New Century Reading

The Angry Buddhist

I would like to tell you I loved this book. It's full of dark humor, political parodies, crazy characters, infidelities, and the title character, a guy with anger management problems. It's an entertaining romp.

But.

I had some problems that ended up distracting me from my enjoyment of the book. See if you can spot the common issue here:

"She says yeah, oh, yeah, but what she's thinks is if you want to make me happy"

"They eat salad, and chicken, and after: a desert of apple pie"

"Sees Nadine running...tennis trained legs carrying her swiftly toward the store, it's yellowish lights, it's perceived safety"

"He takes a last look at the Salton Sea, it's splendid isolation, its fragile beauty"

"probably can't fill out a Soduku puzzle"

"It occurs to him that this is could be the weapon used"

These are just a few examples of the errors that are throughout the text. I'd say the publisher (Europa Editions) only ran spell-check on this, except for the repeated references to the local lawman as "Sherriff".

I kept track of the "its/it's" errors until I hit 7, and then I gave up.

My temptation, after returning this book to the library, was to buy a copy, copyedit it, and send it to the publisher with an invoice.

So--if you can overlook rampant errors, you might enjoy this book. But to me, the annoyance was just too much.

Bleak House

Well, we are just all over the place in this section. But we're also firmly grounded in social commentary for all the places we go.

We have a wonderful lesson in Deportment, led by the delightfully named Mr. Turveydrop. Is it any wonder that Caddy Jellyby and Prince Turveydrop are engaged? Who could possibly understand them as well as each other? And wouldn't it be fun to put Mrs. Jellyby and Mr. Turveydrop at the same dinner table? I'm rooting for Caddy and Prince. How pathetic that she has to turn to Mrs. Flite for housekeeping lessons.

Then the poor Mr. Jarndyce has to receive the frightful Mrs. Pardiggle and the dreadful Mr. Quale, and then Skimpole shows up with more of his maddening commentary on how he cheats people out of their rightful money right and left. Then they go and find those desperately sad orphans in the attic, along with another Chancery victim.

Finally, we're with Lady Dedlock as she flits, bored and boreder, here and there and everywhere, including places a proper lady probably should not go alone, even if she (snottily) pays a poor young boy to guide her. And we learn how a poor young boy like Jo has to live, in the despicable Tom-all-Alone's, with no education and no prospects:

"It must be a strange state to be like Jo! To shuffle through the streets, unfamiliar with the shapes, and in utter darkness as to the meaning, of those mysterious symbols, so abundant over the shops, and at the corners of streets, and on the doors, and in the windows! To see people read, and to see people write, and not to have the least idea of all that language--to be, to every scrap of it, stone blind and dumb!"

And in the midst of all this social commentary, we learn from the coy Miss Summerson that the dark young surgeon is Mr. Woodcourt. And that's all she's got to say about that.

She is really starting to annoy me.

I like these sections of social commentary, although I know not all of you agree. That said, I couldn't help but notice the title of the next chapter: "Esther's Narrative". Again? Really?

What did y'all think of this section? Next week, Chapter 17-19. Here's this week's Gorey illustration, of Jo in Tom-all-Alone's.

 

Thanksgiving

Thanks for the Italian chestnuts—with their
tough shells—the smooth chocolaty
skin of them—thanks for the boiling water—

itself a miracle and a mystery—
thanks for the seasoned sauce pan
and the old wooden spoon—and all
 
the neglected instruments in the drawer—
the garlic crusher—the bent paring knife—
the apple slicer that creates six

perfect wedges out of the crisp Haralson—
thanks for the humming radio—thanks
for the program on the radio

about the guy who was a cross-dresser—
but his wife forgave him—and he
ended up almost dying from leukemia—

(and you could tell his wife loved him
entirely—it was in her deliberate voice)—
thanks for the brined turkey—

the size of a big baby—thanks—
for the departed head of the turkey—
the present neck—the giblets

(whatever they are)—wrapped up as
small gifts inside the cavern of the ribs—
thanks—thanks—thanks—for the candles

lit on the table—the dried twigs—
the autumn leaves in the blue Chinese vase—
thanks—for the faces—our faces—in this low light.

--Tim Nolan

Bleak House

You know what I wish? I wish Charles Dickens was still around and could write an editorial with his opinions about Mitt Romney and the 47% speech. Can't you just imagine how delicious that would be?

Because when Mr. Dickens decides to go off on a tangent about some aspect of society that he finds ridiculous, it's pretty hard to beat him. The whole coroner's inquest, and the rejected testimony of Jo the Broom Boy, and the borderline useless beadle, just drips with sarcasm, until the pompous ceremony and decision of death is over, and we come to the melancholy truth of the matter:

"If this forlorn man could have been prophetically seen lying here, by the mother at whose breast he nestled, a little child, with eyes upraised to her loving face, and soft hand scarcely knowing how to close upon the neck to which it crept, what an impossibility the vision would have seemed! O, if in brighter days, the now-extinguished fire within him ever burned for one woman who held him in her heart, where is she, while these ashes are above the ground?" I have to wonder if this man, and his mother, will return, or is this a set piece for Dickens to illustrate this aspect of society?

Then Dickens returns his attention to the Dedlocks. I can't quite tell what he thinks of Lady Dedlock--he makes some pointed comments about her being so bored, and yet he's also showing that there's something going on with her that we don't yet know. It's pretty clear what he thinks of her husband:

"Sir Leicester is generally in a complacent state, and rarely bored. When he has nothing else to do, he can always contemplate his own greatness. It is a considerable advantage to a man, to have so inexhaustible a subject."

I recently read a book about writing by Charles Baxter in which he bemoans the lack of physical description provided by many contemporary authors when it comes to their characters. He specifically points to Dickens as an exemplary chronicler of the physical human condition, and it's so vivid in this book. Take Lady Dedlock's maid:

"My Lady's maid is a Frenchwoman of two-and-thirty, from somewhere in the southern country about Avignon and Marseilles--a large-eyed brown woman with black hair; who would be handsome, but for a certain feline mouth, and general uncomfortable tightness of race, rendering the jaws too eager, and the skull too prominent. There is something indefinably keen and wan about her anatomy; and she has a watchful way of looking out of the corners of her eyes without turning her head, which could be pleasantly dispensed with--especially when she is in an ill-humour and near knives."

Well! Not only do we have a good idea of what she looks like, we've got a good picture of her temperament as well. Lady Dedlock had best beware. But alas, the Lady is so busy quietly pondering the death of the man in London that she seems unaware of her venomous maid.

Am I the only one who is getting a little tired of Esther and her constant self-deprecation and need to tell us every nice thing anyone ever says to her? And who is this sensible and agreeable young surgeon who pops up out of nowhere at the end? Is Esther to have a beau too, not just the saintly Ada?

Next week, chapters 14-16. Here's the Gorey of the week, the poor Jo looking on the grave of the man who was always kind to him:

Virginia Wolf

Virginia Wolf, by Kyo Maclear and illustrated by Isabelle Arsenault, is undeniably a somewhat odd topic for a picture book, even a picture book for adults (and I'm all for those). Vanessa, the narrator, tells the tale of the day her sister Virginia "woke up feeling wolfish." Things go downhill from there, with Virginia yelling at Vanessa for brushing her teeth too loudly and wearing too cheerful a dress.

Vanessa tries everything she can think of to help Vanessa not feel wolfish, but to no avail. Finally she asks Virginia what Virginia thinks would help. Flying, says Virginia:

"If I were flying, I would travel to a perfect place. A place with frosted cakes and beautiful flowers and excellent trees to climb and absolutely no doldrums."

Vanessa takes heed and sets out to make Virginia's flying wishes come true.

This is a sweet book not really for children; the theme of depression is clear in the text and in the artwork, which starts out bright and cheerful, but eventually loses color and joy as Virginia feels more and more wolfish.

Spoiler:

It does end well--Vanessa succeeds in bringing Virginia to a happier place. Color is restored to world, most vibrantly.

So I'd almost say this might be a good gift for someone you know who's suffering from depression, except for that whole thing of knowing how Virginia Woolf actually ended up. So it's a conundrum. Maybe I would just say--if you're interested in Virginia Woolf, or picture books for adults, or lovely and at times whimsical artwork, check out this book yourself.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Bleak House

Here we are, week 3! And you all seem to be hanging in there! Quick note--there's another online Bleak House read-along going on, although they're being much more ambitious and reading the whole thing in two months. One of that read-along's participants posted a saucy new version of the old song Brick House: Bleak House.

There was some interest in hearing about the Chancery, as described in my Norton Critical Edition. During the time period of this book, there were two categories of courts in Britain: the Courts of Common Law, which handled basic crimes and misdemeanors, and the Court of Chancery. The latter "existed to settle cases involving such issues as disputes about legacies, trusts, mortgages, in which the remedy sought by the contestants would be decided on the principles of Equity rather than on the rules of Common Law." To complicate things, the principles of Equity were unwritten, and each case was treated as unique and "not determinable by the fixed and universal rules of Common Law."

You can imagine that would be complicated process. It was originally set up that way in order to protect the rights of individuals and to compensate for legal rigidity in other areas. But by Dickens' time, it had developed its own rigidity and problems.

"There was no jury in this court; all cases were decided by the presiding judge, whose verdict was arrived at after sifting evidence submitted by the contesting parties in the form of lengthy afficavits read aloud in court by lawyers...In the court itself witnesses never appeared; if they had evidence to offer, it would have been gathered, in written form, previous to the court hearings." This is why characters go and listen to court proceedings, but never offer testimony.

Dickens had first-hand experience with the miserable, slow process of Chancery; he launched a suit in 1844 against 5 publishers for breach of copyright. The ruling ended in his favor, but the suit cost him more than any damages he was able to collect.

The Norton Critical Edition offers an example that is likely very relevant to this book:

"Let us suppose a wealthy property owner dies and leaves most of his estate to a nephew, with also a few bequests to his servants. Another nephew contends that the will is invalid, and that an earlier will, leaving part of the estate to the second nephew, is the proper one. Employing a solicitor, this second nephew (the plaintiff) has a bill drawn up to state his claims against the first nephew (the defendant), and this opening transaction is filed in the Court of Chancery.

"Once such procedures were initiated, the heirs could not draw on the estates they had inherited, for all property was taken over by the Court and held until a decision was reached--hence the expression that a house is "in Chancery". Such an arrangement assured the Court that expenses involved in the case would be covered. If settlement were long delayed, it also meant that some of the heirs would have a very long wait or would never receive the legacies assigned to them. As The Times commented (March 28, 1851): 'Butlers, and housekeepers, and gardeners of the kindest master in the world, in spite of ample legacies in his will, are rotting on parish pay [i.e., on welfare payments].'"

Sending a suit to Chancery was the first of many complicated, expensive steps. The defendant would have to hire a solicitor and additional staff to work on his case, and not only did he have to pay fees, he had to pay their living expenses as well. Then there were Court clerks who had to be paid to move the case forward. And God forbid any of the players in the suit died before it was resolved:

"If the first nephew died first, his heir would have to pay expenses for re-preparing what was called a Bill of Revivor....there were [cases] that dragged on interminably. One of these, the Williams Jennings case, was initiated in 1798. In 1852, when Dickens began writing his novel, it was still unsettled."

Also noted: the reference to "Inns" does not mean hotels, but a kind of specialized accommodation for court professionals. "Such an establishment combines some of the functions of a law school and a dining club, with rooms and dining hall for students and other residents, and usually a chapel. Its blocks of buildings, often situated around a square or park, included offices for lawyers such as those occupied by Mr. Vholes in Symond's Inn. An Inn is also a kind of society or fraternity, with officers supervising its endowments and the expenditure of fees paid by student-members, and also regulating the requirements to qualify for admission to the Bar."

Whew--kind of long-winded, but I found it helpful, and hope you do too.

Like the previous section, I found much to chuckle about in chapters 8 and 9, and then a sudden turn of mood in chapter 10. Esther would be highly annoying if I didn't find myself laughing so much at her "modesty". I'm not sure if Dickens meant her to be a paragon of virtue, but he went so over the top that she comes across as barely better than Mrs. Pardiggle at times.

Speaking of Mrs. Pardiggle, just when I thought Mrs. Jellyby was an awful parent, here comes one who basically steals her children's money for "charity"! The scene where the Pardiggles visit Ava and Esther and the kids are practically about to revolt was hilarious.

Not so hilarious was the visit to the brickmaker's. Dickens' knowledge of poverty, its causes and results, is plain.

Who is this Law-writer in this wretched room about Krook's jumble shop? Talk about foreboding!

I flagged many passages that I really liked in this section, but given that I've taken up a lot of your time with Chancery talk, I open it up to you--what quotes did you like? Share them in the comments.

For next week, chapters 11-13. Now I'll give you my favorite Edward Gorey of this section, illustrating the visit to the brickmaker's:

The return of CB's TBR Double Dog Dare

It's back!! And I am so in. As I have previously discussed, I most definitely need to make a dent in my towering (and, I theorize, ever-procreating) stacks of books around here. Thank you, CB, I'm in! The only exceptions I'll make will be for book clubs (and I know 5 out of the 6 books that will be read during that time) and the Tournament of Books.

Bleak House

A quick note for those of you who didn't see Miss T's comment late last week: she provided a link to a very interesting article about dinosaurs in the Victorian age. Dickens' mention of a megalosaurus on the first page of the book makes particular sense, given that dinosaurs were big news just a few years before he began writing Bleak House.

Recently I was thinking how sad it is that I have so little reason to brag about reading War and Peace last year. But this section of Bleak House made me realize that I have another opportunity to do just that. So: Hey, everyone, last year I read War and Peace! And the reason that this is relevant here? The part in chapter 5 where Krook talks about Tom Jarndyce:

"He got into a restless habit of strolling about when the cause was on, or expected, talking to the little shop-keepers, and telling 'em to keep out of Chancery, whatever they did. 'For,' says he, 'it's being ground to bits in a slow mill; it's being roasted at a slow fire; it's being stung to death by single bees; it's being drowned by drops; it's going mad by grains.' He was as near as making away with himself, just where the young lady stands as near could be."

What I love about this passage is how Dickens shows his anger and contempt for the legal system in Britain at the time, but he does it by using the story and character. This is a far better approach than the one Tolstoy used at times in War and Peace, where he'd become so angry at both Napoleon and historians that he'd just stop the book altogether and go on an authorly rant about why they were both horrible. In fact, the book's epilogue is just one long, boring, meandering rant about the false nature of historical writing and opinions.

Good on you, Dickens. You got Tolstoy on this one.

In this set of chapters we have our Jarndyce kin and their angelic chaperone, Esther, finally making their way to Bleak House after that rather disturbing encounter while out exploring London. Seriously, how creepy is that little old lady with her bird cages? And Krook and his crazy shop? If he was alive today, for sure he'd be on Hoarders. It's a bit of a relief to get to Bleak House and find out it's not really bleak at all, with John Jarndyce seemingly Esther's soulmate, at least in terms of refusing to hear and believe good things about themselves.

I have to confess I don't find Mr. Skimpole as delightful as the other residents of Bleak House. I'm not exactly sure why they find his childish ways to endearing, and don't seem to see that he's really a leech. Although John Jarndyce does seem to have an inkling, even if he doesn't want to believe it:

"'He's always in the same scrape. He was born in the same scrape. I verily believe that the announcement in the newspapers when his mother was confined was, 'On Tuesday last, at her residence in Botheration Buildings, Mrs. Skimpole of a son in difficulties.'"

So everything is going swimmingly, and everyone loves everyone else, and the house is beautiful, and surely Ada and Richard will fall in love and live happily ever after. The end.

But this is Dickens, so not quite. I loved chapter 7, the complete switch in tone from delight to brooding and sinister. I loved the house tour with Mrs. Rouncewell, and the discovery of the painting of the current Lady Dedlock, and the oh-so-delicious and scary backstory of the Ghost's Walk. My favorite quote of this chapter: "Mrs. Rouncewell holds this opinion, because she considers that a family of such antiquity and importance has a right to a ghost. She regards a ghost as one of the privileges of the upper classes; a genteel distinction to which the common people have no claim."

This section of chapters also illustrates why Dickens got his readers in such a frenzy. I had a very hard time not continuing on to the next chapter after the Ghost's Walk. But I have the option to do that, if I can't control myself--imagine being a reader in Dickens' day, having to wait weeks between installments with these kinds of cliffhangers!

Is everyone who's reading this got an edition that explains what the Chancery is and how it works? My edition has a nice overview. If you don't have it, let me know, and I'll summarize next week.

A few other things I liked: the Jellybys' cook seen leaving a tavern early in the morning, wiping her mouth, claiming she had just been out to check the time. My edition had a footnote for that, explaining that at the time, Parliament had passed a tax on clocks in households, and also required public establishments to have clocks. The phrase "going to see what o' clock it was" quickly became a euphemism for going out to drink.

What did you think? Next week, chapters 8-10. And now it's time for my favorite Gorey illustration of this section, the discovery of the painting of Lady Dedlock:

The Poetry Project

This month's theme for the Poetry Project is war remembrance. I love this poem by Polish poet Wislawa Szymborska:

The End and the Beginning

After every war
someone has to clean up.
Things won't
straighten themselves up, after all.

Someone has to push the rubble
to the side of the road,
so the corpse-filled wagons
can pass.

Someone has to get mired
in scum and ashes,
sofa springs,
splintered glass,
and bloody rags.

Someone has to drag in a girder
to prop up a wall,
Someone has to glaze a window,
rehang a door.

Photogenic it's not,
and takes years.
All the cameras have left
for another war.

We'll need the bridges back,
and new railway stations.
Sleeves will go ragged
from rolling them up.

Someone, broom in hand,
still recalls the way it was.
Someone else listens
and nods with unsevered head.
But already there are those nearby
starting to mill about
who will find it dull.

From out of the bushes
sometimes someone still unearths
rusted-out arguments
and carries them to the garbage pile.

Those who knew
what was going on here
must make way for
those who know little.
And less than little.
And finally as little as nothing.

In the grass that has overgrown
causes and effects,
someone must be stretched out
blade of grass in his mouth
gazing at the clouds.