Showing posts with label classic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classic. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 01, 2016

MOVIE REVIEW: "Love and Friendship" (2016)

What.

Even.

Is this movie?

When I received free passes to see Love & Friendship (based on Jane Austen's novella Lady Susan), I was excited. I loves me some Austen costume drama, and as I hadn't yet read Lady Susan, I was looking forward to being surprised.

Well, I was a little surprised, but I spent most of the film feeling super confused. While the film is occasionally charming and funny (truly funny at moments), the pacing is absurdly drawn out, the staging is dull, and the plot is an incomprehensible mess.

The story (such as I could make out) is this: Lady Susan (Kate Beckinsale) - an impoverished widow with a scandalous reputation - comes to stay with her in-laws after being kicked out of her last domicile for tarting around with a married man. Once her last suitcase is unpacked, she precedes to spend the next two hours gaslighting hot dudes, ruining her daughter's life, and bitching with her sardonic BFF Mrs. Alice Johnson (Chloe Sevigny).

I think we're meant to root for Lady Susan, the sly and cynical outsider who offers clever observational quips about the follies of gentry life. But she really is The Worst, and what's more, there's no real explanation for her behaviour. She just seems to like messing with people with no apparent end goal or motivation. You might think she's out to catch herself a meal ticket, but she throws away every romantic attachment she appears to make, seemingly on a whim. Perhaps she's determined to secure her daughter's future - except for those long stretches of time when she forgets her daughter exists because she's too busy convincing hapless dudes that Up is Down and Black is White.

What does Lady Susan want? Why does she do what she does? I've never read Lady Susan, so I had no context to understand her myriad changes of heart. Nearly every character in the movie actively hates her and with good reason.

On top of that, despite some truly hilarious moments, the movie is boring and clumsy. Characters are introduced by name (with personalized title cards, even), only to vanish after a single scene without leaving any impact on the story. Several scenes go nowhere or end abruptly.

The filmmakers make no effort to frame the novel's events in a visual context. Instead of showing what happens, the filmmakers have the characters sit down and tell each other what happens - staging that's fine in a novel but glaringly dull on film. Compare that to the Mansfield Park adaptation that starred Frances O'Connor - despite being a wretched representation of the novel, as a film it was visually dynamic and the story was told through an even mixture of action and dialogue.

The actors do the best that they can - Kate Beckinsale, in particular, gives a breezily cunning performance that convinces the viewer she's a misunderstood snarky outcast even as her actions reveal her to be an amoral, manipulative sociopath. It's not enough to save the movie, however.

Perhaps I might have enjoyed this movie more if I'd read the book first. But as a film on its own merits, Love and Friendship is a hot mess. Give this one a pass.
C-

Thursday, July 16, 2015

"Little Men," by Louisa May Alcott

Yeah, sequels are rarely as good as the original story.

I could pretty much end my review of Little Men (the sequel to the classic Little Women) right there, but despite the fact that Little Men is nowhere near as interesting or well-written as the book that came before it, it is still a remarkably interesting book for its time.

Little Men chronicles the adventures of one year at Plumfield Academy, the school Jo and her husband Professor Bhaer founded at the end of Little Women. You'd think this would be interesting, and it sort of is, and it sort of isn't.

Plumfield is home to 14 students, plus Jo's sons Rob and Teddy (yes, his name is Teddy Bhaer). Four are the main(ish) characters - Nat, former urchin and violin prodigy; Demi, Meg and John's bookworm son; Tommy, the rascally troublemaker; and Dan - the bad boy street kid with a dark past. Yes, ladies, we have been mooning over angsty brooders for more than a century.

Five of the other boys are vague characters who mainly serve as comic relief or mild antagonists (Jack, Stuffy, Franz, Emil, Ned). Three are the token "special" kids (Dick has a crooked back, Dolly has a stutter, and Billy is mentally disabled) who are mentioned very rarely and never without some combination of the adjectives "poor," "feeble," and "valiant."

Strangely enough, the "quadroon" student Jo and Fritz boasted of so smugly at the end of Little Women is nowhere to be found. Suspicious, that.

Lastly, two of the students are girls - Daisy, Demi's twin sister, and "Naughty Nan," who is AWESOME. More on that later.

The main reason this book didn't work for me was the youth of the characters. While the main children are comparable in age to the March sisters at the start of Little Women, they act much younger. Perhaps this is due to the fact that they reside in a school environment where they are constantly reminded that they're children, while the March sisters had to grow up rather fast to survive while their father was away.

Alcott also wastes an awful lot of scenes chronicling the cutesy fan-servicey adventures of the March sisters' children, most of whom are under the age of 5. Lots of tears, chubby fists, and baby talk. Imagine reading a Facebook friend's posts about their two-year-old, only instead of a post, it's like 40% of a novel. So most of the episodes read as very childish.

Little Men, as a whole, feels strangely directionless. It's "a year in the life," separated into little episodes and vignettes, with no real goal or point. The closest the novel comes to an arc is the Bhaers' attempt to tame Dan - a defiant and obviously troubled boy who wants help as much as he fears to ask for it. The Bhaer's conflicting hopes and fears for Dan (hope that he might be brought around, fear that his violence might affect the other children) are powerful, as is Dan's slowly unfolding trust for them. It's the strongest subplot in the novel, and I honestly wish we had more of it.

On the positive side, Plumfield gives Alcott an excuse to rhapsodize at length about how best to educate boys and girls, and her ideas (considering her time period) are bold, progressive, and feminist. For instance, a huge emphasis is placed on individual study - some kids learn at different paces, and that's okay! Rote memorization will not help a young, eager brain to learn (rather laughably, mentally handicapped Billy's backstory is that he literally studied so hard his brain gave out). As well, Alcott preaches a balance between book learning and practical, hands-on knowledge (the boys are encouraged to explore and collect their frogs and snails and puppy dog's tails).

Even better, Jo decides to make Plumfield co-ed by inviting local girl "Naughty Nan" to board with them and study with Daisy (who's at Plumfield to be close to her brother). Jo theorizes that having boys learn alongside girls will encourage them to moderate their behaviour and respect women more. FANCY THAT.

Alcott also demonstrates many feminist themes in her treatment of Daisy and Nan. Daisy fits the more conventional model of Victorian femininity - she's gentle and sweet, loves to cook and clean and pretends to mother her dolls. Nan is the wild child - running and racing and challenging the boys, voraciously interested in science and the outdoors. Neither child is shamed or depicted as the "bad one" for what they want out of life. Nan is "naughty" because of her behaviour, not because of her desires.

Oh, and did I mention? Jo sees Nan's interest in science, biology, and medicinal herbs and encourages her to study to be a DOCTOR. IN 1871 NEW ENGLAND. Because JO MARCH-BHAER IS AWESOME. I just about flew up out of my chair reading that part.

So while Little Men doesn't tell as interesting of a story as Little Women did, it's still a fascinating look into the mind of a 19th century feminist and her idea of what the ideal school would be like. While some of her ideas and themes are problematic when seen in a modern context (especially her depiction of disabled people), the amount of stuff she got right is still encouraging.
B

Tuesday, June 09, 2015

Learning to Love "Little Women" Again

There are three stages to reading Louisa May Alcott's Little Women.

Stage One is when you read it for the first time because your mother bought it for you, usually around the ages of 12-13, and you love it. Because there's Jo - who's awkward and a tomboy and a writer and likes books just like you! And has sisters who love/annoy her, just like you! And has a totally cute next door neighbour who she loves and this is where the comparison ends because you would TOTALLY marry Laurie, what the HELL were you thinking, Jo? He's rich and half-Italian and a musician and looks vaguely like Christian Bale! Instead she marries some random old dude (HE'S FORTY) with a beard that you just KNOW is worse than Laurie's terrible Rejection-Goatee from the movie. 

Also, Amy is the worst and Beth is weird.

Stage Two is when you read it as a smart, sophisticated, cynical intellectual (between the ages of 19-23) because you remember loving it as a kid, and are surprised by how much you hate it. Good Lord, did you actually love this novel at one time? Everything is sugary and preachy and condescending, and a March girl is always sewing or darning something in literally every scene ever. That's Beth over there, embroidering a handkerchief as Amy falls through the ice. I'm almost positive Meg managed to tat some lace while she was wearing high heeled shoes and sipping champagne like a godless harlot while Laurie looked on in Righteous Patriarchal Disapproval. This time around, you can only stand about a hundred pages of Marmee's cheesy moralizing, creepy Beth with her broken doll hospital and Foreshadowings of Death, and Amy being The Literal Worst before you slam the book shut and write the novel off as something that just doesn't age well.

Stage Three is when you pick it up again in your late twenties. Partly for nostalgia. Partly to make a few more jokes at its expense (for you haven't completely outgrown your cynical I'm So Clever phase). This is the stage where you stop pausing to point out the things that haven't aged well (it takes place in the 1860s, remember) and rediscover the parts that remain stunningly timeless. When you read it as a girl, you loved and remembered it primarily as a book about girls, and as a Cynical Teen you couldn't even read past the girl part. It's Stage Three when you rediscover what this book has to say about women.

In case you are unfamiliar or would like a reminder, Little Women is about four sisters (Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy March) who live in genteel poverty in 1860s New England. The first half of the novel deals with the sisters and their mother (Marmee) eking out a living on their own while the March patriarch is off serving as a chaplain in the army. With their male anchor away at war, these five women work tirelessly together - not only to support themselves financially (both Meg and Jo work full-time jobs), but also emotionally.

Poverty is a big issue in this novel, and during Stage Two, I dismissed this first half as a simplistic sermon on how "We Don't Need Money Because We Have Twu Wuv." During Stage Two, I saw the Marches as this judgy family that repeatedly hammered home how much better they were then those Godless Immoral Rich People because they relied on their Pure Christian Love and not filthy, filthy lucre.

Reading in Stage Three gave me a completely different interpretation. It wasn't, "We Don't Need Money Because We Have Twu Wuv." The Marches don't have a choice between poverty and wealth. They're poor, full stop. It's not about how being Poor makes them Better, it's how they struggle and fight to be Better despite being Poor. A good chunk of the novel's first half deals with the girls battling the incursions of envy, greed, despair and bitterness that come from being poor. Especially Meg. One of the details I missed during previous readings was that the March family used to be rich, and Meg, as the eldest sister, has the clearest memories of what their lives used to be like before disaster struck. This informs so much of her character - her conflicted feelings about wealth and status continually influence her life and her eventual marriage, and Alcott portrays these feelings as natural without slighting Meg's ultimately virtuous character.

The second half of the novel deals with the girls growing into women, mustering and altering their lives' ambitions, and learning how to deal with the men in their lives. While I recognize the book is a product of its time, I was nevertheless astounded and delighted by the strong and amazingly relevant themes about feminism and art I took away from this novel. Marmee trains all her girls to be independent - to value hard work, to develop useful skills, to maintain a moral compass, with or without a husband. She'd rather her daughters be happy old maids than unhappy wives.

Meg learns that even a happy marriage has hiccups (hilariously still-relevant hiccups) that need to be resolved with open communication and understanding. My favourite scene is when Meg, a new mother, has to be cajoled into letting her husband John look after the kids because she deserves some personal time. Imagine that.

Jo's storyline remains my favourite, and now that I'm an author, too, it's great fun to recognize how little has changed about being a writer. Jo struggles with the morality of writing immoral garbage (gasp! Genre fiction!) because the pay is good, handles an editor's notes on her manuscript, reacts to conflicting reviews (GoodReads would destroy her), and learns that life has to be lived before it can be written about.

Moreover, now that I've reached Stage Three, I actually understand why Jo doesn't go for Laurie.

SURPRISE: Laurie's a Bit of an Asshole.

Little Women is all about girls growing up, and Laurie and Jo's bromance perfectly demonstrates the distinction between friendships formed in childhood and adult romantic relationships. Mature romantic relationships require a bit more than simply Liking Someone a Lot, and to say this in a Victorian novel?  This is huge. Jo and Laurie are brilliant friends, but they're both rambunctious and impulsive and bring out the impulsiveness in each other. It's hilarious when they're kids because it gets them into entertaining scrapes, and their siblings and relatives are always close at hand to yank them back when they skirt too close to the cliff's edge. But as adults, anything more than friendship between them would be a hot-ass mess.

I get it now. Great job, LMA.

One of Jo's most important lessons in her artist's journey comes when the simple story she writes to deal with Beth's illness and death winds up phenomenally more successful than all her sensationalist gothic fantasies put together. Writing something true will ultimately resonate more with readers than writing something that's merely clever. Imagination is important, but the stuff that you write has to have an emotionally honest foundation to stick around long enough in people's minds.

That's what I got from Little Women - when I first read it as a child, I revelled in discovering a young heroine who was so much like me. Reading it now as an adult, I feel the same way - I just relate more to second-half Jo, who struggles with her writing and her sisters' successes and wonders what she's going to do with her life and what choices she needs to make to speed up the process. Once I put down my Horn-Rimmed Glasses of Irony, I rediscovered the emotional truth of Little Women that's made it such a perennial favourite.

If you haven't read Little Women in a while, maybe it's time to pick it up again. The results just might surprise you.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

"Emily of New Moon," Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Protagonist: Emily Starr. A precocious aspiring writer who has to go and live with her mother's family, whom she's never met, after her journalist father dies.
Her Angst: Her new family is very concerned with preserving the "Murray pride" - even if it looks likes Emily cannot possibly live up to the family name.

Secondary Cast:

Aunt Elizabeth: Emily's hard and loveless aunt who insists on running New Moon Farm according to the traditions of a hundred years ago - including candles instead of lamps. Marilla Cuthbert, she ain't.

Ilse: Emily's wild and tempestuous BFF known for her sudden rages and impressive vocabulary.

Teddy: An impoverished neighbour who lives alone with his (quite possibly insane) single mother. Wants to go to college to study art. Also wants to marry Emily.

Perry: The Murrays' impulsive but brilliant hired boy - who aspires to be premier one day. Also nurses a hardcore crush on Emily.

The Word: I've been a huge Anne of Green Gables fangirl since the first time I read it as a child. While I've been working my way through the Anne sequels, I never actually read anything else of Montgomery's. Shame on me, right? So when the Forever Young Adult book club made Emily of New Moon its pick for June, I leapt at the opportunity.

The novel starts with young Emily Starr living in blissful, oblivious poverty with her dying father. When he finally kicks the bucket, Emily learns she is to live with her mother's family - the Murrays of New Moon, the wealthy and prideful clan who disowned Emily's mother when she eloped with an impoverished journalist. The "Murray pride" prevents them from dumping Emily off at an orphanage, but they have to draw names out of a hat to decide who has to keep her. Ouch.

Emily winds up living at New Moon farm with Aunt Elizabeth (a stone hearted tyrant), Aunt Laura (kind but utterly ineffectual) and Cousin Jimmy (a gentle, artistic soul who's been mentally handicapped since he fell down a well as a child - after Elizabeth pushed him!). Despite Aunt Elizabeth's rigid rules, Emily thrives in this new environment and learns to develop her burgeoning writing talent.

In a lot of ways, Emily of New Moon is quite a bit darker and sadder than Anne of Green Gables.
Almost all the adults in this novel are kind of terrible. Emily's Aunt Elizabeth is a selfish, joyless stick with Daddy Issues. Ilse, Emily's BFF who is both a tomboy (gasp!) and an atheist (DOUBLE GASP!) has been utterly neglected by her misogynist father ever since her mother's scandalous disappearance when she was a baby.

Meanwhile, Emily's friend Teddy is afraid to own pets because his psychotic single mother will poison them if she suspects he loves them more than her. All I have to say about poor Teddy and his deranged mother is - watch out if she decides to run a motel.

Emily of New Moon has much more melodrama than Anne (scandalous dead wives, love triangles, elopements!), but a far less cohesive storyline. Neither novel has a plot, per se, and instead both follow their respective heroines from episodic adventure to episodic adventure, developing the characters as they do so. Emily felt less focused, her episodes trivial and often tedious - especially her interminable letters to her dead father. But this could also be because I didn't find Emily nearly as interesting as Anne.

I thought I would like Emily because, as previous reviewers have pointed out, she's more explicitly an artist and a writer than Anne Shirley. She's always imagining and experiencing "flashes" of inspiration, and takes comfort in secretly writing down her angst and frustration with her emotionally barren guardians.

But, well, she's also a huge Mary Sue. Anne Shirley is an imaginative oddball surrounded by (relatively) normal people whose perspectives are changed by interacting with her. Emily, conversely, is a blandly angelic artist surrounded by angsty, damaged, and far more interesting secondary characters. She's not really affected by her environment (remaining obliviously well-adjusted despite a loveless upbringing) and she doesn't affect it in turn (Aunt Elizabeth remains as high-handed as ever, despite years of Emily's puppy-dog eyes).

I had little patience for Emily's extremely mild acts of rebellion. I would much rather have read a story from Ilse's perspective - or Teddy's. Or Perry's! I loved Anne because it was just as much about Anne's flaws (her temper, her vanity, her self-absorption) as her strengths. Emily's little ticks really can't compare to Ilse's rages, or Teddy's mama drama, or even Aunt Elizabeth's repressed paternal memories.

I'll always love Anne of Green Gables, but I found Emily of New Moon utterly forgettable. She was just too precious, with none of Anne's spice or defiance. While the novel wasn't unpleasant, I couldn't really connect with Emily or invest in her storyline, and thus it wound up being a bit of a slog ending with a measles-induced psychic vision that solves a decades-long mystery. For reals!
C+

Saturday, May 10, 2014

"Anne of the Island," by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Protagonist: Anne Shirley. Now 18, she's off to college to get her degree.
Her Angst: Everything is moving so fast - friends are marrying, dying, and having babies. Will Anne be able to hold onto anything, or should she welcome change?

Secondary Cast:

Gilbert Blythe: Anne's childhood friend who's madly in love with her. But does Anne know how she feels?

Priscilla and Stella: Anne's amazing college roommates.

Phillipa "Phil" Gordon: Another roommate, and new character, who prides herself on being a flighty flirt until she winds up falling for a minister.

Royal Gardner: A tall, dark, handsome and rich senior who falls for Anne and sweeps her off her feet. But is a wild, magical romance what Anne still wants?

Angst Checklist:

  • How to Be Friendzoned without Being a Jackass About it, a Course by Gilbert Blythe
  • Adulthood is hard
  • Dealing with Change
  • Life and Death
  • The Life of an Artist
  • Romance Versus Love
  • How many cats is too many?

The Word: In this third book in the beloved Anne of Green Gables series, our darling Anne is bound for Redmond College to obtain her BA in English (ENGLISH MAJORS REPRESENT!), and also grow up along the way.

Like the previous two novels, Anne of the Island is more of a collection of vignettes around a common time frame that correspond with an aspect of Anne's personal growth and development, rather than a novel with a specific plot. For the four years in which Anne studies for her degree, she's forced to confront some rather painful truths about herself as she learns to accept adulthood and all the changes that transition entails - like her best friend's marriage, changes to Avonlea, and the death of a childhood friend.

One of those changes involves Gilbert Blythe. Gilbert - now a paragon of Edwardian manhood as the brilliant, handsome, pre-med captain of the college football team - divulges his full romantic feelings to Anne in this novel. A horrified Anne shoots him down point-blank, partly because she's afraid of losing their easy childhood friendship and partly because she's not ready to identify her own growing feelings for him. Anne still clings to the ideas of romantic love she taught herself from her favourite novels, but her college experiences soon teach her how to accept reality without compromising imagination.

Anne also grows as a writer during her college years. She experiences the despair of rejection, the embarrassment of being thought a sellout (when her story's accepted as an advertisement for baking powder), and the frustration of a painfully true critique. Anne is prone to too much flowery description and Gary Stu/Mary Sue protagonists - a common flaw for budding writers regardless of time period, it seems.

Anne of the Island isn't a perfect novel. A few too many things happen coincidentally - Anne discovers her dream house is being let right when she's looking for a place to rent with her roommates, and poor Aunt Josephine dies and leaves Anne an inheritance at the precise moment Anne worries about tuition. But the novel is still so heartfelt and genuine and true about what college kids still go through. A consistently good entry in a wonderful series.
A

Monday, December 16, 2013

Re-Read Rollout: "Anne of Avonlea," by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Protagonist: Anne Shirley. Now 16 years old, she teaches the children of Avonlea while looking after her guardian, Marilla.
Her Angst: Reality won't stop intervening in her attempts to have a perfectly blissful year.

Secondary Cast:

Gilbert Blythe: Anne's friend who is totes in love with her. Has decided to give up teaching to become a doctor.

Marilla: Anne's guardian - she's not as young as she used to be, but at least she's not going blind anymore.

Mr. Harrison: A cantankerous old bachelor who is mighty set in his ways.

Davey Keith: A young orphan (and budding sociopath) who is adopted by Anne and Marilla, along with his sister Dora.

Paul Irving: A new pupil in Anne's class who is sometimes ridiculed for being too sensitive and dreamy. Just you wait until puberty!

Anthony Pye: The worst. Of course.

Miss Lavendar: An eccentric old maid who has a history with Paul Irving's widowed father Stephen.

Angst Checklist:

  • Accidental Grand Theft Cow
  • Secret Wives
  • Dead Mothers
  • Dead Husbands
  • Estranged Husbands
  • Isn't it really doing the world a favour if we dropped Davey down a well?
  • Bringing Firecrackers to School
  • Pyes are the Worst at Everything

The Word: Well, it's December - time for another month of re-reads! Since I read Anne of Green Gables last year, it makes sense that I would read the sequel, Anne of Avonlea, this year as well.

Much like Gables, Anne of Avonlea doesn't really have a plot, but instead chronicles the next two years of Anne's life in a linear chain of heartwarming or comedic episodes. Most of these episodes have to do with Anne's experiences as Avonlea's newest schoolteacher, her efforts heading the Improvement Society (an attempt by Avonlea's youth to pretty up the town), and her attempts to teach and raise two very different boys - her new pupil Paul Irving (a shy dreamer) and the irrepressible orphan Davey (who might possibly be the son of Satan).

While Anne of Green Gables is a beloved classic - I've heard that the later novels are…less classic. I've read about four books into the series and have loved all of them, but I can kind of see where the complaints come from. Sure, some of the stories may seem a little idealized - and while I love Anne's melodramatic ways, it gets a little bit cloying when she discovers and interacts with two more melodramatic dreamers (Paul and the eccentric Miss Lavendar). I mean, you can't all be crazy manic snowflakes.

And yet, despite the episodic nature of the novel, Anne grows and matures. She deals with far more responsibility in this book - not only does she have to teach the children of Avonlea, but she also finds herself in charge of a pair of orphaned siblings. Her fairy fancies are consistently tempered by the reality of her setting and her increasingly-competent interactions with such a setting. While she still gets into scrapes, it's because she's creative and impulsive, not because she's stupid. My favourite chapter is the one where Anne meets her favourite author - fangirl behaviour really hasn't changed much in the last century.

Anne of Avonlea might be episodic and linear, but it's never repetitive. Montgomery understands her characters' charms but also allows them to change and develop. I still found this book endlessly enjoyable, a real comfort read during the stresses of my trip to New York City.
A

Saturday, October 12, 2013

"In This House of Brede," by Rumer Godden (2005, Loyola Press - originally 1969)

Our Protagonist: Phillipa Talbot, recently Dame Phillipa of Brede.
Her Angst: After forty-two years of being a free-thinking, powerful and successful careerwoman, can she truly fit in with the humble poverty of monastery life?

Secondary Characters:

Abbess Catherine: The newly elected leader of the monastery who discovers that along with inheriting the previous abbess' duties, she's also inheriting the possibly disastrous consequences of the previous abbess' mistakes.

Dame Agnes: A traditional, scholarly sister who distrusts Phillipa's vocation and thinks she won't last as a nun.

Dame Cicely: A recent novice with a gorgeous voice and a surprisingly powerful vocation - but how long can she keep up such perfect devotion?

Dame Veronica: A melodramatic, prideful, spiteful, and all-round terrible nun. Essentially the worst.

The Word: When I announced that I was reading In This House of Brede, one of my followers complimented me on my eclectic reading style. Well, in this instance, don't thank me - thank my mother. This is one of her absolute favourite books and a yearly re-read during Lent, so I finally decided to read it and see what all the fuss was about.

What plot there is centres (mostly) around Dame Phillipa - a woman who discovers her religious vocation at forty-two and leaves behind a brilliant career and an office full of dumbfounded employees to become a humble postulant in Brede, an English monastery. There, she is both welcomed and viewed with suspicion - how well will she be able to adapt when her fellow novices are 18 or 19 years old?

Plot isn't really too important in In This House Of Brede - most of the novel is comprised of loosely-connected episodes that help to illuminate and examine the everyday life of Benedictine nuns - as well as the vocations, doubts, conflicts, and joys involved in their lifestyle. Dame Phillipa is only one of a host of wonderful women whose stories we get to explore.

And honestly? It's surprisingly addictive and enlightening. Most of the conflict is internal, but everyone involved (with maybe one exception) is such a genuinely good person. However, they're nuns, not saints - capable of cattiness, pride, deception, and spite. The novel examines the difficulty of pursuing a vocation despite doubt and family opposition, the stresses of restrictive communal living (which can even result in romantic feelings), and how best to balance worldly needs against spiritual needs. More than anything, In This House of Brede delves into the "use" of monastic life - how "useful" is it, to lock oneself away from the world to pray?

Godden writes with a conversational word-on-the-street style that frequently bundles and compares various opinions at once. It can sometimes get convoluted with the way it jumps back and forth in time and quotes numerous different people (the prologue is particularly tangled), but once you grow accustomed to the writing style, it creates such a detailed and multifaceted view of a lifestyle that is frequently stereotyped but rarely understood.

That being said, if you're not religious, will you still be able to enjoy House of Brede? I'd like to say yes, tentatively - the way learning anything new about a rarely-explored way of life can be enjoyable. However, if you actively dislike religion or religious aspects in fiction then House of Brede will obviously not be the book for you.

However, if you've ever been curious about how cloistered nuns live, I doubt you'll find a better novel than In This House of Brede.
A

Wednesday, December 05, 2012

"Anne of Green Gables," by Lucy Maud Montgomery

The Protagonist: Anne Shirley. An unloved orphan girl who is finally adopted by a pair of elderly siblings to help on their farm - until she finds out they'd meant to adopt a boy instead.
Her Angst: While they decide to keep her anyways, can Anne overcome her incorrigible upbringing (and equally incorrigible red hair) to make them proud of her?

The Secondary Cast:

Matthew Cuthbert: An incredibly shy, tongue-tied farmer who is terrified of social interaction, especially with women and girls. Anne, of course, is the miraculous exception.

Marilla Cuthbert: Matthew's unmarried sister. Initially appalled at receiving a girl instead of the boy they'd asked for, she intends to raise Anne up the proper way - although her idea of what's proper changes drastically the more she learns about Anne.

Diana Barry: Anne's bosom friend and kindred spirit. Nice gal, but she can't hold her booze.

Gilbert Blythe: A popular boy from Avonlea who earns Anne's undying spite and unwilling fascination when he mocks her hair.

Josie Pye: A bitch.

Angst Checklist:

  • Red Hair
  • Being an orphan
  • Perpetually being teased about having red hair and being an orphan
  • Exacting vengeance upon those who make fun of one's red hair and orphaned status
  • Learning to use one's imagination without accidentally poisoning people
  • Learning to use one's imagination without accidentally drowning oneself
  • Getting crunk on currant wine
  • Living without puffed sleeves
  • Adapting to life when one's future doesn't go as planned
LiveTweeted it! Here on Storify. 

The Word: Really, for the first book of my Re-Read Rollout, what other book could I have honestly chosen?

Anne of Green Gables is the story of my life. Not only in the sense that I have always felt Anne to be a kindred spirit (in imagination, intelligence, and the inability to shut up), but in the sense that it is the book that's influenced so much about my outlook on life, literature, and my personal vocation of writing. I honestly cannot remember the first time I read this book (I still have the MacMillan Little Classics edition I was given as a child, along with Heidi - a book which prompted me to try and toast cheese in the microwave), but I don't think there will ever be a time when I do not think about it.

As it is, Anne of Green Gables is a book that holds up just as well to adult reading as it does to childhood reading.

Our story begins when two elderly siblings - rigid old maid Marilla and her reclusive brother Matthew - decide to adopt an orphan boy to help out on their farm, Green Gables. However, when Matthew drives to the train station, he discovers the orphanage sent them a little girl by mistake: a scrawny, red-headed chatterbox named Anne who survived the first eleven years of her life using her wits, her overactive imagination, and precious little else. 

In the time it takes to drive back to Green Gables, Matthew (an intensely shy and passive man) is so enchanted by Anne's zeal, enthusiasm and delight that he insists on keeping Anne despite Marilla's consternation. However, even Marilla is not immune to Anne's nattering charm, resulting in five years of episodic, yet wholly entertaining adventures.

I love this book. I love pretty much everything about it. Anne is constantly observing and sharing her observations, and while she helps to create a detailed picture of the community of Avonlea that embraces her, her interpretations of these observations paint a fascinating interior portrait of herself for the benefit of the reader.

Anne is such a perfect character because Lucy Maud Montgomery allowed her to be imperfect. While kind-hearted, intelligent, creative, and honest to the point of oversharing, Anne has significant flaws as well - she's vain, lazy, hot-tempered, self-absorbed, careless, and envious. Anne is developed - her actions are supported by well-established motivations and result in significant consequences that change her as a character. For instance, she's not the smartest girl in school because she's a Mary Sue who has to be because she's the main character. She's the smartest girl in school because she studies her ass off in order to beat out the boy who humiliated her in class. To me, that's way more satisfying than if she'd just been naturally awesome.

One thing I realized on this particular re-read is that the book is about Marilla almost as much as it is about Anne. Every time Marilla reacts to Anne's equally-frequent triumphs and scrapes, we learn more about her character. Anne speaks aloud the things Marilla has always secretly thought, and Anne's scrapes force Marilla to remember her own childhood foibles and romantic entanglements. As a result, Marilla embarks on her own emotional journey as she overcomes her terror of attachment and learns to acknowledge, accept, and finally articulate her love for Anne. 

And of course, there is Matthew - the shy, sweet, and secretly brave old man who falls for Anne within the first ten minutes of meeting her. Despite his deep discomfort with confrontation, social interaction, and attention, he manages to intercede on Anne's behalf in his own quiet, stubborn way. 

Anne of Green Gables engages both the brain and the heart, which is why it continues to entertain me as an adult reader in a way that, say, Little Women can't. Yes, the deeply sentimental scenes and vignettes are still as powerful as ever, but one can also enjoy Montgomery's wry, witty writing style, excellent sense of setting and pace, and her sly social subtext regarding the role of women in society. 

Anne of Green Gables is my true Desert Island book. 
A+

Thursday, September 20, 2012

"The World According to Garp," by John Irving

The Protagonist: T.S. Garp. Raised by an independent-thinking single mother, he wants to be a successful writer when he grows up.
His Angst: Well, he becomes a writer, and his works are published, but what is the nature of success? And how does his writing affect the rest of his life?

Secondary Cast:

Jenny Fields: Garp's mother. An asexual with no comprehending of lust and no patience for social or sexual norms, she cuts her own unique path through life, child rearing, and writing - and becomes revered as a noted feminist because of it.


Helen Holm: Garp's wife. A talented English professor, she loves Garp, even as she sometimes wonders if she plays second place to fiction in Garp's heart.

John Wolf: Garp's publisher - respects his work, even as he sometimes has to play dirty tricks in order to sell it successfully.

Roberta Muldoon: Formerly a football player for the Philadelphia Eagles, this transgender woman tracks down Jenny Fields thanks to her feminist reputation and becomes one of Jenny and Garp's closest friends.

Ellen James: A young girl whose rape and disfigurement as a child sparked a controversial and fanatical feminist movement. A fan of Jenny Fields' work and Garp's writing, she wants to be a writer, too.

The Word: I'm sorry I've been away from the blog so long - I've been reading a book.

A very long book.

A very long and ultimately boring book. I picked this one up because it's the favourite book of a friend of mine, and the next choice for our book club.

Essentially, The World According to Garp is a bildungsroman - a coming-of-age story or fictional biography of a single protagonist (who, frequently, grows into an artist). David Copperfield by Charles Dickens is one. Jane Eyre might even be one, since the novel follows her through her abusive childhood and her years at school before she even meets her Mr. Rochester.

Bildungsromans are, I've found, large on character development and short on plot, but, as a linear recounting of a life, this is more or less expected. The story tends to be rambling and episodic, everything eventually leading to the character's success or death (or both!).

Now, if I love or relate to the protagonist of a bildungsroman, I love the novel (hence why David Copperfield and Jane Eyre are among my favourite books). If I don't love the protagonist, or if I'm apathetic - I don't.

Such is the case with The World According to Garp. The novel recounts the conception, birth, and life of T.S. Garp, the artistically-inclined son of an asexual feminist nurse who conceived him with the dying, lobotomized technical sergeant under her care. The novel follows Garp as he studies at the prestigious Steering School (where his mother is the nurse), takes up wrestling, travels to Austria, and explores and develops his desire to write and be a writer.

The novel does explore some fascinating general themes - I struggled through the periods detailing Garp's writer's block at the same time I was struggling with my own. I liked how his stories and novels all came with a powerful autobiographical influence, to the point where his wife, Helen, flat-out refuses to read any more of his novels because she can't bear to see how much of their life he's put into the pages. Reading up on John Irving on Wikipedia, this in itself seems to be pulled from Irving's own life and writing style, as several elements in his life appear in Garp and his other novels (for instance, like Garp, John Irving never met his own father, who died during World War II).

I also appreciated the exploration of feminism and gender roles, with all their advantages and disadvantages. Jenny Fields, Garp's mother, never identifies herself as a feminist until other women do after reading her autobiography, and the women's movement that rallies around her is as powerful and inspiring as it is narrow-minded and short sighted. Perhaps the scene that best indicates this is Jenny's eventual funeral, from which Garp is barred because it's women-only. Thus Garp has to dress in drag in order to infiltrate his own mother's memorial service, and the reactions to his unmasking reveal so many of the different approaches to feminism, both positive and negative.

As well, I loved how Garp essentially lives unselfconsciously as a househusband who cleans house, cooks meals, and raises his children while his wife Helen goes out everyday to work. This is never a source of angst for him, and believe me, Garp has many opportunities to angst in this enormously long book.

Finally, I adored the character of Roberta Muldoon, a transgender woman who used to play professional football for the Philadelphia Eagles and becomes Garp's closest friend. She embodies an essential conflict of gender - she identifies as female, even as she worries that some of her proclivities, impulses, and actions (particularly when it comes to using her impressive brute force to defend Garp and his friends on a number of occasions) are too male.

That being said, the writing style completely put me off. It's written in a very "telling" style, from an omniscient, future narrator. It reads like commentary, not description. As a result, I felt like I was hearing everything secondhand, like I was kept at a distance from the story while someone else made all the observations for me. Because of this, I never felt particularly invested in any of the events or characters, and by the 356th page, I just wanted the book to be done. Reading can truly be a tedious exercise when you don't particularly care about the characters or what happens to them.

I finished for the sake of Book Club (and to maintain my standing as the Only Member Who's Read Every Pick), but by the end of the novel, I was relieved. In a sense, The World According to Garp is very much like experiencing someone else's life - it's long, convoluted and detailed, and intermittently fascinating, but every interesting event is heavily couched in the tedious everyday minutia of living.
C

Saturday, July 14, 2012

Classic Review: "Persuasion," by Jane Austen

The Chick: Anne Elliot. A 27-year-old spinster, she lives quietly with her extravagant and selfish father and older sister.
The Rub: When the Elliots are forced to lease their estate to tenants, she is unexpectedly reunited with the love of her life, Captain Wentworth, eight years after she broke their engagement and his heart.
Dream Casting: Sally Hawkins.

The Dude: Captain Frederick Wentworth. Now an extremely wealthy and successful Navy officer, he is looking to settle down into a practical marriage - but only with a woman whose principles he can trust.
The Rub: He is still helplessly in love with Anne - but how can he trust her again?
Dream Casting: Rupert Penry-Jones. Yes, I love the 2008 adaptation. Haters gonna hate!

Secondary Cast:

Sir Walter Elliot: Anne's flamboyant, unbelievably superficial father. Not-so-silently judges everyone on their social rank and good looks. Distrustful of sailors because a) the navy's so democratic! and b) nobody moisturizes on a ship anymore! DOES NO ONE THINK OF THE SALT AIR?

Elizabeth Elliot: Anne's older, also superficial, and also unmarried sister.

Mrs. Clay: Elizabeth's widowed BFF, who's totally after Sir Walter Elliot's hand in marriage, a fact everyone knows except for Elizabeth. I'm not saying she's a gold-digger...

Lady Russell: Anne's mother's best friend, who's since taken over mothering duties on her dead friend's behalf. Good-hearted, well-intentioned, and loving - but even the best pseudo-moms have their prejudices and blind spots.

Mary Musgrove: Anne's younger, nicer sister, who's married to Charles Musgrove. Pleasant but also fickle and jealous, and a massive hypochondriac.

Charles Musgrove: Mary's awesome husband. He actually proposed to Anne first, and even though she refused him, they maintain a warm, platonic friendship.

Louisa Musgrove: Charles' younger sister. Lively, witty, and headstrong - to her detriment.

Captain Benwick: Frederick's friend who's become an emotional recluse after the love of his life died while at sea. Is a fan of romantic poetry.

Mr. William Elliot: The heir to Sir Walter Elliot's baronetcy and Anne's cousin. Became estranged from the family for years after dumping Elizabeth to marry a wealthy commoner. Newly widowed, he now seeks to reconnect with the relatives he unfairly abandoned - but for what purpose?

Romance Convention Checklist:
  • 1 Bittersweet Reunion
  • 1 Very Bad Dad
  • Several Lacklustre Romantic Rivals (Charles, Benwick, Louisa, Mr. Elliot)
  • 1 Plot-Propelling Coma
  • 2 Snakes in the Grass
  • 1 Hastily-Written Letter that Conveniently Explains The Entire Novel from the Hero's POV and Solves All Romantic Conflict (Jane Austen's trademark!)
The Word: Now, don't take this the wrong way, but I loved Persuasion long before I actually read the book. What I mean, is that I absolutely adored the 2008 PBS adaptation starring Rupert Penry-Jones as Captain Wentworth. I thought the film was beautifully shot, clever, charming, and wonderfully, irresistibly romantic.

Of course, a couple of my Twitter friends do not care for this version (it does change bits), and prefer the Ciaran Hinds version. But for me, I fell in love with that particular adaptation, and ultimately prefer it - yes, even over the Dominic Cooper-starring Sense and Sensibility and Colin Firth's Pride and Prejudice.

Anyway, it was with great anticipation that I picked up the book itself (in eBook format), and it did not disappoint. Anne Elliot, 27 and unmarried, lives with her insufferably vain father and older sister on their country estate. Due to her family members' thoughtless extravagance, they are forced to lease the property to tenants and pursue slightly more economical arrangements in the town of Bath.

By utter coincidence, the tenants turn out to be Admiral and Mrs Croft - the sister and brother-in-law of Captain Frederick Wentworth. Eight years ago, Anne and Wentworth were secretly engaged, until Anne's friend Lady Russell persuaded Anne to break it off due to her extreme youth, Wentworth's lower rank, and his uncertain prospects as a soldier. Brokenhearted, Wentworth departed to war and almost immediately rose through the ranks and achieved immense status and fortune - leaving Anne to wallow in misery and regret and what-might-have-been.

In fact, Wentworth is back from the war, and Anne encounters him again while staying with the Musgroves, her younger sister Mary's family. However, Wentworth has no desire to resume their attachment. Convinced that he requires a woman of constancy whose principles are as strong as his own, he pays court to Henrietta and Louisa, the young Musgrove sisters. However, as their shared social circle requires them to spend more and more time together, Anne finds the chance to demonstrate the true nature of her constancy and Wentworth comes to terms with his priorities.

What I adored about this book are the sheer number of subtleties and shades of grey in Anne's life and acquaintance. Anne is, by far, my favourite Jane Austen protagonist and this novel is very much about her life and how much of it she's spent in solitude, and how her loneliness shaped her perspective. She lost her beloved mother when she was only fourteen, and her frivolous father and older sister ignore and belittle her. While the Musgroves are warm, loving, and welcoming, they often turn to her to settle their disputes, appreciate their woes, and tend their hurts, all of which Anne does tirelessly. However, she cannot help but long for the exceedingly rare luxury of simply being listened to. Everyone relies on her and yet she has few people to rely on.

She manages to be a supportive person without being a passive character, she maintains her own thoughts and opinions without being rude or abrasive, and she has a forgiving, analytical eye that easily perceives the subtleties and different sides in any given situation. Despite still being in love with him, she even questions Wentworth's beliefs at times, coming to understand that strong principles work better when one is willing to be flexible with them.

Her one true ally in life is Lady Russell - who grew from being her late mother's dearest friend into a surrogate mother figure herself. Despite her part in influencing Anne's decision to break it off with Wentworth (and despite Jane Austen's tendency to villainize Interfering Older Dames a la Lady Catherine in Pride and Prejudice and Edward's mother in Sense and Sensibility), Lady Russell is depicted as a well-intentioned, positive force. Anne's emotional development comes not from demonizing or cutting down Lady Russell, but from realizing she can disagree with Lady Russell's admittedly lofty standards while still respecting and loving her.

Wentworth, himself, goes through a change - although it is far more subtle and much-debated over, since he's granted little to no POV in the novel. For my part, I see how Wentworth slowly comes to the realization that he's making the same mistakes now that Anne did in the past: choosing practicality over love. Wentworth believes he cannot marry Anne because he cannot trust the strength of her convictions - after all, she bailed when their budding relationship met with real opposition. Despite how clearly affected he still is by Anne's presence, he spends most of the novel courting the headstrong Louisa Musgrove, seeking a practical, stable marriage.

The tipping point comes when Wentworth, Anne and company visit the town of Lyme and Louisa jumps off a cliff like a ninny and hits her head. When Louisa recovers from her plot-propelling coma, she surprises everyone by becoming engaged to Captain Benwick, a friend of Wentworth's whose own fiancee passed away not seven months before.

Wentworth rants about this to Anne - not about Benwick stealing his girl, not about Louisa throwing him over, but about how impossible it seems that Benwick should recover from the death of his true love and marry another in only seven months' time. Without thinking, Wentworth declares that a true love match cannot, and should not, be recovered from. It is there, I think, that Wentworth realizes that he was attempting to do exactly that: choosing a relationship with an inferior woman out of practicality, over a riskier relationship with the woman he truly loves.

However, perhaps one of the things I loved most about this novel is how well it "shows over tells." The writing style of Jane Austen's time period permits quite a bit of telling and exposition, which is fine and entertaining to read - but I love how so much of the story in Persuasion is left unsaid. Particularly, I love the quiet ways in which Frederick learns the true depth of Anne's fidelity to their love - such as when he learns from Louisa that Charles Musgrove (Mary's husband, and a man of wealth and social standing) proposed to Anne first, only to be refused. The novel never goes into much detail about this exchange of dialogue, but the intention is clear - if Anne remained so concerned with practicality and stability, why did she choose to remain a spinster instead of marrying her wealthy friend?

Anne's single status also invites an interesting comparison to her sister Elizabeth, who has also remained unwed after being dumped by William Elliot. It's implied that Anne remained single because of her devotion to Wentworth, whereas Elizabeth remained single thanks to her overweening pride and snobbery. Guess who's still unfortunately man-less by the end of the novel?

In one of the most clever and romantic scenes in the novel, Wentworth asks Anne how she could possibly continue to regard the town of Lyme with fondness after the tragedy that occurred there. Anne knowingly replies that before Louisa's accident, she had a wonderful time in that town and those happy memories aren't diminished by how painfully she departed from Lyme. Spoiler alert: neither of them are actually talking about Lyme.

Persuasion is such a rich, layered novel full of characters of surprising moral ambiguity. It allows villains to be kind, heroines to make mistakes, friendships to be dear but imperfect, while love still reigns supreme. Persuasion was one of Jane Austen's later novels (released posthumously with Northanger Abbey), and it shows the growth and development of her prodigious writing talent. It is definitely my favourite of all her novels.
A+

Tuesday, June 30, 2009

CLASSIC REVIEW: "Emma," by Jane Austen

Alternate Title: How to Lose A Match in Ten Days

The Chick:
Emma Woodhouse. Firmly established (in her own mind) as the reigning social queen of the village of Highbury, she takes it upon herself in true noblesse oblige fashion to find suitable matches for all of her friends and followers - particularly her slavish devotee, Harriet Smith.
The Rub: Her longtime friend Mr Knightley disapproves of her manipulations, and believes Harriet has very few realistic chances. Also, for all her ingenuity and energy, her romantic guesses can often fly far short of the mark.

The Dude: George Knightley. A close family friend of the Woodhouses (and brother to Emma's sister's husband), Knightley has known Emma her entire life. Everyone else spoils and pets Emma but he's always been honest with her about her faults.
The Rub: Does his disapproval of Emma and grumpiness towards Emma's crushes mask a more sentimental emotion? Also: age gap!

The Plot:

Emma: Harriet should marry Mr Elton!

Knightley: You're wrong.

Mr Elton: *marries Bitchy McMapleGroveBitchFace*

Emma: ... Harriet should marry Mr Churchill!

Knightley: Wrong again.

Frank Churchill: *announces secret engagement to Jane Fairfax*

Emma: GRRR! This is so unfair! Harriet is much more genteel then people realize, they think she's lower in status just because she's illegitimate! It's degrading to women! She deserves a highborn husband!

Harriet: I heart Knightley!

Emma: YOU BITCH GET YOUR DIRTY LOWBORN HANDS OFF MY MAN!

Knightley: You were saying?

Emma: Fine, go ahead and marry Harriet if you love her so much, see if I care...

Knightley: Wrong again.

Harriet: *marries Robert Martin*

Emma: Hooray!

Romance Convention Checklist

1 Age Gap Between Protagonists (16 years!)

3 Wrong Guesses

4 Romantically Lacklustre Rivals

1 Selfish Hypochondriac Father

1 Secret Engagement

Several Stolen Turkeys

1 Chatty Kathy

The Word: It was very interesting to read Emma when my last Jane Austen novel was Mansfield Park. And considering what I know of the plots of Jane Austen's other novels from their wonderful adaptations, Emma herself seems to be the odd one out in Austen's stable of heroines. Why?

Because she's perfectly comfortable and holds a high standing in society. Unlike Elizabeth who is threatened with poverty thanks to an entailment (Pride & Prejudice), Elinor who's living in reduced circumstances (Sense & Sensibility), Fanny who is the poor relation (Mansfield Park), Anne who is an unmarried spinster (Persuasion), and Catherine who is one of many children of a financially-strapped clergyman (Northanger Abbey), Emma is not only not in any economic danger, but in no social danger either.

She's rich and she's spoiled and she's popular and can get away with doing just about anything, really, which might explain why some readers find her to be the most annoying of Jane Austen's characters, although I strongly disagree.

Emma is essentially the social belle of the small town of Highbury. Comfortably furnished with a handsome fortune, she cares for her needy hypochondriac father and attends parties and nurtures her favourite hobby: matchmaking. The novel opens after the wedding of Jane's governess Miss Taylor to a Mr Weston. The whole town talks about Miss Taylor's advantageous match, and Emma prides herself on the belief that the match was partly her own doing.

However, now that her best friend and confidante has married, Emma needs a new BFF and social project, so she settles on Harriet Smith - a parlour-boarder at the local school with uncertain parentage but extraordinary beauty. Harriet is pretty and good-natured (if a bit dim), and Emma, convinced that Harriet is the daughter of a gentleman, believes Harriet deserves better circumstances than she's had handed to her and starts planning a match between Harriet and the local vicar, Mr Elton.

Mr Knightley becomes involved when he discovers his upright, if lowborn, tenant Robert Martin proposed to Harriet and was refused thanks to Emma's advice. Knightley and Emma enter into an argument about Harriet's future that essentially outlines both characters' strengths and faults and sets the stage for how they change and adapt throughout the novel.

Knightley thinks that because Harriet is illegitimate and stupid, she should take what she's offered and be grateful she was lucky enough to receive an offer at all. He thinks that Emma's ambitions are only setting Harriet up for a fall and that she's trying to pass off a sow's ear as a silk purse. Emma, meanwhile, thinks that Harriet is pretty and kind, that these qualities make her perfectly suited to be anyone's wife, and that she deserves a chance to play the field the same as anyone else (well, almost anyone else).

What makes this argument interesting is that Emma's rejection of the social strictures that make Harriet inferior doesn't mean she rejects all social boundaries. The truth is that Emma sets and abides by her own social standards - in her mind, anyone who is her friend is automatically worthy of status, while those who annoy and frustrate her are lower in status. And, naturally, this makes Emma the highest in status of all, in her own mind. This explains how she believes Harriet's illegitimacy shouldn't pose an obstacle to her match with Mr Elton, but when Mr Elton reveals his affections for Emma, she's outraged that he'd presume to believe a clergyman worthy of marrying the great Miss Emma Woodhouse. While it seems to be a very hypocritical view at first, it's consistent.

However, most of Knightley's predictions do come to pass. When Mr Elton turns out to be a dud, Emma fixes on a number of other matches (such as Mr Weston's son Frank Churchill) only to be proven wrong again and again. However, even though Emma turns out to be frequently wrong it doesn't mean that Knightley's character remains unchanged.

Emma is an engaging and refreshing 19th century character. She can get away with distorted and personalized views of Society because she's in no position to be cast out of it - she's wealthy, landed, and established. This also means, of course, that she's often haughty, conceited, spoiled, and self-important. I adored her.

I found myself relating to her on a number of levels, for all her flaws. Why I mentioned Mansfield Park at the beginning of this review is that Emma is the exact opposite of MP's Fanny Price - she speaks her mind, often far too much, and loves being the centre of attention (and resents when she isn't). Her dislike of Jane Fairfax is childish and entirely believable - even Emma can't come up with a really good reason why she hates Jane, other than the fact that Jane is a bit of a cold fish, socially speaking, and that everyone who's making a fuss over Jane is not making a fuss over Emma. I've sometimes found I dislike and attempt to avoid people who have certain tics that annoy me, and I do resent not being the centre of attention sometimes. I found that while Emma is haughty and often oblivious, she's honest about herself and will go to great lengths to help those she loves.

What Emma essentially learns at the end of the novel is that her own special view of the world is not always accurate or helpful. Her assumptions about Jane, Harriet, and herself have to be modified by the book's end. Her biggest change comes with her view of Robert Martin - she initially wants to keep him and the Martins away from Harriet because she believes their society would be degrading to Harriet. She thinks him a dirty, unmannered farmer and is honestly surprised that his letter of proposal to Harriet is well-written!

However, as Emma gradually realizes when her plans for Harriet and Elton fall through - her own level of society isn't exactly beneficial to Harriet either. Harriet's tossed about like an emotional rag doll quite a bit in this novel, and Emma comes to recognize that higher-class doesn't always mean better. Her actions result in severe emotional pain and humiliation for Harriet, and force Emma to admit that she might not know what's best. At the end of the novel, when Harriet marries Robert Martin, Emma is relieved, because she finally realizes that marrying a man who adores her is the best thing for Harriet, rather than marrying a man who could elevate her in a society that didn't treat her well to begin with.

Amusingly enough, Knightley comes to the exact same realization (higher class isn't necessarily better), but through a different chain of events. Just as Emma has to rethink her assumptions about Robert Martin, Knightley has to reconsider his assumptions about Harriet. He initially dismisses her out of hand because she's poor, illegitimate and dim. However, because Harriet is always around Emma, Knightley has to get to know her as well.

His epiphany hits home when Elton returns from Bath with a nasty, arrogant, and vulgar wife. Despite Mrs Elton's extreme unpleasantness, she's Harriet's social superior - but Knightley has to concede that Harriet would have made Elton the better wife. Throughout the novel Knightley gradually warms towards Harriet and treats her with greater respect, culminating in a wonderful scene where he asks Harriet to dance after Mr Elton publicly snubs her.

But, whatever Harriet might eventually think, Knightley has eyes only for Emma. Despite the age gap between the two, they are well suited for each other and while Emma's realization about her feelings for Knightley occurs rather suddenly and late in the book, Jane Austen does a good job of setting up how close the two are and how poorly they'd do without each other. Emma needs Knightley because he's the only one who's honest with her - he doesn't spoil her or placate her like her other friends do, and if she acts out of turn he will take her to task for it, while loving her anyway. Knightley needs Emma because oftentimes he can be too cynical and distrustful of people at the outset, and he requires a shot of Emma's tendency to see the best in people every once in a while to hold his pessimism in check.

That being said, while I enjoyed this book more than Mansfield Park, and was much more satisfied with the ending, this book did become a bit of a slog. It's very long (the longest of Jane Austen's novels), the plot tends to meander, and I felt it could have done with some editing. After the halfway point I admit I found myself in the "reading really fast to get to the end already" phase, and the pacing sagged up until the end.
B.

Monday, November 10, 2008

CLASSIC REVIEW: "Mansfield Park," Jane Austen


The Chick: Fanny Price. The daughter of poor, struggling parents, as a child she was taken away to live at Mansfield Park with the family of her wealthy uncle Sir Thomas Bertram, as a favour to her mother, Sir Thomas' sister-in-law.
The Rub: In the years she spent growing up in Mansfield on her uncle's charity, her vicious aunt Mrs Norris and her vain cousins Maria and Julia never let her forget her status as the inferior, ignorant "poor relation" - and as a result, she developed a crippling shyness and fear of being noticed.

The Dude: Edmund Bertram. The second son of Sir Thomas, he is the only Bertram family member who ever goes out of his way to show kindness to Fanny (who, as a result, secretly adores him).
The Rub: Oblivious to Fanny's affections, he falls for the sophisticated and ambitious Miss Mary Crawford. Also possesses all the romantic qualities of a wet dishrag.

The Other Dude: Henry Crawford. Brother to Miss Crawford, he's wealthy, handsome (if short!), and has a way with the ladies - but finds himself truly attracted to the shy and retiring Fanny, the only girl who makes no effort to impress or amuse him.
The Rub: Well, he is a rake - and those habits die hard.

The Plot:

Sir Thomas Bertram: Let's adopt a poor relation!

Fanny: *adopted*

Maria, Fanny's Vain, Slutty Cousin: Hello, poor relation!

Julia, Fanny's Slightly Less Vain, Slutty Cousin: Hello, poor relation!

Mrs Norris, Fanny's Monstrous Hell-Bitch Aunt: Stop dirtying the carpets with your tears, poor relation!

Edmund: Hello, Fanny.

Fanny: *in luuuuurve*

Eight Years Later

Henry and Mary Crawford: Hello! We're new to the neighbourhood!

Henry: *winks*

Julia and (the now married) Maria: *swoon*

Fanny: *unimpressed*

Mary: Oh, Edmund, I shouldn't love you because you're a worthless second son destined to be a poor, pious clergyman! And yet I do! Isn't that quaint?

Edmund: Aww! You're so cute when you say things that go completely against my personal beliefs! Want to ride my horse?

Fanny: *SO unimpressed*

Henry: Hey, Fanny, wanna go out?

Fanny: No, thank you.

Henry: Please?

Fanny: No.

Henry: Pretty please?

Fanny: No.

Henry: Suit yourself. *bangs cousin Maria*

Mary: Oh, Henry, you rascally scamp! What delightful scrapes shall you get into next?

Edmund: *ideals shattered* Oh man, what a fool I was! She was the only woman I could ever think of marrying! Now what'll I do? Hey Fanny?

Fanny: Yes?

Edmund: You'll do.

Fanny: *delighted!*

Romance Convention Checklist:

1 "Poor Relation" Heroine with Low Self-Esteem

1 Hero Oblivious to Heroine's True Feelings

1 Horrid Aunt

2 Rascally Rakes (let's not forget Tom Bertram Jr!)

1 Woman Who Would Actually Be Pretty Cool if She Were Alive Today, but In Regency Times is Kind Of a Bitch

1 Cuckolded Husband

1 Failed Theatrical Attempt

1 Hasty Elopement

The Word: The novel begins with three sisters - one marries a baronet (Lady Bertram), one marries a clergyman whose living was provided by aforementioned baronet (Mrs Norris), and one marries a sailor (Mrs Price). Years later, Mr and Mrs Price aren't doing so well, thanks to an overabundance of children and Mr Price's fondness for drink. Sir Thomas, Lady Bertram, and Mrs Norris, to help Mrs Price out, decide to adopt one of her kids - that way Mrs Price has one less mouth to feed and at least one of her children will get a chance at a decent education and upbringing.

Fanny Price, by virtue of being the oldest Price daughter, is promptly uprooted from the only home she's ever known and sent to live with strangers. Mrs Norris and the Bertrams give themselves a giant self-righteous pat on the back. However, they're convinced that while Fanny's improvement is assured now that she's in gentler-bred surroundings, it's unrealistic to suppose that she'll ever be the social, intellectual, or moral equal to the Bertrams' own children Thomas, Edmund, Maria, and Julia. Fanny's terror and homesickness are met with little sympathy, especially from the childless, widowed Mrs Norris who treats her like an ungrateful leech on the saintly Bertrams' charity, nevermind that her own position in the Bertram household is hardly less self-serving. The only family member who makes any effort to treat her with compassion is her cousin Edmund.

Time passes, and eight years of languishing in the shadow of her beautiful, educated, accomplished, and spoiled cousins Maria and Julia have transformed Fanny into a shrinking violet, a severely timid and shy young woman who would prefer to fade into the wallpaper, who trembles with horror at the thought of being remarked upon, even in a positive way (which is rare, thanks to Mrs Norris - who dispenses one acidic retort in Fanny's direction for every ass-kissing compliment she gives Maria and Julia). The only thing the Fanny feels at all strong about is her all-consuming adoration of Edmund.

Their quiet country existence is upset by the arrival of two newcomers - the half-siblings of the current rector's wife: Henry and Mary Crawford. Sophisticated, intelligent, and urbane, Henry captures the attentions of both Julia and Maria (even though Maria is engaged to the unintelligent Mr Rushworth), and Mary catches Edmund's eye. Henry is very obviously a rake who trifles with both cousins' affections and appears to take great pleasure in pitting one against the other - Mary, however, is a more ambiguous character. Materialistic? Certainly. Ambitious? Most definitely - however, even though she claims she could never condescend to marry a second son and has no respect for the clergy, she surprises even herself in her affection for Edmund. She is also endearingly kind and thoughtful towards Fanny, even as Fanny silently ties herself into knots watching Edmund fall fast and hard for a woman whose moral compass is clearly not pointing in the same direction as his.

Mansfield Park was a novel I both did and didn't like. Fanny is a frustrating character to relate to, as her social phobias continually force her into the role of a passive observer, particularly in the novel's first half, where inwardly she despairs of Edmund and Mary's growing relationship and disapproves of Henry and Maria's deepening flirtation but is too anxious to do anything about it. She cries and she trembles and she sits in the corner and stares while the much more interesting plot points happen elsewhere.

However, things begin to take off in the novel's second half as Fanny finds it increasingly difficult to fade into the background. With one daughter already married off, Sir Thomas finally starts to take notice of Fanny, and remarks upon the "sudden" improvement in her looks, manners, and bearing. Rather belatedly as it seems to me, Sir Thomas decides it is time to introduce Fanny to Society, a prospect Fanny regards with pure fear. The scenes of Fanny's coming-out are laced with Austen's trademark delicious irony - while inwardly, Fanny is a nervous wreck in perpetual deer-in-the-headlights-mode, outwardly her precise and automatic behaviour is interpreted as impeccable manners, which earns her Sir Thomas' approval and, more amazing still, the attention of Henry Crawford.

Reading this novel for the first time (without knowing how it was to turn out), I rejoiced when Henry found himself falling for Fanny, the shy wallflower who refused to swoon at his feet like the others. He was smart, handsome, rich, and a more healthy romantic alternative than Edmund. Trust me, it's not because Fanny and Edmund are biologically first cousins. While Edmund is kind to Fanny, none of his actions towards her before the end are anything but brotherly, and while he alone of all the Bertrams makes an effort to befriend her, he also takes her for granted for much of the novel and remains generally oblivious to her feelings and inner turmoil. He "thoughtfully" lets Fanny ride his horse, but once Mary enters the picture, this gift to Fanny, thoughtlessly given, is just as thoughtlessly taken away when he lends it to Mary instead.

As well, Fanny's love for Edmund veers a little too close to obsession to my tastes. One has to wonder - does Fanny really love Edmund for who he is, or does Fanny fixate on Edmund because she's the starving dog and Edmund the only one who threw her crumbs from Sir Thomas' table?

Ultimately, what won me over to Henry's suit was that he, not Edmund (nor any of the Bertrams, for that matter), caught on to Fanny's deep-seated fear of social situations and acknowledgement. Henry, in a conversation with his sister regarding his intentions for Fanny, is the first one to see the Bertrams' neglectful treatment of Fanny for what it is, and connect the dots between it and Fanny's shamefully low self-image. At one point he actually makes a speech about how he plans to devote himself to convincing Fanny of how lovely and delightful she actually is, and I was sold. Yes! Yes! Yes! I thought. Go for it, Fanny!

Sadly, it doesn't happen that way, and the end rapidly arrives all the errant plot threads start wrapping up at once. Fanny can't trust Henry because she remembers all too well his emotional manipulation of her cousins, and (perhaps as an angry response to her perception of Edmund's moral capitulation to Mary) refuses to relinquish her moral standards in favour of Henry's affection. Things proceed very quickly from there - Henry's impatience gets the best of him and he runs off with Maria, Julia elopes with a Mr Yates, Thomas Bertram Jr falls deathly ill after being abandoned by his wastrel friends, and Mary reveals her true colours when she responds to the news of Tom Jr's illness with a little too much glee.

While the ending is sudden, the message it sends is a valid one: the overall theme of Mansfield Park being that money and education can't buy class. Sir Thomas' biggest mistake comes at the beginning of the novel when he assumes that Fanny, coming from a poor family, can never hope to become the equal of his own children, all four of whom have been given the best education and instruction that money can buy. And how does that turn out? Tom Jr fritters away Edmund's inheritance and nearly kills himself with degenerate living, Maria humiliates her husband and ruins her reputation by running away with another man, and Julia elopes with a fop. Of the five children in Sir Thomas' household, only the socially-inferior second son Edmund and "poor relation" Fanny emerge from the novel's climax with their reputations intact.

Built on this mistaken assumption that an expensive upbringing automatically bestows moral fibre, Sir Thomas' plan to improve Fanny by removing her to more wealthy surroundings backfires - Fanny is emotionally crippled rather than improved by her stay at Mansfield Park.

Similarly, the novel's theme applies to the Crawfords as well - the Bertrams are initially attracted to the wealthy, sophisticated siblings, so much so that even steadfast Edmund is entranced. The Bertrams cannot understand why Fanny refuses Henry's suit, seeing only his good name and fortune while Fanny is able to see beyond the superficial fripperies and judge his character from his actions rather than his upbringing. In fact, when Sir Thomas decides to punish Fanny for refusing Henry, his idea of the perfect sentence is to return her to her impoverished home, thinking that might make her see Henry in a more positive light.

So thematically, I thought Mansfield Park to be an interesting and relatively entertaining book, but romantically, I thought it was terrible. Instead of ending up with the handsome, entertaining man who genuinely noticed her inner torment, Fanny ends up as a consolation prize for a man who politely ignored her for much of the novel.

There's no romantic build-up a la Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Edmund and Fanny's interactions for 99% of the novel remain on the level of brother and sister. Edmund literally realizes his feelings for Fanny within a single paragraph on the last page of the novel. One minute, he's pining for Miss Crawford, and the next it's "Hey, wait a minute, Fanny has lady parts, too!" Edmund shows his brotherly affection for Fanny many times in the novel, but he never showed any understanding for or even awareness of Fanny's true character - her poor self-image, her social terrors, her keen eye for observation. Their marriage at the end of the novel is ultimately one of convenience - for both the characters and as a narrative device by the author. To me, they didn't get married because they loved each other - they got married because they were there and unattached.

When it comes right down to it, while I appreciated the points Jane Austen made with this novel, I found I couldn't connect or empathize with the characters, or the romance elements of the story. While I enjoy Austen's writing, Mansfield Park wasn't nearly as enjoyable a read as Pride and Prejudice or Northanger Abbey. C.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

CLASSIC REVIEW: "Clarissa," by Samuel Richardson


The Chick: Clarissa Harlowe. Beautiful, fashionable, kind, loyal, with an unimpeachable moral character, this third child of a wealthy, untitled family is forced to fend off her relatives' repeated attempts to marry her to the repulsive Mr Solmes, as well as Robert Lovelace's ruthless advances.
The Rub: She's a self-righteous doormat, and borders on Mary Sue territory. Also displays an unfortunate 18th-century heroine tendency to render herself physically ill due to emotional overstimulation.
Dream Casting: There's really no one I could possibly cast as Clarissa, who is repeatedly lauded as the "best of all women," and perfectly perfect in every way.

The Dude: Robert Lovelace. Wealthy, handsome, charming, and the heir to a title - his courtship of Clarissa becomes increasingly obsessive, as he becomes determined to have her, by any means necessary.
The Rub: He's an unabashed rake - and not one of those pansy rakes with a ridiculous code of honour like "never defile the innocent." He's not above using lies, manipulation, mail tampering, elaborate disguises, drugs (on himself and others), and rape to get what he wants.
Dream Casting: Again, can't really cast this dude, who makes every other rake in romantic fiction look like a lovestruck schoolboy.

The Plot:

Clarissa's Family: Marry Solmes!

Clarissa: No thank you.

Lovelace: Marry me!

Clarissa: Nope.

Anna Howe, Clarissa's BFF: Marry nobody!

Clarissa: Now there's an idea.

Lovelace: Hey, look! A distraction!

Clarissa: What - ?

Lovelace *absconds with Clarissa*

Clarissa's Family: You WHORE. *shuns*

Lovelace: Now will you marry me?

Clarissa: Care to take a raincheck? *flees*

Lovelace: *catches her*

Clarissa: Family, help me!

Clarissa's Family: WHORE. *shuns*

Lovelace: *date rapes*

Clarissa: *imprisoned**released**flees again*

Clarissa's Family, Uncles, and Anna: Well, you might as well marry Lovelace now.

Clarissa: NEVER! *dies*

Messenger: Hey - I just got this letter saying the family's willing to totally forgive Clarissa for everything that's happened and ... oh, am I too late?

Lovelace: Mother$%&"#$! *duels* *dies*

Clarissa's Family: WE ARE ALL IDIOTS. *PUNISHED*

Romance Convention Checklist:

1 Rapacious Rake

1 Put-Upon Virgin

1 Sassy Best Friend

1 Moronic, Control-Freak Family

Several Big Misunderstandings

1 Use of Ipecac For Romantic Purposes

2 Ho's in Disguise

1 Wrongful Imprisonment

The Word: This is the reader's Everest. Something that people will read once in their lives in order to say that they did it, but might never read ever, EVER again. Clarissa is well-known as the longest novel originally written in the English language, clocking in at just under a million words. Like Richardson's previous (and much shorter) novel Pamela, it's written in letter format. Half the novel involves Clarissa's letters to and from her family and friends regarding her changed circumstances, and the other half involves Lovelace's letters to and from his family and rakehell buddies as he cooks up his dastardly plans to snare Clarissa into marriage, all the while scrawling pages' worth of self-justification for his actions.

Clarissa is, as I've mentioned previously, perfectly perfect in every way. At the start of the novel, she's the darling of her wealthy bachelor uncles, her friends, the community, and her parents. When Robert Lovelace, a handsome cad, starts courting her, her perfect world starts to slip and long-hidden resentments in her family bubble to the surface, particularly among her jealous siblings James and Arabella. James knew Lovelace at university and hated him for being popular, rich, and handsome. Lovelace previously courted Arabella, only to dump her for Clarissa. The siblings also possess a deep resentment and jealousy of Clarissa herself, as she's the family favourite who unexpectedly inherited the largest share of her late grandfather's wealth just because she's so darn cute, and now stands to inherit the money of the bachelor uncles as the Apple of Their Wealthy Unmarried Eyes.

Together, James and Arabella conspire to convince the family that Lovelace's intentions are dishonest, and that the only way to protect Clarissa from his dastardly intentions is to marry her off to Mr Solmes - an elderly, wealthy widower with a reputation for being a miser. Clarissa doesn't particularly care for Lovelace, either, but when she refuses to marry Solmes, her refusal - a completely unexpected act of defiance from a previously perfectly obedient daughter - is construed as an indication of her illicit passion for the rake. This only stokes her family to go to greater lengths to try and force her to marry Solmes.

Clarissa maintains her refusal - she disapproves of Solmes' miserly character and his unkind treatment of his family. However, through James and Arabella's machinations, Clarissa's defiance is interpreted as spoiled selfishness and soon the whole family turns against her. Imprisoned in her room for disobedience, she retains only one friend, to whom she must write in secret: the fantastically bitchy spitfire Anna Howe.

Of course, when Lovelace hears about her stubborn refusal, he also interprets her unwillingness to marry Solmes as a sign that she harbours feelings for himself. He maintains a secret correspondence with Clarissa through subtle emotional blackmail - he writes that he's so passionately on fire for her that if he doesn't communicate with her he's sure to do something uncontrollably drastic. Clarissa, to maintain propriety and shield her family from scandal and violence, agrees.

The pressure from her family rapidly escalates, to the point where Clarissa becomes convinced that they are planning to forcibly marry her to Mr Solmes, whether she wills it or no. Lovelace suggests that Clarissa run away and, with his assistance, stay with a female relative of his until she's allowed to inherit her grandfather's wealth and become independent. Clarissa reluctantly consents, then changes her mind at the last minute. Lovelace, however, has planned ahead and promptly tricks Clarissa into fleeing with him, and things go downhill from there.

Clarissa's family, convinced she has eloped with Lovelace and has sacrificed her virtue, wants nothing more to do with her, and Lovelace shows an increasing desire to have entirely too much to do with her. Clarissa's only hope lies in protecting herself from Lovelace's advances while trying to negotiate with her family through letters and her friend Anna's assistance.

The rest of the novel is a battle of wills - with Lovelace rifling through every trick in the rake's handbook to take advantage of Clarissa, and Clarissa using all the powers of gentle persuasion she possesses to maintain her distance from Lovelace and salvage enough of her reputation to regain her family's approval.

I read this book for Lovelace and Anna Howe, easily the two most entertaining characters in the novel. Lovelace is a complex character - a rake, to be sure, whose initial intentions for Clarissa are far from pure. To him (at least for the first 750 pages!), Clarissa poses the ultimate challenge, the white whale to his Ahab. To tarnish the reputation of such a renowned, kind-hearted, chaste virgin would immortalize him within the ranks of the world's most notorious seducers for eons. His seduction of her is also motivated by anger - insulted by the presumption of the Harlowe family for expressing a low opinion of him (considering them to be untitled upstarts whereas he is the child of peerage), the shearing of their fluffiest, most spotlessly white sheep would be a cutting blow indeed.

However, around the novel's mid-point, his pursuit turns more into obsession, as he realizes that he might just be falling in love with her, for real. Does this change the nature of his seduction? Not a whit. His game plan remains essentially the same - he'll stoop to any means, fair or foul, to snare Clarissa. At one point, hilariously, he intentionally drinks ipecac and makes himself sick in order to ellicit sympathy from Clarissa - and it WORKS! The only difference after the midpoint of the novel is that he fully intends to marry her, and justifies that he'll then have the rest of their lives to make up for his deceit and prove his whole-hearted devotion.

As for Anna Howe, had I not known this book was actually written in the 18th century, I might have considered her character a bit of an anachronism - she's fiesty, she's sassy, she's whiptongued and smart as a tack, and has no problems speaking her mind. Whereas Clarissa is far too polite and tranquil to condemn her family's short-sighted and selfish actions, Anna has no such compunction. Clarissa is all too willing to take shit from her family and sit quietly - whereas Anna takes a gleeful delight in composing searing diatribes against the narrow-minded Harlowes, Lovelace's machinations, and the stupidity of the world in general for causing any stress whatsoever to Clarissa's well-being. Most of Clarissa's plans for redemption involve waiting out the storm of her scandal with saint-like patience, while Anna councils direct action.

My only disappointment with Anna is that the novel obviously paints her as Clarissa's "problem" friend - a well-meaning but imperfect lady meant to improve under Clarissa's benevolent influence (her opposite number is Lovelace's confidante Belford, whose knowledge of Lovelace's machinations horrifies him into eventually abandoning his rakish ways). When Anna sends letters of vitriol against Clarissa's family and suggestions that Clarissa take legal action against them, Clarissa responds with pages and pages of lectures on the virtues of familial loyalty, temperance, and tranquility, to which Anna will respond with slavish gratitude that Clarissa (perfect, lovely Clarissa) is so willing to tolerate her devilish temper and instruct her on the proper manners of a lady.

This is particularly apparant when the girls discuss Anna's boy problems - throughout most of the novel, she's courted by Charles Hickman, a man who's upright, well-off, kind-hearted and gentle. However, Anna also thinks he's boring and her inferior in intellect - a trait she cannot abide. In one of her most articulate letters, she rails against the unfairness of society that makes the husband the representative of the family. She can't stand the thought of her person, status and reputation being subject to a man who's not as smart as she is - an opinion I completely agreed with and found entirely refreshing to read in an 18th century novel. However, Clarissa naturally responds with more lectures on the natural state of wifely submission, etc. etc., along with a few well-aimed jabs at how difficult smarter men can be (in one letter, Anna whines that Hickman is not as exciting as Lovelace, to which Clarissa responds, "And that's bad HOW?").

With all of this, Clarissa is an interesting but difficult read, mainly because of the main character. In theory, I admired her actions, but in practice it was frustrating to read. In a nutshell, the plot is: "Clarissa says no." That's it, really - "no" to her family's demands, "no" to Solmes' marriage proposal, "no" to Lovelace's plots and schemes. But despite the fact that she actually shows enough spine to refuse to perform things she doesn't believe in, she also never says "yes," - that is, take an active role in her future and fight for her rights. Of course, doing so (gasp!) wouldn't have been ladylike, and Clarissa is never permitted to be anything less than the 18th century feminine ideal. Thank goodness for Anna Howe. B.