Review: The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

The Scarlet Letter is the story of Hester Prynne, a woman that commits adultery and is brandished with a red letter A - as a warning to others of the sin she committed.  She is publicly ridiculed and despite this, refuses to give up the identity of the male culprit.  Pearl, Hester Prynne's daughter, is also a constant reminder to Hester of her sin... and the child is credited with many spiritual qualities, both angelic and demonic.

Hawthorne reminds me of a poor man's Thomas Hardy.  He has thought out the plot, spirituality, an ostracizing from society, redemption, etc of this book very well - the story itself is a marvel.  However, the prose is far from Hardy standards and of course, the work does not have the typical Hardy tragic ending.  However, the carefully woven plot is indicative of Hardy with the exception that it doesn't seem to be as complex a web.  The work is brilliant in it's own right, but feels amateur when compared to some of the other greats of Hawethorne's time.

I enjoyed reading the story of Hester - she was a lovable character that you couldn't help but root for.  The innocence, depth and devilishness of Pearl was written beautifully and it made you love her and feel creeped out by her at the same time.  Her presence lingers on you well after you read about her and I haven't felt this way about a character since nearly a year ago, when I read Jack London's The Sea-Wolf.

My kind of humour

While the conclusion was not quite expected, I found myself predicting much of the plot elements - indicative of a slight formulaic approach to writing.  The story itself is one that will stick with you, and I believe that when coupled with the carefully woven plot, the work is justly considered a classic.  I wouldn't classify it as one of the top 50 of all-time, but I'm glad that I read it... I enjoyed the story and it taught me both positive and negative aspects of writing.

QUOTATIONS:

“An effect – which I believe to be observable, more or less, in every individual who has occupied the position – is, that, while he leans on the mighty arm of the Republic, his own proper strength departs from him.  He loses, in an extent proportioned to the weakness or force of his original nature, the capability of self-support. If he possesses an unusual share of native energy, or the enervating magic of place do not operate too long upon him, his forfeited powers may be redeemable.  The ejected officer – fortunate in the unkindly shove that sends him forth betimes to struggle amid a struggling world – may return to himself, and become all that he has ever been.  But this seldom happens.  He usually keeps his ground just long enough for his own ruin, and is then thrust out, with sinews all unstrung, to totter along the difficult footpath of life as he best may.” 42

“…there has never been, for me, the genial atmosphere which a literary man requires, in order to ripen the best harvest of his mind.  I shall do better amongst other faces; and these familiar ones, it need hardly be said, will do just as well without me.” 49

“There was a remarkable intelligence in his features, as of a person who had so cultivated his mental part that it could not fail to mold the physical to itself, and become manifest by unmistakable tokens.” 65

“’…up to that epoch of my life, I had lived in vain.  The world had been so cheerless!  My heart was a habitation large enough for many guests, but lonely and chill, and without a household fire.  I longed to kindle one! It seemed not so wild a dream – old as I was, and somber as I was, and misshapen as I was – that the simple bliss, which is scattered far and wide, for all mankind to gather up, might yet be mine.  And so, Hester, I drew thee into my heart, into its innermost chamber, and sought to warm thee by the warmth which thy presence made there!’” 81

“Love, whether newly born or aroused from a deathlike slumber, must always create a sunshine, filling the heart so full of radiance that it overflows upon the outward world.” 224

“No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.” 237

“’Be true! Be true! Be true! Show freely to the world, if not your worst, yet some trait whereby the worst may be inferred!’” 285

“It is a curious subject of observation and inquiry, whether hatred and love be not the same thing at the bottom.  Each, in its utmost development, supposes a high degree of intimacy and heart knowledge; each renders one individual dependent for the food of his affections and spiritual life upon another; each leaves the passionate lover, or the no less passionate hater, forlorn and desolate by the withdrawal of his subject.  Philosophically considered, therefore, the two passions seem essentially the same, except that one happens to be seen in a celestial radiance, and the other in a dusky and lurid glow.” 286

Review: On the Road by Jack Kerouac

Not sure where in my travels I picked this book up, but I think it was in Copenhagen.  I had heard quite a few good things about it and it seemed like a really great book to take traveling around Europe with me, so I picked it up from a hostel.  Not sure where I left it but I hope whomever is reading it now is enjoying the novel as much as I did and is not deterred from my marginalia (something unheard of for me, generally).

This book started off quite slowly.  Kerouac was off on one of his mad adventures and I was observing him from afar.  At some point, EVERYTHING changed.  I began to travel WITH Kerouac and it was a madly satisfying ride.  I remember him going back and forth between Denver and somewhere in California, constantly picking up companions and getting drunk, doing drugs, having sex (consensual, with prostitutes, etc) and generally getting into all sorts of trouble.  But - he and his friends were LIVING!  At the end, Kerouac and his buddy Neal Cassady make it down to Mexico to experience a culture completely different than their normal scene in the United States and they're completely excited.  If I recall correctly, the work ends abruptly there...

I should mention at this point that I read 'The Original Scroll' version, not knowing the differences between this publication and others.  The version I read kept the original names of the characters and kept the explicit material that was cut out of the standard publication in 1957.  I believe that it was edited quite a bit less than the original publication, and perhaps this led to some of the slowness at the beginning of the work.  That said, I would rather get as close to the original unedited journey as possible, and I remember FEELING very strongly about the journey the further I got into it.

Kerouac is a master of description, and his insight into his friend Neal Cassady was something to behold.  I'm going to cut and paste a few of my favourite Kerouac descriptions - which are also present in the quotes below in this post.  Here is a description of Allen Anson, to start:

“He had more books than I’ve ever seen in all my life… two libraries, two rooms loaded from floor to ceiling around all four walls, and such books as ‘The Explanation of the Apocalypse’ in ten volumes. He played Verdi operas and pantomimed them in his pajamas with the great rip down the back. He didn’t give a damn about anything. He is a great scholar who goes reeling down the NY waterfront with original 14^th century musical manuscripts under his arm, shouting. He crawls like a great spider through the streets. His excitement blew out of his eyes in great stabs of fiendish light. He rolled his neck in spastic ecstasy. He lisped, he writhed, he flopped, he moaned, he howled, he fell back in despair. He could hardly get a word out he was so excited with life.” 228

...and then of Bill Burroughs...

“It would take all night to tell about Bill Burroughs; let’s just say now, he was a teacher, and had every right to teach because he learned all the time; and the things he learned were the facts of life, not out of necessity but because he wanted to. He dragged his long thin body around the entire US and most of Europe and No. Africa in his time only to see what was going on; he married a German countess in Yugoslavia to get her away from the Nazis in the Thirties; there are pictures of him with big cocaine Berlin gangs with wild hair leaning on one another; there are other pictures of him in a Panama hat surveying the streets of Algiers in Morocco. He never saw the German countess again. He was an exterminator in Chicago, a bartender in New York, a summons server in Newark. In Paris he sat at café tables watching the sullen French faces go by. In Athens he looked out of his hotel window at what he called the ugliest people in the world. In Instanbul he threaded his way through crowds of opium addicts and rug sellers, looking for the facts. In English hotels he read Spengler and the Marquis de Sade. In Chicago he planned to hold up a Turkish bath, hesitated just two minutes too long for a drink, and wound up with two dollars and had to make a run for it. He did all these things merely for the experience. He was a dawdler of the oldfashioned European school somewhat along the lines of Stefan Sweig, the young Thomas Mann, and Ivan Karamazov.” 244-245

...and then, of course, of Neal Cassady...

“Suddenly I had a vision of Neal, a burning shuddering frightful Angel palpitating towards me across the road, approaching like a cloud, with enormous speed, pursuing me like the Shrouded Stranger on the plain, bearing down on me. I saw his huge face over the plains with the mad bony purpose and the gleaming eyes; I saw his wings; I saw his old jalopy chariot with thousands of sparking flames shooting out from it; I saw the path it burned over the road; it even made its own road and went over the corn, through cities, destroying bridges, drying rivers. It came like wrath to the West. I knew Neal had gone mad again.”360

These character descriptions floored me; it's been quite some time since I came upon anything this good and besides the feeling of adventure, shunning societal conventions and the concept on what it means to really LIVE, this is what stood out the most for me.  There were many points where I felt connected and disconnected with Kerouac.  He seemed to be a great observer of human nature and a great scribe of the human condition, but he seemed to be something of a tremendous jack-ass as well... it made me feel uncertain if I should root for him or not.  That said, I understood his plight. 

Kerouac was somehow able to put how I feel about people into a condensed, beautiful passage... my favourite quote of the novel, which I found in a slightly edited version tattooed on some courageous soul - which I have added above to this post. 

“…the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that that never yawn or say a commonplace thing.. but burn, burn, burn like roman candles across the night.” 113

It's been many months since I read this work, and I will read it again - most likely in the edited 1957 published version, in an effort to compare the two works.  For now, my heart lies with the scroll... an uncensored version of a travel epic that is guaranteed to stand the test of time.

QUOTATIONS:

“…the only people that interest me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that that never yawn or say a commonplace thing.. but burn, burn, burn like roman candles across the night.” 113

“…most of the time we were alone and mixing up our souls ever more and ever more till it would be terribly hard to say goodbye.” 191

“We turned at a dozen paces, for love is a duel…” 201

“’I want to marry a girl’ I told them ‘so I can rest my soul with her till we both get old.’” 218

“My mother once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their woman’s feet and asked for forgiveness.  This is true.” 223

Explanation of Allen Anson:

“He had more books than I’ve ever seen in all my life… two libraries, two rooms loaded from floor to ceiling around all four walls, and such books as ‘The Explanation of the Apocalypse’ in ten volumes.  He played Verdi operas and pantomimed them in his pajamas with the great rip down the back.  He didn’t give a damn about anything.  He is a great scholar who goes reeling down the NY waterfront with original 14^th century musical manuscripts under his arm, shouting.  He crawls like a great spider through the streets.  His excitement blew out of his eyes in great stabs of fiendish light.  He rolled his neck in spastic ecstasy.  He lisped, he writhed, he flopped, he moaned, he howled, he fell back in despair.  He could hardly get a word out he was so excited with life.” 228

“You always expect some kind of magic at the end of the road.” 234

“’Now, dammit, look here all of you, we all must admit that everything is fine and there’s no need in the world to worry, and in fact, we should realize what it would mean to us to UNDERSTAND that we’re not REALLY worried about ANYTHING.’” 235

Explanation of Bill Burroughs:

“It would take all night to tell about Bill Burroughs; let’s just say now, he was a teacher, and had every right to teach because he learned all the time; and the things he learned were the facts of life, not out of necessity but because he wanted to.  He dragged his long thin body around the entire US and most of Europe and No. Africa in his time only to see what was going on; he married a German countess in Yugoslavia to get her away from the Nazis in the Thirties; there are pictures of him with big cocaine Berlin gangs with wild hair leaning on one another; there are other pictures of him in a Panama hat surveying the streets of Algiers in Morocco.  He never saw the German countess again.  He was an exterminator in Chicago, a bartender in New York, a summons server in Newark.  In Paris he sat at café tables watching the sullen French faces go by.  In Athens he looked out of his hotel window at what he called the ugliest people in the world.  In Instanbul he threaded his way through crowds of opium addicts and rug sellers, looking for the facts.  In English hotels he read Spengler and the Marquis de Sade.  In Chicago he planned to hold up a Turkish bath, hesitated just two minutes too long for a drink, and wound up with two dollars and had to make a run for it.  He did all these things merely for the experience.  He was a dawdler of the oldfashioned European school somewhat along the lines of Stefan Sweig, the young Thomas Mann, and Ivan Karamazov.” 244-245

“And for just a moment I had reached the point of ecstasy that I always wanted to reach and which was the complete step across chronological time into timelessness shadows, and wonderment in the bleakness of the mortal realm, and the sensation of death kicking at my heels to move on, with a phantom dogging its own heals, and myself hurrying to a plank where all the Angels dove off and flew into infinity.  This was the state of my mind.  I thought I was going to die the very next moment.  But I didn’t…” 274

“My whole wretched life swam before my weary eyes, and I realized no matter what you do it’s bound to be a waste of time in the end so you might as well go mad.” 278

“But they need to worry, their souls really won’t be at peace unless they can latch on to an established and proven worry and having once found it they assume facial expressions to fit and go with it, which is, you see, unhappiness, a false really false expression of concern and even dignity and all the time it all flies by them and they know it and that TOO worries them NO End.” 306-307

“’They just turn their minds away from you and like changing fur coats they don’t care any more.  Women can forget what men can’t.  She’s forgotten you, man.  You don’t want to believe it.’ ‘I can’t.’” 345

“Suddenly I had a vision of Neal, a burning shuddering frightful Angel palpitating towards me across the road, approaching like a cloud, with enormous speed, pursuing me like the Shrouded Stranger on the plain, bearing down on me.  I saw his huge face over the plains with the mad bony purpose and the gleaming eyes; I saw his wings; I saw his old jalopy chariot with thousands of sparking flames shooting out from it; I saw the path it burned over the road; it even made its own road and went over the corn, through cities, destroying bridges, drying rivers.  It came like wrath to the West.  I knew Neal had gone mad again.” 360

“Everything amazed him, everything he saw.  A picture on the wall made him stiffen to attention.  He went up and looked closer, he backed up, he stooped, he jumped up, he wanted to see from all possible levels and angles.  He had no idea the impression he was making and cared less. People were now beginning to look at Neal with maternal and paternal affection glowing in their faces.  He was finally an Angel, like I always knew he would become.” 364

Review: Typee by Herman Melville

 

If only physical books themselves could talk.  I encountered Typee while back-packing in Copenhagen in a hippy yoga hostel.  It's customary for backpackers to pick up books here and there and drop them off when completed.  I must have read this work for awhile because I don't remember giving it away until I met a woman from New Zealand (and South Africa), living in London... in southern Italy.  This book traveled to more countries than most people did - and who knows where it ends up after London!

Like typical Melville style, this information is purely tangental.  I should really discuss the story of Typee, briefly... as it's been quite some time since I perused the pages. 

MINOR SPOILERS BEGIN HERE

Typee is the real-life, non-fictional account of Melville's habitation with savages in the Marquesas Islands in Polynesia.  He was on a trading boat, which he felt would NEVER stop it's journey on the seas, so he decided to leave with a fellow sailor (Tom) on an island in the Marquesas during a stop at a friendly French port (the island being partially occupied by the French).  After running out of food while in hiding, they both decided to risk the cannibalistic 'savages'.  After a time, Tom leaves to get help for Melville when he falls ill... but never returns.  At the time of publication of Typee, no one yet knows what happened to Tom... and we only find out from Melville in a follow-up publication.

Marquesas Islands

I won't give away any details about what happens to Melville, but you already know that somehow he lives to tell this story as well as his infamous Moby-Dick.  Melville details many aspects of the Typee, the name for a specific islander tribe, in great detail.  It is a fascinating account of a man that finds himself held captive by cannibals.  Melville is happy, depressed and frightened as he learns more and more about the native tribe and you feel like you are right there with him.  For the most part, he tries to partake in their customs without too much of his own influence... but it is evident that he's not as open to try new things as some would be - but I can't blame him for not having his face tattooed! 

END OF MINOR SPOILERS

While not the epic work of literature that Moby-Dick was, I enjoyed this work more for its simple pleasures.  The prose was simple and to the point, the detail was very strong at times but did not feel heavy-handed and you really felt the characters come alive.  All in all, a very good first work by Melville, in my opinion. 

Review: Moby-Dick by Herman Melville

As it seems to be with well-accepted classic epics of literature, I felt guilty for not having read about Moby Dick, the white whale. My first foray into Melville began a couple of months ago when I delved into his initial work, Typee (to be reviewed later). I expected a very similar style from Melville with Moby-Dick, but was astounded by the differences in technique.  Typee was a good story with a simple re-telling of the facts, unencumbered by allusions but heavy with tangental information pertaining to the tribes of the Marquesas Islands.  Moby-Dick was tangental to the extreme.  There was one chapter dealing with objects that are the colour white, like the whale.  There were three chapters detailing certain paintings that Melville liked and disliked about whales.  All this is mixed up with the actual story of Captain Ahab's obsessive search for the mammal.   I found that, while the tangents were welcome in Typee, they were at times counter productive in Moby-Dick.  The obsessive detail over small points in the story, coupled with the lack of detail on what I considered to be more important to the character development or understanding of the inner workings of the ship, the Pequod, was shocking. 

 

The allusions in the work were in the hundreds, and I made quite a concerted effort to read most of them.  Many allusions did not stand up over the course of time and seemed superfluous.  Others showed the tremendous intelligence and bookish obsessiveness of Melville, and these allusions were a delight to me in many cases.  All this said, there are many that will disagree with this statement, but I believe Melville's editor dropped the ball on this work.  The work could have been a hundred pages shorter easily without stripping away character development or key aspects of the story.  In addition, I still feel that more time should have been spent in discussing how the boats were brought out to the whale and other hinted at but misunderstood components of whaling.

 

The initial scenes with Queequeg in the inn, the description of the impending death of Queequeg, the obsessions and ramifications of the obsessions of Ahab, all actions and interactions between Ahab and Parsee (the clairvoyant) as well as some great sea epiphanies by Ishmael... all these points were absolute marvels.  Melville was on the top of his game here and it was so beautiful and enthralling to read. 

 

Illustration by Rockwell Kent

There were some drawbacks other than what I previously mentioned.  I believe Melville continued to further the damage caused by whaling by making assumptions about their resiliency despite the continual whaling: “…we account the whale immortal in his species, however perishable in his individuality.” 381.  This is a true disservice and is one of the results of a desire to express opinions on subjects Melville himself knew nothing about.  It was quite evident that Melville knew nothing about the migratory patterns of whales - he simply states that they have a 'large playground'.  He states that whales can go hide in the arctic where people cannot follow them, not knowing the seasonality of such migrations... and the eventual ability of man to fish these waters.

 

Melville did not detail how many whales were in the ocean to determine if they were over fished.  He assumed that they weren't and that was that.  Granted, at the time whales were not being killed at the rates that eventually constituted the peak of the whaling industry, but if anything... Melville did not do the whales any justice by claiming that the species was immortal.  He had no idea about the long gestation periods of whales or their low reproductive rates.  He assumed incorrectly that more whales would take the place of the ones killed.  While most were ignorant about whales in those days, Melville did not need to make such bold statements backed without evidence... and I found this to be an extremely perturbing flaw in this work.  Melville's continual attack on bad research in regards to the authors of literature and illustrations of whales, I find laughable given his own statements presented as facts with little or no evidence.

 

All this said, Moby-Dick had some flashes of brilliance and I was glad to have experienced it.  It wasn't a page turner, it could have used better editing and less assumptions, but the humanity in the work was dripping, the spirituality of the quest and impending doom was haunting and tantalizing and I found that I enjoyed learning about the nuances of the characters.  A very solid work of literature, but in my opinion... falling short of the hype.

 

QUOTATIONS:

“But all the things that God would have us do are hard for us to do – remember that… And if we obey God, we must disobey ourselves; and it is this disobeying ourselves, wherein the hardness of obeying God consists.” 37

“You cannot hide the soul.” 43

“I have no objection to any person’s religion, be it what it may, so long as that person does not kill or insult any other person, because that other person don’t believe it also.  But when a man’s religion becomes really frantic; when it is a positive torment to him; and, in fine, makes this earth of ours an uncomfortable inn to lodge in; then I think it high time to take that individual aside and argue the point with him.” 73

“There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody’s expense but his own.” 189

“…man is a money-making animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence.” 342

“…we account the whale immortal in his species, however perishable in his individuality.” 381

“…the Parsee’s mystic watch was without intermission as his own; yet these two never seemed to speak – one man to the other – unless at long intervals some passing unmomentous matter made it necessary.  Though such a potent spell seemed secretly to join the twain; openly, and to the awe-struck crew, they seemed pole-like asunder.  If by day they chanced to speak one word; by night, dumb men were both, so far as concerned the slightest verbal interchange.  At times, for longest in his scuttle, the Parsee by the main-mast; but still fixedly gazing upon each other; as if the Parsee Ahab saw his forethrown shadow, in Ahab the Parsee his abandoned substance.” 438

“…Ahab never thinks; he only feels, feels, feel;, that’s tingling enough for mortal man! To think’s audacity.  God only has that right and privilege.  Thinking is, or ought to be, a coolness and a calmness; and our poor hearts throb, and our poor brains beat too much for that.” 460

Review: Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

Mrs. Dalloway was my first journey down the rabbit hole with Virginia Woolf.  At first, I plunged into dark recesses of Woolf’s mind and it was evident to me that she probably had very little friends, as she seemed to hate a lot of things about people.  As the novel evolves, we learn the most about the two main characters – Clarisa Dalloway and Peter Walsh, two former lovers who now appear in their early fifties.  Peter Walsh tried to marry her many years ago, but was revoked because Clarissa thought that a marriage would damage them, despite the fact that they were in love.  Clarissa ends up marrying Richard Dalloway, whom she loves, but not in the kindred spirit way she did with Peter.  Peter has several failed relationships with women under his belt, and a proposal to marry a wealthy and prominent girl from India.

Woolf lets us know this information in between bits of trivial life information; though, in the trivial, we learn about the thought processes of the characters and obtain a deep understanding of what they’re like.  Woolf does a marvelous job with character development with seemingly small pieces of information about minor events in life.  Characters are real and whole, and not plagued by stereotypes or other simple tools.  Their flaws are presented but not summarized and as a reader, you’re able to form your own decisions about the characters without Woolf intending you to feel one way or the other about them.

At times, the text seems jagged and disconnected and as such, is not always an enjoyable read.  The point of the work does not make itself evident to the very end and seems to be summed up a little too succinctly for my tastes, though I do like the message: “’What does the brain matter,’ said Lady Rosseter, getting up, ‘compared to the heart?’”  The message is particularly relevant to me at the moment and follows up the message about love in Ben-Hur quite nicely, as well.  It brings us back to the age-old question – follow your mind or follow your heart?

I think we’re meant to believe that things would have been better, at least for Peter and Clarissa, had they given love a shot and stopped overthinking – something we learn that both of them do on a daily basis.  The thing is, we really can’t be certain that it would have been.  Perhaps Clarissa was right and they would have destroyed each other, which leads me back to the adage that maybe “it’s better to lose in love than not love at all.” 

The ending is left ambiguously and I will replicate it in its entirety here, so skip this part if you don’t want to hear it.  “’What does the brain matter,’ said Lady Rosseter, getting up, ‘compared to the heart?’

 “’I will come up,’ said Peter, but he sat on for a moment.  What is this terror? What is this ecstasy? He thought to himself.  What is it that fills me with extraordinary excitement?

It is Clarissa, he said.

For there she was.” 215

Perhaps being terrified and excited to see someone is love?  You would hope that the former would dissipate with time but the real question is if the latter does.  Is love a constant excitement?  Many questions brought forth by Woolf, and I suppose it’s our job as readers to debate the answers.  On the whole, an enjoyable read which will eventually lead me to jump down Woolf’s dark rabbit hole again – in another work.

P.S. It didn’t really fit in this mini-review, but both Clarissa and a shell-shocked Septimus had a way of viewing the world for it’s incredible beauty followed by its seedy underbelly.  It was quite a thing to witness – and I felt as if these characters had some very similar traits with me.  It leads me to question whether all truly passionate and observant people go through this.

OTHER QUOTATIONS:

“And down his mind went flat as a marsh, and three great emotions bowled over him; understanding; a vast philanthropy; and finally, as if the result of the others, an irrepressible, exquisite delight; as if inside his brain by another hand, strings were pulled, shutters moved, and he having nothing to do with it, yet stood at the opening of endless avenues down which if he chose he might wander.  He had not felt so young for years.

He has escaped! Was utterly free – as happens the downfall of habit when the mind, like an unguarded flame, bows and bends and seems about to blow from its holding.  I haven’t felt so young for years! Thought Peter, escaping from being precisely what he was, and feeling like a child who runs out of doors, and sees, as he runs, his old nurse waving at the window.”

--

“The compensation of growing old, Peter Walsh thought, coming out of Regeant Park , and holding his hat in his hand, was simply this; that the passions remain as strong as ever, but one has gained – at last! – the power which adds the supreme flavour to existence – the power of taking hold of experience, of turning it round, slowly in the light.

Life itself, every moment of it, every drop of it, here, this instant, now, in the sun, in Regent’s Park, was enough.  Too much, indeed.  A whole lifetime was too short to bring out, now that one had acquired the power, the full flavour; to extract every ounce of pleasure, every shade of meaning; which both were so much more solid than they used to be.” 88
--

“…to know her, or anyone, one must seek out the people who completed them; even the places.  Odd affinities she had with people she had never spoken to, some woman in the street, some man behind a counter – even trees, or barns.” 169

Review: Ben-Hur by Lew Wallace

I didn`t read the abridged version, obviously

It’s very interesting reading books while you’re traveling, as they seem to take on a new life depending on where you are that coincides with your head space at the time.  I remember being in Venezia (Venice, Italy) and being completely absorbed with Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game”.  In Edinburgh, I found myself frequently wanting to get home early (despite falling in love with the city), so I could finish Ben-Hur.  Interestingly enough, I missed a few sights in Edinburgh due to books.  I was walking to the Royal Botanical Gardens (a long trek from the city), and I found a really interesting book store with Dickens’ first editions and an eccentric Scot who talked to me until his store closed down.  I missed two other bookstores on the street because of all my chatting, and the Botanical Gardens as well.  But, as Steinbeck states “You don’t take a trip, a trip takes you,” and I believe my conversation with this bookseller was more important to my overall knowledge of books, book selling, UK bookstore distinctions from North America, Edinburgh city planning, and a multitude of random topics. 

That was a slight digression.  Now on to Ben-Hur, written by Lew Wallace.

I originally bought Ben-Hur due to the great movie with, if memory serves, Charlton Heston, which won best picture in 1980 if I recall correctly.  The parts I remember the most as a youth were those of the chariot scenes in the Roman Coliseum – and I guess I thought this was going to be a book about the gladiators.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  This book is all about the life and meaning of Jesus and the struggle between the Romans and the Jews. 

Ben-Hur is a descendant from a prominent Jewish family who is incorrectly accused of attempted murder on the Roman emperor Gratus.  Gratus puts Ben-Hur into a life of slavery as a rower of military ships and his family is removed from their home, which is seized by the Romans.  Ben-Hur eventually becomes free and plots a course of revenge and a quest to find his mother and sister.

As Ben-Hur searches for his family, he also searches for a life meaning.  He eventually comes to the conclusion that his purpose is to help the King of the Jews in his endeavors, both physically and financially (since, by this time he is a wealthy man).  His initial belief is that Jesus has come to overthrow Rome and become King, and only later does he learn that Jesus of Nazareth has come to save the souls of men and show them life through his resurrection.

In addition, Ben-Hur has found what he believes to be love with the daughter of a wise Egyptian Sheik.  Her physical beauty knows no bounds and she has a sharp tongue and an independent and saucy personality.   He also has an attraction to a sweet, simpler Jewish woman named Esther.  I can relate to Ben-Hur’s struggle between the women and his desires for finding a mate.  There is some great writing about love.  One of my particular favourites is the determination of a moral of an ancient Egyptian tale.  The Egyptian states that the only cure for love is another love, while Hur exclaims that the only cure for love is death.  I’ve been thinking a lot about this and it’s hard to pick answer if forced to. 

For those worried that this book will be too religious, I’m going to attempt to quell your concerns.  I found the back story of Jesus, which I have heard a million times before, was finally brought to life for me.  The impact of Herod was also present, and it was very enjoyable to get a feeling like you were brought back in time (whether of fiction or non-fiction, I will not debate).  I really felt transported and that my knowledge of the time period, if not strengthened, was enhanced by what I read.  The characters were all very three dimensional to me and I felt interested in all of them.  Ben-Hur himself was presented with faults, but I was surprised that only a few of his weaknesses came back to haunt him.  I felt that his quest for revenge and vengeance instead of Christ’s teaching of love for all mankind, should have made itself known to him if not spelled his doom.  Neither outcome occurred.  However, his lackadaisical nature is protecting his past (ie: his loose tongue), did constantly create difficulties for him and Wallace makes this very evident slightly before the end of the work.

I didn’t find myself wanting to write down very many quotes, but a lot of the dialogue was very engaging.  Wallace does have a tendency to talk to the reader, something that I don’t generally like.  It was distracting at points, as he explicitly states in the novel why he has outlined a scene prior to – for the benefit of the reader.  This should be implicit instead of stated directly, and it made me feel as if I was being talked down to a bit. The story also seemed to lack fluidity when the backdrop and history of scenes were drawn out in too great a detail, but this was an infrequent occurrence throughout the work. 

Overall the book was an enjoyable read with concepts and historical context that I believe will take with me on my travels through this life.

“A man drowning may be saved; not so a man in love.” 413

Review: Paradise by Dante Alighieri

This is not really a review, but I haven’t said anything about Paradiso yet and I feel that without at least a quick post, Dante would not be sufficiently covered off.  I have been traveling for a month in Europe, so Dante has not really been at the forefront of my mind.  However, train time can be a forced productive time!

The beauty of Inferno was twofold – the imagery and the multitude of historic and cultural references.  The beauty of Purgatorio was in the struggle and the redemption of Dante himself, coupled with some great imagery.  In my opinion, Paradiso had very little that made the first two books so enjoyable.  The imagery was not as piercing and the stages of Paradiso do not stand out in my mind only a month after reading it.

I read a new Penguin edition and I believe the translator’s given and surname began with a K (Klein, perhaps?).  This edition as not illustrated as planned, as I had packed all of my books into storage by this time.  I found the best translator to be Ciardi and the best illustrator to be Dore.  Ciardi seemed more fluid then the other two translations I read, and it was a good mix between being modern and accurate.  Dryden’s translation was much stiffer and the recent penguin translation seemed to be oversimplified.  Dante illustrations seemed to add so much depth to the work that I felt a void when they were not there.  Even renowned artistic great, Blake, was not able to capture the essence of Dante (in my opinion)… making the Dore illustrations seem more profound in comparison.

Paradiso is frequently the Dante that most people do not read – and it’s my opinion that if you HAVE to miss one, this is the one to miss.  However, I have heard from others that this is their favourite work, but since no one in my book club was able to get through all three in the month, I was the only one who could offer an opinion on it.  I would suggest reading it for completeness and trying to read it with a Ciardi/Dore combination to get the most out of the text.

Review: Purgatory by Dante Alighieri

Reading The Divine Comedy has been a humbling experience.  The novel has so many layers and references within it, I feel as though there are many passing me by.  My initial feeling on the best way to get the most out of Dante is to first read all the Greek works and then read the Bible and if possible, a bit about the history of Italy around the time period of publication.  The references and allusions would become deeper in meaning and the text would be more enjoyable.

After reading Melville Best Anderson's translation in my Easton Press edition (100 Greatest Books Ever Written), I felt like the translation was weighing me down.  I could not read more than a few canto's at a time - they seemed to be thick... kind of like walking in Atreus's Swamp of Sorrows in The Neverending Story.  In addition, the illustrations by William Blake were of a muddled quality, due to the printing of the edition.  It all seemed to add to the overwhelming feeling that I needed to try a new edition.


Dante is carried away to Purgatory
[Illustration by Gustave Dore]

As luck would have it, I found a copy made by the Franklin Library (part of the 100 Greatest Books of All-Time series).  The Franklin Library books were made by the Franklin Mint before their publishing arm went out of business.  What I really enjoyed about this edition was the translation.  John Ciardi has done an excellent job of making the text more readable and fluid, without losing the important details.  In addition, I now have chapter summaries preceding each Canto which gives you background detail on the allusions/references - which I previously stumbled through (checking wikipedia at every turn for further information).  These analytical chapter summaries have proved invaluable.  And just how the illustrations by Blake seemed to match the muddiness of the Easton Press' translation, Gustave Dore's illustrations seemed to match the fluidity of the Ciardi translation.  The translation and illustrations are so good, that I'm actually dreading moving on to the third edition - it's quite possible that I revert back to Ciardi/Dore at some point.
And now on to the work itself.  Dante has just left Hell and is being carried away to Purgatory.  Purgatory is a place where souls purge themselves of their sins - consequently, there are seven terraces on the mountain in Purgatory - to match the seven deadly sins. We are shown souls atoning for their sins on every terrace, one for lust, gluttony, greed, sloth, wrath, envy and pride.  I wonder if the reader's thoughts affect which stories stick in the mind the most.  For me, I have an overwhelming picture of the emaciated souls repaying their sins of gluttony and the souls whirling around at a high pace and never stopping - repenting for their sins of sloth. 

My favourite part of this work is Dante breaking down before Beatrice and atoning for his own sins.  Beatrice was a woman that had such effect on Dante, he ended up immortalizing her in his work - despite only meeting the woman twice in a nine year span... before her death at the age of 24.  What I enjoyed most about his repentance is that he does not specify what he is repenting for - and I took it as the author respecting his own privacy in his work and showing that each of us has our own personal sins which we atone for in our own private ways.  It was very beautiful to me.

Matilda guides Dante in cleansing in the river Lethe
[Illustration by Gustave Dore]

The imagery in the work was made even stronger by Gustave Dore's illustrations - I felt incredibly moved when reading the scene where Dante is dipped in the pure river Lethe in Purgatory by Matilda to wash away his memory of meeting Jesus and Beatrice and cleanse himself of his sins.  The illustration coupled with the work had a profound impact on me.  I cannot separate the illustrations from the beautiful translation and summaries - all flow into one and provided me with a beautiful experience in reading Purgatory.

I'm excited to begin Paradise (Paradiso) - we will see how the translation by Thomas G. Bergen and illustrations by Leonard Baskin compare, and if I revert back to Ciardi/Dore.

Review: Beowulf by Unknown

I had no idea what to expect before I picked up Beowulf.  I knew it was the oldest English epic in existence, but I was unaware that it was only translated into English in 1815 and was apparently damaged in a fire in 1731 and nearly lost. 

The story is about a character named 'Beowulf' and is set in Scandinavia.  He belongs to the Geat-clan, which lived in modern day Sweden.  Beowulf comes to the rescue of the King of the Danes, who is exasperated by the death of many in his kingdom by a giant named Grendel.  Beowulf slays the giant as well as his mother who seeks retribution after Grendel's death. Fifty years apparently pass and Beowulf has become king of the Geats.  They go after a treasure guarded by a dragon, who is slain... but Beowulf sustains an injury that kills him.

Does any of this sound familiar to you?  I could not help thinking about 'The Hobbit' as I worked my way through this epic poem.  Tolkien's world contained rings (reference frequently) as well as a large dragon named Smaug, who dwelled on a mountain of treasure.  There is a thirteen member party, very similar to the party that goes on the hobbit adventure.  The naming conventions are similar - there is one reference to a man named Eofur, which has a striking resemblance to the dwarven Bifur and Bofur.  There is even a character named Guthlaf which looks a lot like Gandalf to me.  Beowulf is buried on a large Tumulus (or barrow) upon his death, similar in nature to the barrow downs in The Hobbit where Bilbo is buried alive. 

There is no question that Tolkien borrowed a few ideas from this work.  This was just a theory of mine, until I found this on Wikipedia: "Tolkien also revealed how highly he regarded Beowulf: "Beowulf is among my most valued sources," and this influence may be seen throughout his Middle-earth legendarium. 

Anyway, this work can be a tough slog at times.  The chapters are thankfully short and preceding each one in my edition, there is a summary of what will happen.  This is helpful since the text is an olde English translation.  You eventually get used to the style and the rhyming convention almost flows, but it takes some time to get used to.

Since the work was not preserved in its entirety, there are pieces and chapters missing.  In addition, there are historic stories with unknown characters thrown in the work which makes it fairly choppy and incongruent with the original story. 

I would recommend it to hardcore Tolkien fans, as it gives you further insight into Middle Earth.  I'd also recommend it to those who enjoy ancient tales from Scandinavia or the surrounding area and for those that love adventure and fantasy tales.  It's not really something that most parents would read to their children, though perhaps it's possible to find a version that is translated into simpler verse.

Would love to hear what those in the book blogging community think of this one before my book club meeting in late May!

Review: Walden by Henry David Thoreau

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion." 109

I have felt strongly drawn to read this book many times in my life, and what with me quitting my job, traveling to Europe and reading In Praise of Slow a few weeks ago, I decided it was now the perfect time to read Walden.

What I was expecting was an account from a hermit - someone that had left society to go live in the woods because he hated people (Salinger-esque).  This could not be further from the truth. While Thoreau partially left society because he hated the materialism and poor conversations from aristocrats, he didn't leave society to get away from people altogether.  He enjoyed talking with people, if they were the RIGHT people and if it was the RIGHT conversation.  He went into town frequently, and wasn't that far away from the the town.  I hesitate to use words for town like 'civilization' or 'the heart of things', because I bet Mr. Thoreau felt like the woods represented those words - not the town.


View of the Pond
[I looked at many but this fit my imagination the best]

In the first 90 pages or so, Thoreau talks all about some of the downfalls of society and I must admit I fell in love right then and there.  Beautiful thoughts - I found I couldn't stop putting down the pen.  There were some beautiful sentiments throughout the book (I have pages full of quotes) on nature, living simply and the beauty of men.  I was particularly fascinated with his interactions and opinions on others, especially those that were of inferior mental prowess (simpler folk).  He was able to appreciate the beauty in people, and this reminded me a lot of Hemingway without all the drinking and depression.  Of course, Hemingway had a special way of bringing their characters to life... much better than Thoreau.  That said, still a lot of charm in the details of some of Thoreau's experiences with people in nature and in his cabin.

He outlines how he built his cabin, the changing of seasons from winter to spring and back again.  He tells us about the history of the area, the influence of people on the lake and describes in detail the plants and animals of the surrounding area.  There are stories about particular animal events, and there are many references to the Ancient Greeks - something that I was interested in given my recent past.  I particularly enjoyed a story of a solitary red ant that he likened to Akhilleus and detailed the fight between red and black ants like a battle of the Trojans and Argives. 

Thoreau's Cabin

This book teaches you a lot about Thoreau himself - he bleeds from the pages.  He was rebellious against society (he didn't feel like he should pay taxes), he was learned in the Classics (and consequently Latin), and he was passionate and at many times very angry.  I was expecting him to be much more Zen Master; of course, he was a passionate young man of 28 years when he went into the woods.  He was also a devout Christian, which you can see creep into a few parts - without being overly distracting.

The most important take away is that life is short and it's possible to live for prolonged spells of leisure if you live simply. It's amazing how much less you can live with once you get used to it. In North America, we all live very extravagant lifestyles, myself included. I can't help but think that Walden would have laughed at me reading my leatherbound book on a comfy couch. At one point I went down by a river to read and I must admit that it was more enjoyable (though my back hurt!). I suppose I have a long way to go in simplifying.

Interior of the Cabin

I did feel like moving to the country to live in the woods by a lake, but that is nothing new to me.  I enjoy a more leisurely pace whether in a slower city or in the country and I have often debated moving to Northern Ontario, Canada to live.  At this point in my life, it's not the time... but I would rather live up north than have a place in the city and a cottage in the country that I commuted up to on weekends.  It's simply not the same.

Anyway, this novel is a must read.  I personally found the beginning and ending of the book the most quote worthy - it had the most meat overall.  You may find that it lulls a bit (I personally wasn't that interested with the detailed calculations of the pond depth or the many pages on how bubbles form in ice), but perhaps it was just my experience with the work.  Would be really interested to hear what others think.

Review: The Aeneid by Virgil

I cannot begin to express how much more I am getting out of reading these days, now that our book club has begun to focus on the ancient Greek and Roman classics. I find that many of the beliefs I have held about some of the ancient classics are simply untrue - due in part to my lack of experience in addition to inaccuracies portrayed in movies and the world at large.  The more I read within this time period, the more I seem to understand the context of the situations presented by many of the characters.  Of course, each author adds their own flare to the characters, but I do get a sense of fragmented continuity.  This sounds like an oxymoron, but let me explain.  Many of the facts between stories are disjointed or simply contradictory, but the general disposition of the characters seems to be largely in tact.  There are definitely biases based on author's background or purpose in writing (I mention in specific to reference Virgil whom was possibly writing to suck up to Emperor Augustus), but the character of the subjects seems to be largely the same between Virgil and Homer.  Hera/Juno is portrayed by both to be an emotional spitfire, who has a hard time avoiding a heavy-handed direct intervention with humanity.  There are definitely some exceptions to this. Homer portrays Zeus in a more flawed manner than Virgil does - in the Aeneid, Jove/Jupiter/Zeus seems to be a more level headed diplomat. 

In addition to breaking down the inaccuracies that exist in my mind, I'm finding it exceedingly interesting in how little we have changed over the last 2500 years as a species.  Emotions of love, jealousy, lust and rage are ever present.  Many of these emotions are identified as coming from the Gods, but the people still struggle and they are often found praying in times of crisis or hope.  Grief and rage from abandoned lovers seems to re-occur.  The abandoned experience loneliness and many seek a 'rebound' relationship to keep them going, with the other contingent refusing to re-marry or committing suicide to end their tormented grief.  Within the Aeneid, the story of Queen Dido of Carthage is a very powerful example of the fury of a woman scorned. 

As I get further into the ancient mythology canon, I really feel like each work builds upon the last.  Allusions in later works are easier for me to pick-up, and I find I really appreciate the cross-pollination across generations, genres and subjects.  From what I've read, Dante's 'The Divine Comedy' was heavily influenced by Virgil and when the book club gets to Dante in a few months, we'll be able to judge the validity of this sentiment.

In short, I'm really enjoying this experience with the classics.  A fellow book clubber pointed out to me the other day that up until about 100 years ago, the concept of an educated person was not based on subjects such as mathematics, science, psychology, business, politics, etc, but a strong foundation in classical literature.  I'm not suggesting that any type of education is more important than another, but simply that I feel like this experience is dissolving some of my own ignorance and replacing it with a foundation that can only help me in life, and as a solid basis for a further understanding of literature.

A quick note about translators before I jump into The Aeneid.

As with any foreign work, choosing a translator is an important decision. It's even more important when choosing an older, epic work. My book buying, like many others in the blogging community, is out of control. In many ways, this is detrimental (especially to the bank account), but when choosing a translator after the fact, it's nice to be able to choose from multiple copies of a book by reading snippets of each translator to compare. I began by reading the John Dryden translation, which was completed in the late 17th century. I didn't get very far... and I can't quite tell you why, but I found myself longing for a Robert Fitzgerald translation due to my experiences with The Iliad and The Odyssey. As it turned out, I had a copy sitting on my shelf from said translator and decided to switch over. I lost the privilege of illustrations with this switch, but I think it more than paid off due to my enjoyment of the poetry.

And now, on to the review. 

Like many others, I always thought that the story about the Trojan Horse was in The Iliad, but as I turned to the last page of the work, I knew this was a fallacy.  After doing some research, I learned that the story of the Trojan Horse was in The Aeneid.  Therefore, I assumed that The Aeneid was purely the story of the Iliad, written from a Roman perspective by Virgil, about the Trojan War and specifically the story of the horse.  Not so.  Another theory shattered.

*SPOILERS BEGIN HERE*

The story is all about the Trojan, Aeneas, who flees Troy as the city is being burned to the ground.  He fights off as many as he can before hope is lost (I believe a God tells him to move on), and he flees with his father (Anchises), his wife (Creusa) and his son (Ascanius/Iulus).  As they run, he realizes his wife is nowhere to be found... she has been killed by the Trojans.  Her ghost then tells him about his destiny to found Rome.

Aeneas then embarks on a journey of his own, not dissimilar to that of Odysseus in The Odyssey.  He sails away only to be thrust further out to see by Charybdis, a sea monster.  After a brief landing outside the layer of the Cyclops (no fighting ensues), he ends up at Carthage.  Juno/Hera sends Venus (Venus' son is Cupid/Amor) to make Aeneas get distracted from his journey by falling in love with the Queen of Carthage, Dido.  They spend a night (or nights) together in love making and Dido assumes that they have fulfilled a marriage pact.  Jupiter/Jove/Zeus sends Mercury to remind Aeneas of his destiny and when he leaves, Dido goes a little batshit crazy with grief and kills herself.  The hate of Aeneas here is very disturbing and sticks with you.

Aeneas' father dies due to natural causes and he goes into the underworld to speak with him in Elysium.  I always thought that Elysium was heaven, but apparently it is a warrior's paradise in Tartarus, at a door adjacent to another that leads to the depths of hell.  At this point, the story gets more interesting.  On his way to Elysium, he bumps into Dido and is overcome by emotion.  Dido does not even answer him, and instead looks away and goes off with her previous husband into the abyss.  I kind of figured there would be some talking with Aeneas' deceased wife, Creusa, but I guess this is the furthest thing from his mind.  He does talk to a soldier or two instead... but quickly moves on.

At last, he makes it to Elysium where he has a nice little chat with his father who tells him about the cycle of souls and the founding and history of Rome.  He goes through Aeneas' lineage and takes us all the way through some of the current/recent Roman emperors from the time.  I'm sure Emperor Augustus loved hearing his own made up history... that he was a descendant of Aeneas who came from the Gods themselves (Aeneas' mother was Venus/Aphrodite/Cytherea).  Virgil actually used to read the Aeneid to Augustus while he wrote it in serial.

Anyway, they eventually land near Latium (in central Italy, close to Rome), ruled by Latinus.  Latinus has been told by the Gods to let his daughter Lavinia get married to a foreigner and he believes that Aeneas is the chosen one (he is, of course).  Latinus promises Aeneas the hand of his daughter and his wife goes a bit off the deep end (due to Hera/Juno's meddling) and brings on war by stirring up Turnus - who is a great warrior who loves Lavinia.  War breaks out before Aeneas is even back... and the second half of the book is primarily about this war with a few side stories.  In the end, Aeneas finally fights Turnus in hand to hand combat.  He wounds him with a spear and then goes into a blind rage when he sees the Turnus wearing his deceased ally's (Pallas') gear, and he kills him with his sword.  The story abruptly ends right then and there and nothing further is said about the integration of people of Latium with the Trojans (where they inevitably build Rome to redeem the Italians for the loss of Troy).

*END OF SPOILERS*

I must start off by saying that Virgil is no Homer.  I'm glad that I read the same translator (Robert Fitzgerald) of all these works, because you can eliminate bias' based on translator when comparing the works of these two men, specifically in regards to poetry.  Homer definitely has a more poetic inclination.  Virgil is no slouch, but Homer has a grace about him that cannot be matched.

In addition, I found that I felt a lot more when reading Homer.  The story of Achilles really had a profound effect on me.  I could relate to his pain and agony, his stubbornness and his quest for life meaning.  Even Odysseus in the Odyssey experienced an extreme struggle in returning home before he found for control over his own household.  Aeneas didn't seem to struggle - things came easy to him after the Trojan war despite the obstacles.  He came across as very level headed, but it was evident at the final scene with Turnus that he had some of the Achilles rage... though with none of the struggle. 

The characters didn't leap off the page as they did with Homer.  Homer's characters had more personality which created investment with the reader - I was invested in how they performed, even if I though Odysseus was a bit of an idiot.  I wasn't all that invested with Aeneas and most of the other characters in the book were not built up to differentiate them with others being slaughtered in war.  He tried this with the amazon, but with limited execution.  In contrast, other characters like Homer's Aias (Ajax) were exciting to read about.  They had distinct desires, actions and personalities that stuck with you.  This isn't to say that Virgil didn't have it in him to create compelling characters.  Dido was a great example of such a skill, and I'd like to believe that if Virgil didn't die before the publishing of this work... he would have refined some of his character development.  It makes sense to me that you would start with a skeleton outline of what happened and only afterwards add further depth.

All in all, I learned so much from reading this book and I'm glad I got through the struggle of the first 5 books or so (up to Dido).  At that point, the book flowed better with the exception of ceremonial games to commemorate Anchises' death (which always seems thrown in to me) and was more enjoyable.  I do believe this is a must read for anyone with interest in mythology and in truth, any serious classics reader who wants a deeper understanding of the many references which will stem from this book and its characters.

I'll leave off with one of my favourite quotes about love... with a little twist at the end showing a bit of a conniving female Goddess.  Venus is trying to get her husband, Vulcan (Hephaestus in Greek), to make some armour/weapons for Aeneas:

"The goddess spoke and wrapped her snowy arms
This way and that about him as he lingered,
Cherishing him in her swansdown embrace.
And instantly he felt the flame of love
Invading him as ever; into his marrow
Ran the fire he knew, and through his bones,
As when sometimes, ripped by a thunder peal,
A fiery flash goes jagged through the clouds.
His wife, contented with her blandishment,
Sure of her loveliness, perceived it all." VIII, 516-525

Review: The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu

Royall Tyler Translation Shown

"The Tale of Genji" is a great book for someone seeking a reading challenge.   It takes courage to dive into an 11th century Japanese text, especially one that is 1184 pages and often referred to as the world’s first novel (though many consider “Ochikubo Monogatari” as the first ever).  As with most epics, I had to change my daily life schedule to complete it.  It’s difficult to imagine what my life will now be like without spending every spare moment reading 'The Tale of Genji' to make my deadline for the book club (January 25^th).  I read 150 pages per week for 8 weeks, and that’s a pretty good clip for me these days for a work that is not a particularly easy read. 

I read the first complete English translation by Edward Seidensticker (Arthur Waley’s translation in 1960 was one chapter short of completion), completed in 1976.  The only other version that I have heard of is the one by Royall Tyler, and there were a few in our book club that read his 2001 version.  I read bits and pieces of each, and I must say that I preferred the Seindensticker one.  The Tyler translation has a concise summary of what happens by Chapter, and the relative age of both Genji and Kaoru (his rumored son) by Chapter.  It also has a character list by chapter and the Penguin edition has maps and some lovely illustrations.  My text was nothing but text, but I found the prose less modern (something I prefer when reading older works).  It was also very helpful because of the way in which Seidensticker stuck to concrete naming conventions, which I found essential in a book which contains more than 400 characters with various names and titles referenced for identification.

Here’s a note on translations from an Amazon.ca customer, which I found helpful:

“A longtime admirer of Murasaki Shikibu's exceptional work, I fell in love with Genji first through Arthur Waley's translation, which made this admittedly exotic novel accessible to non-Japanese readers. Curious to know more about the Heian period and culture, I acquired Ivan Morris's tremendously helpful and readable "The World of the Shining Prince." Then I discovered Edward Seidensticker's superb rendering of "The Tale of Genji," and have read and re-read that version with deepening understanding and enjoyment. Seidensticker, while presumably adhering closer to the language of the original (which even modern Japanese find difficult to read), gave us a translation which is perfumed by the sensuous beauty of what must have been a truly refined and special time and place (albeit a very limited one).

Now comes Royall Tyler's superb effort, which comes with myriad and very helpful details: each chapter starts with an explanation of the chapter title, how the section relates to previous chapters and the cast of characters. There are also generous appendices including a chronology of events in the novel and a glossary. Line drawings throughout the two volumes (also present in Seidensticker) provide helpful visual clues as to dress and architecture. Tyler's effort seems even closer to the original language, and thereby lies the problem.

This version unnecessarily burdens the reader with ever-changing nomenclature. Since in the original characters are known by their rank-names, and Tyler (mostly) adheres to this usage, the reader is challenged to keep up with the changes. Put the book down for a day or two and you will feel quite lost for several minutes when you restart. As an aide, the translator does provide footnotes to clue you in, but this just makes things more awkward and tedious. For example, at the start of Chapter 43, "Red Plum Blossom" in Tyler's version: "There was in those days a gentleman known as the Inspector Grand Counselor, the late Chancellor's second son, hence the younger brother of the Intendant of the Watch (1)" This same sentence in Seidensticker reads: "Kobai, the oldest surviving son of the late To no Chujo, was now Lord Inspector." How much more to the point!

To conclude, while Tyler's translation is awesome in its scholarship and abundant detail (including sources of the poetry), it is also much less readable. To my mind, the scholarship gets in the way of the story telling. I found myself longing for my Seidensticker at many turns as I went dutifully through the Tyler. Aside from providing a more continuous flow to the story, I also found that Seidensticker's translation of the many poems in the tale more comprehensible and lyrical. If you are new to this literary masterpiece, you will find the Waley translation the most accessible. If you get hooked on the work, you will probably want the other two. If you must have only one version, however, go with Seidensticker.”

That’s a lot on translators – so now on to the work itself.

*PLOT: SMALL AMOUNTS OF SPOILERS*

The Tale of Genji chronicles the life of Hikaru Genji (‘Shining Genji’), a man born to the Emperor Kiritsubo and a low ranking concubine.  His mother dies when Genji is three and we watch as Genji grows up and eventually learns about the opposite sex.  The emperor finds a woman named Fujitsubo who strongly resembles Genji’s deceased mother and Genji falls in love with her.  Because the relationship is forbidden/taboo, Genji attempts to forget of her and has a series of misplaced affairs with various women, many of whom he takes into his household.  When he finds a 10 year old girl in the mountains name Murasaki, he is infatuated with her and brings her home against her parents/guardians wishes.  Murasaki, sometimes believed to be a representation of the author, becomes Genji’s true love as she grows into a woman.  He finds that he loves her more as she gets older, until her eventual death.  Genji lives with many ups and downs due to his relationships which include infatuation, affairs, marriage and death of lovers… in addition to many offspring (although, he never really feels like he’s had enough children).   Genji dies at the end of chapter 41 (the last eight years of his life are not recorded), which is about 800 pages into the novel and the remaining 400 pages or so is all about Kaoru, who is believed to be the son of Genji and one of his wives… but is truly the son of Kashiwagi and Genji’s wife. 

The books ends before the ending of the story – when Kaoru finds that a woman he loves, Ukifune, is still alive a year after her believed suicide.  When he sends a messenger in to talk with her in the nunnery in which she’s staying, she refuses to talk to him.  So ends the work.

*END OF SMALL AMOUNTS OF SPOILERS (PLOT)*

2000 Yen Note with Murasaki Shikibu

Many readers of this book are going to be disappointed in the fact that the plot is pretty sparse given the length of the work.  There is no doubt that it could have used a strong editor, but in ancient works it’s hard to fault authors for the lack of editing.  We’re really not sure if Murasaki Shikibu wrote the entire work or there were various authors that contributed.  According to Wikipedia:
Yosano Akiko, the first author to make a modern translation of the Genji, believed that Murasaki Shikibu had only written chapters 1 to 33, and that chapters 35 to 54 were written by her daughter Daini no Sanmi. Other scholars have also doubted the authorship of chapters 42 to 54 (particularly 44, which contains rare examples of continuity mistakes).

According to Royall Tyler's introduction to his English translation of the work, recent computer analysis has turned up "statistically significant" discrepancies of style between chapters 45–54 and the rest, and also among the early chapters.

There is also a lot of discussion on when Shikibu wrote this work – which leads to contrary opinions on if the character Murasaki is based on the author herself (alluded to above).

Since this book is written to chronicle normal lifestyle events of the upper class Japanese, the reader is able to learn quite a bit about a time period that would otherwise be unknown to us (~11^th century Japan).  We’re able to learn about much about ancient Japanese culture including fine art, music, marriage customs, festivals and celebrations, communication methodologies, living arrangements, courting and poetry.

There are many two line poems in this work, involving nature/the seasons, music, love, tears (I call this one out separately because it is very prevalent), etc.  Poems, especially those between a man courting a woman, are written on various shades of coloured paper, all of which have different meanings.  Some notes are attached to plum tree, wisteria, or cherry blossom branches, etc.  The poems and the hand in which the notes are written, both tell a lot about the education and character of the writer which is essential when you cannot see the person you are pursuing (of course, all men in this society do all in their power to get a glimpse of a woman prior to courtship).  Most women live within inner chambers and are not visible to anyone other than their servants.    

Characters in the work, as mentioned above, are often alluded to by the places by which they’re from or titles that they possess.  The locations of their origin seem to stick with characters throughout the work.  However, if there are multiple main characters from the place then it sometimes gets confusing when differentiating between “the Akashi lady”, “the Akashi nun” and “the Akashi princess.”  When a character is named after a title such as the “Minister of the Right”, the character may eventually lose the title and therefore you have to remember that the next “Minister of the Right” is someone different altogether.  Also, many times princesses are referred to as the “first princess” or the “second princess” in birth order, but there may be multiple second princesses since there are multiple emperors.  In short, it’s hard to keep track of characters sometimes even with a strong translator who puts emphasis on character names.  I would not advise putting down the book for two weeks without reading it, as you’d lose some of the continuity in the story or recognition of character names.

Most of the characters I couldn’t relate to.  Genji was overdramatic and promiscuous and it was really hard to get behind him.  I did fall in love with Murasaki.  She continued to grow as a person, and while she never accepted Genji’s promiscuous ways she learned to make the best of a bad situation and was still able to love him and be a strong individual personality amidst a collectivist regime.  Kaoru was also one of the most noble characters and he always tried to live life with a strong moral integrity, despite his actions working against him in many ways.  He was one of the only characters that held firm to love so strongly that you could not consider it a passing infatuation.  He didn’t appear to be built to live without love.

‘The Tale of Genji’ was not an easy read.  The prose was very manageable, but the length of the work, the reoccurrence of many of the same plot elements over time and the lack of relatable characters made it a novel where you really had to focus and put effort into reading it.  That said, I find myself upset that the tale is over and no longer a part of my life.  I’m itching for an ending that will most likely never be known.  I’m glad I persevered through this (only one other in my book club finished), and the more I think about the novel the more I’m glad that I allowed myself to experience it.