Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery

I have thoroughly enjoyed getting to know another of L. M. Montgomery's delightful young heroines, Emily of New Moon. In fact, I only reluctantly put down Emily Climbs in order to write this review before the end of Carrie's L. M. Montgomery Challenge. Though I didn't get the whole series read during this challenge, I plan to finish the next two books soon and review them here, challenge or no.

There will certainly be more L. M. Montgomery novels to choose from next year.

Of course, it is inevitable that one would compare Anne of Green Gables with Emily Byrd Starr, but I'm not ready to make a final decision on which is my favorite. I cannot read Anne without hearing the soundtrack and picturing the movie and the scenery of Prince Edward Island, all of which make me sigh and long to transplant myself there 100 years ago. It doesn't seem like there is quite the allure of the land in the Emily books, but maybe that is because Emily does not invent quite so many fanciful names for her surroundings. Emily is certainly creative, but her imagination is poured into the written word at a much earlier age than Anne. She clearly loves New Moon and the Blair Water and nature in general, but even her early attempts at poetry have a certain refinement that is quite different from Anne's romantic enthusiasm.

There are many similarities between characters and plot, of course. As Amy noted in her review of Magic for Marigold, many Montgomery novels could be summarized as an orphan with an (over)active imagination who overcomes obstacles of misunderstanding and various mishaps to find friendship, recognition, success, and eventually love. But even with these common features, Emily did not seem to me to be simply another version of Anne. Her personality is distinct; her passion is writing, not just imaginative names and enchanting phrases, and somehow this makes her a little less dramatic, I think. (I know Anne is a writer also, but it seems like this comes out later in the books, whereas Emily is almost inseparable from her blank books from the first.) She has a more reflective, less impulsive nature and is very astute in her first impressions and judgments of others. After being ill-used by one friend, she is a bit more reserved in her friendships, though that does not prevent her from forging strong bonds with a few chums: Ilse, a hot-tempered, but fiercely loyal girl of her age; Teddy, a gifted artist with an obsessively jealous mother; and Perry, the hired boy with aspirations of political grandeur.

I think the part that I like best, and which also sets this novel completely apart from Anne, is that her kindred spirit is an adult, and a man at that, but in Dean Priest, a schoolmate of her deceased father, Emily finds someone who understands her way of thinking and can further her imagination and education with stories of distant lands and myths of long ago. "In Dean Priest Emily found, for the first time since her father had died, a companion who could fully sympathize. She was always at her best with him, with a delightful feeling of being understood. To love is easy and therefore common - but to understand - how rare it is!" (272). In a modern novel such a friendship between a twelve-year-old girl and a thirty-six-year-old man would be suspect at best, and predatory at worst. But Montgomery pulls it off with innocence and propriety, and the subtle hints that Dean drops indicating his complete enchantment with Emily and hopes for when she is grown only make me want to keep reading to see how several overlapping love triangles will play out as Emily and her friends grow older.

And with that, I must get back to Emily Climbs!

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo

I count it no small accomplishment to have read Les Misérables in 28 days - yes, all 1463 pages in just 4 weeks! Now, I must admit that I skimmed some of the more lengthy historical parts, but I did slough my way through 60+ pages on 19th century Parisian sewers. That's got to make up for skimming the parts I read ten years ago during my first attempt when I only made it about two-thirds of the way through the book.

There is so much that could be said about this novel, and I immensely enjoyed our book club discussion which delved into many and varied topics. Julia's insights into the lack of father figures was particularly insightful!

As for me, the characters are what make a great book, and Les Misérables has an amazing cast of characters that evoke a whole spectrum of emotions. The bishop, Monseigneur Bienvenu, is inspiring and endearing. Jean Valjean is marvelous, complex, troubled, and above all good after the act of forgiveness and generosity that transformed him. Thenardier, well, he simply makes me shudder, and his wife is just as dreadful. Cosette and Eponine...I could go on and on...

But the main topic that I have debated myself is the idea of redemption in this novel. I think my expectations must have been too high to start with because I had been told that Les Misérables is the greatest story of redemption ever written, apart from the Bible, and I read it with that in view. I think I was looking for a more obvious correlation to the gospel, an actual spiritual redemption, not simply a moral one. But I suppose that was too much to expect from a story set in Roman Catholic Paris and from an author who rejected his Roman Catholic upbringing and called himself a freethinker.

Redemption is certainly a theme, but I must question if it is truly a Christian view of redemption since Christ is noticeably absent. Though the bishop's words certainly convey the idea "You were bought with a price..." (I Corinthians 6:20; 7:23), that price was paid by the bishop himself, and it is to him that Jean Valjean's thoughts always turn when he wrestles with difficult decisions about the right path to follow. This charge: "Do not forget, ever, that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man...Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. It is your soul I am buying from you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God" (106) becomes the guiding force of Jean Valjean's life, but in the absence of the gospel - of a clear declaration that Christ died for you, now you must live for Him - Jean Valjean's goodness is only a compilation of merits accumulated to assuage his conscience and overcome the social stigma of a convict. Now it must be granted that such a view is in keeping with the teachings of the Roman Catholic Church where redemption would be the process of a lifetime, a conjoining of the work of Christ with the works of man. This is understandable in the historical context of 19th century France, but while a works-based idea of redemption may be true to the historical context and setting of the novel, it simply is not the penultimate illustration of redemption since true redemption cannot be separated from the true and complete gospel.

Thus, my Protestant and Reformed sensibilities have a hard time applying the term "redemption" to the whole story. It could be construed as a story of sanctification, though there are theological difficulties with that, as well, given the Roman Catholic context of the novel (see above). But if we shift the focus from man to God, it becomes quite obvious (to me, at least) that Les Misérables is a story of providence. Maybe this was even Victor Hugo's intention. He writes, "This book is a drama whose first character is the Infinite. Man is the second" (509). At the very least a testimony to providence is the result he could not hide in spite of his vague deist ideas of God, for he crafts a story in which it is only too obvious that something, someONE is superintending all events, bringing the exact people and circumstances together at the right times to preserve life, to give second chances, and yes, to further moral redemption, even if not salvific.

Now I'd like to hear your thoughts on this. Have you always considered Les Misérables a story of redemption? Can you see how it is a story of providence from first to last? Whatever your opinion, I'm sure we can agree that Les Misérables remains one of the greatest novels of all time, unsurpassed in its depiction of the depths and the heights of human character. Even though its length is daunting, it was well-worth the time (which really didn't seem that long), and I hope to read it at least once per decade.

On a side note, aren't these original (1862) illustrations of Cosette and Gavroche by Emile Bayard amazing? I would love to see an edition that included all the original illustrations.

L. M. Montgomery Challenge 2011

I'm a little late to the party on this one because I was determined to finish Les Misérables before starting the L. M. Montgomery Challenge, hosted by Carrie at Reading to Know. While I am still processing my thoughts on Les Mis, I am prepared with the three Emily books already checked out from the library, overcoming at least one obstacle that stymied me last year. I would like to read all three - Emily of New Moon, Emily Climbs, and Emily's Quest - in the next 2 weeks, but we'll see how that goes. I'm looking forward to comparing Emily with Anne and getting to know another Montgomery character, as well as returning to the picturesque villages of Prince Edward Island. Maybe I'll check out the movies, as well, although I usually prefer to read than to watch.

Thank you, Carrie, for hosting this challenge again. Your enthusiasm is infectious, and if you ever plan a reader's tour of Prince Edward Island, I will be one of the first to sign up!

In brief...

Seldom have I been brief on this blog. My posts are either long or non-existent, it seems, and the past two months have fallen in the latter category. But I'd like to make a few comments on what I've read before the year is through, so I'm limiting myself to two or three sentences per book (compound sentences and semi-colons are permitted). We'll see how this goes.

Undaunted Courage : Meriwether Lewis, Thomas Jefferson, and the Opening of the American West by Stephen Ambrose. (Title and author will not count as a sentence!) This probably wouldn't have made my TBR list if it hadn't been a bookclub selection, but I'm glad I read it as it was very interesting and informative. Though it documents Meriweather Lewis' life from birth to death, the bulk of this biography focuses on his role in the Lewis & Clark expedition, recounting fascinating details about the preparations involved and the truly historic journey, including their encounters with various Indian tribes and the amazing landscapes and wildlife that they encountered.

Sarah's Key by Tatiana De Rosnay. I don't completely understand my interest in WWII stories, particularly ones involving the atrocities committed against the Jewish people, but perhaps it is the aspect of hope and survival in the midst of such evil. This novel is gripping in it's telling of two women of two different generations in Paris: a young Jewish girl who was captured and escaped, only to live the rest of her life in the shadow of an unintentional tragedy, and a modern American expatriate who unravels the threads of that war story only to find it inextricably woven with her own.

The Yellow House by Patricia Falvey. I read this for the Irish Reading Challenge, and it is one of the best, recently published historical fiction that I have read. It gave a vivid portrait of the working class in Northern Ireland during the religious and political conflicts of the early 20th century, and I was sorry to leave the characters and the country when it came to an end.

An Irish Country Village by Patrick Taylor. This is the second "Irish Country" book (in the series and that I have read), and it is just as delightful as the first, with a unique blend of Irish humor, interesting medical cases, eccentric characters, and a little romance for good measure. This was also for the Irish Reading Challenge, which I did finish before November 30th, though I didn't post reviews or qualify for the final give-away.

Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope. This second novel (of six) in the Barsetshire novels continues the story of Mr. Harding, his daughter Eleanor, and son-in-law the Archbishop to whom we were introduced in The Warden, and introduces a number of new characters who thicken the plot of ecclesiastical dominance and intrigue. The characters are delightful in all their quirks and idiosyncrasies; the conflicts are engaging, but not serious or life-threatening. Of all the Victorian authors I've read this year, I would rank Trollope second, closely behind Wilkie Collins who gains precedent because of my penchant for mysteries, and followed by Thomas Hardy, Elizabeth Gaskell, and finally Dickens.

An Irish Country Christmas by Patrick Taylor. Since it was December, it seemed fitting to continue the Irish Country series with the third installment, but perhaps because I read them so close together it seemed as if this was merely rehashing the same themes: a potential problem in the medical practice, a personal issue in the community, and unfulfilled wishes in matters of love - and Dr. Laverty worrying excessively about them all. Maybe I simply found the young doctor's angst a bit extreme and immature this time, but it also seemed as if the story needed a bit more editing; maybe it was rushed to the publishers to get it out before the Christmas season in 2008. With that said, however, I still enjoyed it, mostly, well, except for the phone conversations that repeated the same issues ad nauseum... at any rate, I still like this series and would recommend it for light reading.

Fannie's Last Supper: Re-creating One Amazing Meal from Fannie Farmer's 1896 Cookbook by Christopher Kimball. This was a fascinating book, combining social history, food lore, and cooking journal as the author and a team of chefs researched and cooked a twelve-course Victorian dinner, cooking it on an authentic wood cookstove in the basement of the author's restored Victorian home in Boston. I'm sure I would not want to make gelatin from calf's hooves, but it certainly gives one an appreciation for Jell-o when you understand what a remarkable innovation and improvement it was for Victorian cooks, for whom gelatin molds were an elegant feature of an elaborate dinner! My only complaint was that this book could have used better editing, as well, since the repetition of some facts between chapters made it seem as if it had been written as separate articles instead of a cohesive account.

Now I am reading Les Misérables and will most certainly be occupied with its almost 1500 pages well into January. I read two-thirds of it ten years ago, and I think reading it once a decade might be a worthy goal.

Two Novels about Vermeer: the Artist's Inspiration and the Art's Influence

When my book club selected Girl with a Pearl Earring for our October meeting, I mistakenly thought it was another book about Vermeer that I had read about at Small World Reads Blog called Girl in Hyacinth Blue. If I had gone back and read her review, I would have seen that she recommended reading Girl with a Pearl Earring first, but I found the premise of Girl in Hyacinth Blue more appealing and read it first. I'm actually glad I did, because I liked Susan Vreeland's vignettes that traced a painting's history from the present to the time it was created much more than the emotionally charged, teen infatuation that drives the story of Girl with a Pearl Earring.

Let me first say that I think that many of Vermeer's paintings are extraordinary, and it is fascinating to speculate about the circumstances that inspired the artist, particularly when the "Girl with a Pearl Earring" is so strikingly different than his other works. However, I don't appreciate the trend that I have observed in several recent historical fiction works that make sexuality the framework through which we approach historical subjects. The historical subject matter is intriguing enough, and I would have preferred that poetic license be taken in a different manner. 

So, for a brief synopsis, Girl with a Pearl Earring imagines that the subject of the painting by the same name was a young maid in Vermeer's household. Griet, the daughter of a Delft tile painter, has an artistic bent herself, or at least an eye for color and form. When Vermeer notices her arranging of vegetables by color, Griet quickly assumes that an intellectual or artistic meeting of minds must indicate a romantic attachment. Henceforth, all her thoughts about and interactions with Vermeer, as she has the privileged position of cleaning his studio and mixing his paints, are seen through the eyes of her young infatuation. And while she imagines that Vermeer hides a mutual attraction, Griet finds that her beauty attracts the attention of a butcher's son as well as Vermeer's patron, the rich and demanding van Ruijven, who wants to "own" her and is only appeased by Vermeer's agreeing to paint her.

To her credit, Chevalier seems to have thoroughly researched 17th century Dutch life and offers vivid descriptions of the various levels of society and their interactions and expectations of one another. I found this aspect of the novel fascinating as we follow Griet from her humble home and struggling parents to Vermeer's busy home with many children, a contentious wife, and domineering mother-in-law, to the aisles of the markets and the ordinary lives of laborers and merchants. It may be that a simple change in perspective or narrator would have made all the difference for me, for just a little bit of distance from Griet's own thoughts and self-awareness of her allure might have given the perspective necessary to raise it from teen angst to great historical fiction. I'm sorry if my review seems uncharitable, but there was just so much that was gratuitous, even by implication, in the telling of this story - a story which had remarkable potential, in my opinion - that I was very disappointed.

Girl in Hyacinth Blue is not without it's own gratuitous scenes, but the underlying tone in which they are presented at least seems consistent with the cultural expectations of the historical time period - those who disregard marriage vows, either before or after marriage, face consequences of one sort or another. Unlike Girl with a Pearl Earring, which focuses on a few characters, this story revolves around an imagined lost work of Vermeer's, one without signature or papers but which bears the artist's characteristics so strikingly that it must be a Vermeer. The painting's most recent journey brought it to America via the looting of Jewish homes in the Netherlands during World War II, and from that infamous beginning Susan Vreeland gives a collection of short stories that trace the painting's history over 300 years through the hands of Jews, Dutch merchants, French diplomats, common farmers, slave traders, and bakers to Vermeer himself.

The art itself is both the protagonist and antagonist of these tales, for the painting has its own significance and meaning for each owner and observer; it is the main "character" of the book, but also the catalyst that works upon the characters in each of the stories. The fictional accounts of Vermeer and his family, which finally reveal the authenticity of the painting, seem much more in keeping with what little is known of his personal life, for he is presented as a preoccupied artist who loves his wife and children and struggles to provide for their physical needs while furthering his artistic vision. In short, Girl in Hyacinth Blue depicts the enduring influence of fine art, a far more satisfying message than one girl's sensual influence on the men around her.

The Warden by Anthony Trollope

I'm sorry to say that I only made it through one-third of David Copperfield last month before I gave up and moved on to greener pastures. But in defense of my good intentions to read classics (in spite of failing with David Copperfield this time around), my next book was The Warden, the first in the six Barsetshire Novels by Anthony Trollope, a contemporary of Dickens. The book club in Michigan where we used to live had chosen Barchester Towers for their October selection, and I just couldn't bear to start in the middle of the series.

I enjoyed The Warden much more than David Copperfield, not only because it was shorter, but because the characters were quite clearly defined, a moral and relational problem was quickly stated and developed, and I felt like the story was actually going somewhere. (I'm sorry to say that David Copperfield's lack of ambition left me feeling rather apathetic about his prospects and problems, such as they were.) Like Dickens often did, Trollope deals with a contemporary issue - that of the abuse of clergy who were handsomely rewarded for administrating works of charity while the recipients of that charity were pitifully cared for. Mr. Harding, or the Warden of Barchester, had rather innocently been given such a position with a long-fixed and adequate income when his daughter married the bishop's son, the archdeacon, and he had since taken care of the elderly men at Hiram's Hospital (a retirement home of sorts) with kindness and generosity. No one who knew Mr. Harding would have suggested that he abused his position, for he freely gave the twelve men in his charge extra funds from his own resources and kept them company with his musical talents, caring for their souls as well as their bodies. Nevertheless, as a matter of principle, a young doctor believed that the system was unjust and began a lawsuit against the Warden, in spite of his own friendship with Mr. Harding. To complicate matters further, this zealous doctor was in love with Mr. Harding's younger daughter Eleanor, though their love was not yet proclaimed by an engagement.

Although the church's abuse of its resources was one of national concern, Trollope deals with it on a very personal level, contrasting Mr. Harding's desire to be just and right in spite of personal loss with the more obstinate position of the archdeacon, his son-in-law, who insisted that the church was always right in its appropriation and use of funds and easily dismissed all criticism to the contrary while relying on his well-paid lawyers to settle the matter in his favor. I immediately felt sympathy for Mr. Harding, who had lived his life with the purest of motives, only to find those motives questioned and his character maligned not only in his own village and by the very men he served but throughout the nation by means of the press. The character of the young doctor, John Bold, is likewise admirable in his quest for justice, even if he does seem somewhat calloused and unfeeling at times.

Mr. Harding's concern for the honor of his name, of maintaining a good character in the eyes of the world, eventually leads him to resign his place as warden and return to a much lower position of service in the church. His integrity, however, does not make all things right with the world. If Mr. Harding is himself content to be poor, his resignation results in less care and support for the twelve poor men of the Hospital. This could also be construed as the fault of the church, but Trollope seems more concerned for the effects on the individuals involved rather than the overarching principles involved. I appreciate the honesty with which he presents the complex issues of determining what is right for an individual, a family, a community. Clearly, Mr. Harding acted rightly according to his own conscience, but it could also be argued that he was too much influenced by public opinion of himself to act justly for the good of those who were under his care. Similarly, Eleanor and John Bold eventually act upon their emotions to the neglect of the principles to which they thought they were so committed. Trollope leads us to believe that these actions were inevitable for these characters, and for good or ill, life goes on for the inhabitants of Barsetshire, rich and poor alike.

I look forward to continuing the story of these earnest lives in the second installment Barchester Towers.

Great Irish Short Stories, edited by Evan Bates

I purchased Great Irish Short Stories last year because the topic interested me and it was cheap, and when the Irish Reading Challenge came up at CarrieK's Books and Movies blog, it seemed like a perfect fit. I think I expected that these would be stories about Ireland, it's history, people and lore, but the settings are not always on the Emerald Isle, and the characters are not always distinctly Irish. It seems that the purpose of the book was to provide a collection of Irish authors, not necessarily Irish history or folklore, though at least two stories do fit that category. Many of the stories reminded me of other stories or authors, which is perhaps testimony to the fact that there is nothing new under the sun or perhaps evidence of the persistent Irish influence on literature and culture. (For more on that fascinating subject read How the Irish Saved Civilization, which I reviewed here.)

"The Limerick Gloves" by Maria Edgeworth is set in England and deals with prejudice against an Irishman. The small town gossip in this story reminded me of Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford.

"Green Tea" by J. Sheridan Le Fanu seemed a bit like a Sherlock Holmes story with an uncommon tale being related by a secretary. It has a medical bent to it, though the adverse effects of green tea have surely been proved otherwise since it was written in 1872. "The Tables of the Law" by W. B. Yeats is also an uncommon tale with a supernatural edge to it rather than a mystery.

"The Death of Fergus" by Standish H. O'Grady seems akin to something of more epic proportions like Tolkien's Silmarillian. It lists a great number of names and relations and is somewhat cumbersome in it's telling, but is the first tale of Irish folklore in the collection dealing with "Lepracanes" and their relations with Fergus the King of Ulidia.

"Lisheen Races, Second-Hand" by E. C. Somerville and Martin Ross is a hilarious vignette of Irish country life, much like the stories found in An Irish Country Doctor by Patrick Taylor. "The Weaver's Grave" by Seumas O'Kelly is told in a similar vein although it is not so humorous, and "The Ploughing of Leaca-na-Naomh" by Daniel Corkery is tragic, but likewise paints a portrait of Irish life.

"Home Sickness" by George Moore relates a somewhat depressing tale of an Irish-American immigrant who returns to the Irish village of his youth to regain his health and finds the poverty and subsistence living to be a harder life than the slums of New York. The abject poverty of this story reminded me of Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes: A Memoir.

The collection is rounded out with another bit of historic folklore in "The Only Son of Aoife" by Isabella Augusta, Lady Gregory, while "The Blind Man" by James Stephens and "The Dead" by James Joyce have more subtle inferences and messages about broader issues of life, particularly marriage.

I don't always enjoy short stories, but these were varied enough and interesting enough to keep my attention. It might not have been what I originally expected, but it is a nice collection of stories spanning nearly two centuries (from 1804 - 1976). If you're looking for an introduction to Irish authors, I would certainly recommend it.

I read this book as part of the 2010 Ireland Reading Challenge.