lead to the marriage of three of Mrs. Bennet's five daughters. People like to rave about how romantic this story was, and though for a long time I would have liked to roll my eyes at this focus of what must be only one superfluous aspect of the story, I now fully share the sentiments. I also highly enjoyed how many big reveals are repeated at the end to other characters and to the same effect.
At the end, Elizabeth asks her now fiancé what made him fall in love with him, but upon him humming and howing she answers her question herself – her utter impertinence. This was brilliantly exemplified when courageously she opposed Mr. Darcy's aunt, the all-powerful Lady Catherine, when she came to demand of her to reject his proposal for the sake of his public honor.
While reading you see every moment vividly in front of you. To some extent this might be due to how well established the works of Austen are now in pop culture. More importantly, though, it's because of the vibrantly colorful prose that is so perfectly observing of the subtleties and nuances of sentiment and wit of the protagonists as well as drawing the surroundings. The description of their arrival at the awe-inspiring mansion of Pemberley is a case in point. Here as in other places the excess and grandeur serves a purpose to the story, though, as it perfectly conveys Elizabeth's understanding that she could have been mistress to these halls had she decided differently.
The story takes seriously many seemingly all too mundane matters of everyday life. For instance, it's a common theme that we often feel ashamed for our relations, especially adolescents of their parents, but could this be the substance for great literature? It portrays with honesty the hopes for love or the pretenses of vanity. At the beginning of the story, a group of interlocutors explicitly asks what personalities and actions could be turned into the subject of humor. The novel shows that with sufficient elegance and understanding, everyone and every situation could be rendered so as to reveal their amusing qualities. Austen succeeds without turning her characters into these caricatures that dominate the plainer attempts at comedy.
In the beginning I have said that Pride and Prejudice is not easy to get into, and I stand by what I said. Nonetheless, due to its wonderful characters, beautiful writing, and heart-warming reveals it turned out to be a most satisfying and fun experience. Not only is this a classic in the most deserving sense, I now see why so many regard it as their favorite novel. It's now one of my favorites, too.
**spoiler alert** At its core, Northanger Abbey is a coming-of-age story about a naïve and insecure 17-year-old girl who falls in love during a many w**spoiler alert** At its core, Northanger Abbey is a coming-of-age story about a naïve and insecure 17-year-old girl who falls in love during a many weeks long stay in the spa city of Bath. It was my first Jane Austen novel, and I've only just found out that it was actually her first fully completed work, albeit not published during her lifetime. I've read that humor plays a bigger role here than it does in her later books. In central aspects of the story, it parodies the gothic horror literature that was still very popular in England at the time the novel was composed.
Catherine Morland is a typical young lady who grew up in the countryside of Fullerton as one among eleven siblings. At the age of 17, she is invited by their wealthy neighbors, the Allens, to join them on their trip to Bath, where they will spend a significant amount of time to cure Mr. Allen's ailments. As the stay promises balls, visits to the theater, and general stays among the rich and beautiful, she gladly agrees.
In the beginning, she is slightly disappointed. Mrs. Allen turns out to be a bore and there are no familiar faces to spend time with. However, things become tremendously more exciting when they meet the Thorpes and Catherine becomes very good friends with their daughter, Isabella. At one of the dances she is introduced to the incredibly charming Henry Tilney, a clergyman and the son of the wealthy family that owns the titular Northanger Abbey. Naturally, he turns Catherine's head around, and his sister too makes a big impression on her.
Unfortunately, Isabella's obnoxious brother, John, also casts a covetous eye on her. And that's not the end of it. Catherine's older brother, James, also shows up (he and John know each other from Oxford, where they both study), and she couldn't be happier when she realizes that Isabella and him begin to take a liking in each other. But this relationship too is ill-fated, as so is the one between her and Henry's older brother, Captain Frederick Tilney.
I'm not an expert on this at all, but to my mind the setting and characters very convincingly represent the customs, expectations, and stereotypes of the time. Personae like Isabella and Mrs. Allen steal Catherine's heart away, but the inexperienced young woman doesn't realize the hypocrisy of their relationships. When John Thurpe begins to woo her, she innocently tries to see the best in him. Hence, when he contracts himself, she suspects the fault in herself and her limited understanding, rather than recognizing his pathologically vain personality and boasting big talk for what it is.
This is all subconscious. The real villain is revealed in the second part of the book, set at Northanger Abbey and historically published later than the first half. It's heartwarming how her inviter, the imposing General Tilney, is caring for her well-being and he seems to almost pushing her into marriage with Henry (what a man!). The façade crumbles, though, when you realize how despotic he treats his children and attendants. The true scope of his manipulative behavior becomes evident at the epic twist at the very end. It's thrillingly satisfying when justice is served.
As should be clear by now, I absolutely loved the characters. Everyone is so instantaneously recognizable, yet there is still room for surprises. While we cannot warn our heroine to be on the watch, we can still hope that she grows as a person and eventually sees through what is going on around her. What made the ending even happier for me, was that her genuine friends, Henry and Eleanor Tilney, are just as integral, reflective, and courageous, as I wanted them to be.
I was very impressed at how well it conveys the emotional dimension to the plot. There are the silly feelings - we had a rendezvous at noon, but it was raining, now it doesn't, oh will they still come -, the stings of jealousy, the fierce indignation, the confusion, the love. It's great how all these little everyday-ly events are orchestrated for maximum effect so that the mundane matures into heartbreaking tragedy.
Almost more than anything, Ann Radcliffe’s Mysteries of Udolpho occupies Catherine's mind. The narrator, who allegedly speaks in the author's own voice, rises up against the prevailing opinion of the novel as being an inferior form of art (or no art at all), and our protagonist shares her sentiment. Inspired by what she finds in her favorite works, her surroundings are charged with mystery, and what better place to act out her imagination than an old monastery? The prose in these moments, that to some degree mirrors its paragons, is absolutely thrilling. The outcomes may not exactly be what she expected, but I loved how she is proven right in the end.
An intuition for the subtitles of social conventions shines through almost every page, and it's a delight how it contrasts with the naiveté of our heroine. The wit and humor much resonated with me and it makes for a delightfully lighthearted and pleasant read. To be honest, this is very far from what I expected of a Jane Austen novel, but I'm pleasantly surprised. Now I cannot wait to explore more of her work.