The Man with Two Left Feet

Everyone's heard of P.G. Wodehouse, of course, but I hadn't got round to reading him till last year. Talk about a comic genius! I can't even explain why it's so funny that someone's uncle breaks into a house, pretends to be a parrot vet, and marries off a jellied eel salesman, but it is. He has a kind of humour which is so gentle you suspect he's laughing at himself.

He's an exceptionally good writer, especially at home with those phrases which begin somewhere you know, and end somewhere quite different (She looked as if she'd been poured into that dress, and had forgotten to say "when"). His dialogue races along so fast you can barely catch up, and he uses short, sharp descriptive terms which sum up a person or a place in a simple phrase.

This set of stories isn't quite so hysterical as some of the things he's written. A number of them are set in the US, and there's only one which features Jeeves - a real pity, because it's so funny that it really puts the others in the shade. I discovered it was written in 1917, in the middle of WW1, while Edward Thomas was sitting in a trench writing about the beauty of England and seeing corpses all around him. Can you imagine him coming home on leave and being presented with this book? No wonder they all got shell-shocked. On the other hand, I think the jellied eel seller would still make him laugh.

The White Witch

This book has been sitting on the bookshelf my whole life, but I only noticed it was by Elizabeth Goudge the other day. I love her children's stories, so I was excited to find she wrote some adult books as well. This is set during the English Civil War, but includes many of the elements of her children's stories, including the mix of magic, history, mythology and Christianity; a wise little girl and a bold little boy; flawed adults and a pious pastor. She writes beautifully and there's real depth in the ideas she is covering, especially fanatacism (very relevant!) and different forms of love. The relationship between two "pseudo-gypsies", Yoben and Froniga, form the centre of this story - Froniga is the "white witch" of the title. Goudge's writing reminds me of Eleanor Farjeon's, actually; the kind of stuff I can't imagine being published nowadays, because it's so innocent.

A Sentimental Journey

I must say Laurence Sterne would have to be one of the strangest writers ever. Look at Tristram Shandy - a very, very weird book, and yet so fascinating. This is the same kind of thing - a journey across Europe, where he focuses not on cathedrals but minor incidents such as a girl and a goat. Strange, strange, but wonderful. The little descriptions - like the memorable starling in the cage scene - are fantastic. Very bawdy though, can't believe it's referred to in a Jane Austen novel!

Shirley

There’s an idea that suffering creates a better artist, but I think this story by Charlotte Bronte proves otherwise. She began to write it when most of her family were alive; by the time she’d finished it, her brother and two sisters had died lingering deaths. The story begins well enough, but quickly descends into pathos and sentimentality – whole chapters dedicated to apostrophe - with all four main characters becoming depressed and ill near to death – but unlike Charlotte’s siblings, they all survive, find love, and lead happier lives.

The main character isn’t Shirley, but a girl called Caroline who falls in love with the local mill owner, a Frenchman related to her by marriage, and who spends the entire novel pining for him, until finally in the last chapter he proposes. This of course mirrors Charlotte’s love story, except that the Frenchman was married and she pined until another man proposed. Shirley turns up halfway through. She’s a great character for feminists to analyse – her name at that time was only for boys, she has an ongoing joke with the locals that she is a gentleman, and she is a very strong character. She ends up getting with a Frenchman too.

There’s more food for feminists, with a great deal of discussion about how bored women are, not having jobs, not being educated, not having lives outside hooking a husband. The female characters whinge about all of this, but then have no problem considering men superior, and calling them “master” – ugh! Sure, Jane Eyre does the same, but that starts from Rochester being her employer – it’s natural for her to call him sir, and she calls him Edward once they get together. Here Shirley calls her lover by his name until he proposes – then it’s master. Shudder! It’s almost as though Charlotte is shocked by her own feminism, or is afraid readers will be, and tries to placate them.

The background is ostensibly industrialisation. We may want to kill our bosses today, but back then the workers and employers were fighting real pitched battles – it’s unimaginable. This is the sort of book you read to realise how good we have it today, especially as women. I say it’s ostensibly that, because the background disappears pretty quickly and the focus becomes the misery of all the characters – chapters and chapters of misery. This book would’ve been a lot better had Charlotte’s siblings been immunised against TB. The initial chapters which detail Yorkshire life are really interesting and well done. But once she gets into sickness and depression it really bogs down. You can’t really cheer on the lovers because they just seem so boring, especially the men. That’s why Jane Eyre is so good – both Jane and Rochester are such bizarre, interesting, unusual people. The age difference doesn’t matter because they’re both as odd as the other, and that’s why they fall in love with one another. But here there’s chapters where the characters explain laboriously why they love one another, rather than Charlotte showing us.

Charlotte Bronte was definitely a brilliant writer, stylistically original – look at the way she moved from past to present tense to create immediacy, for example – but her other books (I’ve also read Villette) are nothing compared with Jane Eyre. I can’t help but think about all that those Brontes would have done if they’d had better health and more wealth. I can’t think of a more miserable bunch, and looking at Shirley, I can’t see it was worth it.

The Red Badge of Courage

This story by Stephen Crane is set during the American Civil War. It’s about a young man who runs away during an initial battle, feels guilty, rejoins his regiment and behaves heroically afterwards. I’m not quite sure whether it’s supposed to be ironic (the battle details are quite gritty) or whether it was written as a patriotic pro-war story to encourage boys to join up, but it can certainly be read in both ways; after all, a “badge” of courage which is a death shot in the chest invites multiple readings, surely.

It’s well-written, and the style reminds me a little of Hemingway’s – I suppose it may well have influenced him, or perhaps it’s a particularly American manner of writing, using short, blunt sentences. I find that even American writers today favour that style, although that is of course since Hemingway.

It’s just a fragment of a story – really more a long short story rather than a novel – and it’s effective, in that it’s a snapshot of one person within a larger picture, one person who has a limited viewpoint, and limited understanding. Definitely an interesting addition to literature about war.

The December Boys

If I’d realised this book was by Michael Noonan, I probably wouldn’t have bothered with it – I’ve read some of his other books. They all feature that fairly stilted voice, with stereotypical, unrealistic characters and basically unexciting events happening in a row. His stories read like a writing-class exercise.

This isn’t much different. A group of boys from a Home are on holidays at a beach, where they meet an assortment of odd characters (stereotypical Irish, for example) and have to deal with growing up and changing. Yes, it’s a Coming Of Age story. In fact, this is the sort of book where a great deal could be capitalised, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s being studied at school. As it was published in the sixties, I feel thankful that I was spared it. On the other hand, I suppose being fed a diet of second-rate, boring books at school makes you really thankful about all the good books you discover yourself (Hemingway, Conrad, Steinbeck, etc).

It is only being republished now because they’ve made a movie of it. It’s probably going to be a good movie; I can see that you could take elements of it and weave an interesting and pretty picture out of it – being set by the sea, after all. They’ve managed to link the book to Harry Potter in this way (the same actor appears in both films) and will get some sales that way. Still, there’s far better books out there that they could be republishing – everything by Eleanor Spence, for example.

Films and Books

I think my favourite films to watch are those based on good books. It’s partly because the problem with most movies is in the writing, so those based on well-written books are more likely to have well-written scripts, and partly because I love discovering new interpretations or points of view about classic pieces of literature.

For example, I’ve seen three versions of Jane Eyre so far. The 1980s version, which I first saw at about the age of ten, was a fairly pedestrian BBC take, which had a very prim Jane and an incredibly sexy Timothy Dalton as Rochester (I didn’t notice that at ten – but now I have the DVD). The 1990s version had a more passionate (and believable) Jane and a strange Rochester in William Hurt, and emphasised their particular peculiarities which made them perfect for one another. And the 1970s version (which proved to me that tastes change, because everyone in that film is incredibly ugly), had a fairly brutal Rochester and really, really mad wife in the attic. Being modern, I prefer the modern version; but it’s interesting to see how the different the three versions are, and as I love the book, I enjoyed watching all three. The more, the better, really.

I’ve watched the two versions of Dr Zhivago as well, and they are completely different. It’s such a massive and complex book that it’s easy to have completely dissimilar interpretations. The old classic has Lara the victim while the new one has a far more knowing girl. The old Yuri is struck by poetic moments, while the new Yuri has a sort of honest innocence which leads him to jump in where angels wouldn’t go. I love the modern version; but it was fascinating to see how different the classic one was.

Two versions of Pride & Prejudice as well. I like them both, although on repeated viewing the 1990s one is slightly pedestrian in a typical BBC manner – underplayed – while the new one is overplayed and rushed. I like the youthful intensity of the recent version, but Colin Firth is such a good actor that Matthew MacFadyen as Darcy simply doesn’t compare.

Other films? Well, I loved North & South, but thought that Wives & Daughters lacked imagination; I loved The English Patient, and thought that Sophie’s World was brilliantly interpreted; thought Lord of the Rings better than the books, and Narnia worse. Holes was excellent; The Hitchhiker’s Guide terrible; and all the Branagh Shakespeares definitely worthwhile. I liked the imaginative re-interpretation of A Little Princess, and wish they’d do the same with The Lost Prince.