Far from the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy

I usually open a Hardy novel with a sense of dread, but when several book friends said this was their favorite, I plunged in without my usual reluctance. And I was surprised at how much I enjoyed it - even with its hearty dose of pessimism. 

The book opens with a description of Gabriel Oak who on working days was a young man of sound judgment, easy motions, proper dress, and general good character. On Sundays he was a man of misty views.... he went to church but yawned privately by the time the congregation reached the Nicene creed, and thought of what there would be for dinner when he meant to be listening to the sermon. 

Several of the main characters attend church, but it doesn't seem to make much difference in their lives. Another character, Sergeant Troy, has lived a profligate life and when he decides to do better, he finds, that Providence, far from helping him into his new course, or showing any wish that he might adopt one, actually jeered his first trembling and critical attempt. Biblical reference are sprinkled throughout the book, but most are verses misquoted by one of the farm hands. So although this was funny, you get the sinking feeling that Hardy was saying the Bible doesn't really have anything to contribute to the conversation.

Why would a book that seems to belittle God and his mercy merit my four star rating? Because in spite of Hardy's worldview, he vividly portrays human nature and shows sin for what it is. His characters are complex. Even the stereotypical playboy has his moments of reflection and remorse.

Almost all the characters in the story are motivated by their impulses: Fanny the servant girl, Troy the soldier, Bathsheba the farmer, etc. Sometimes those impulses are held in check by the desire for some higher good, but most often Hardy shows the realistic results of "following your heart." 

Our heroine, Bathsheba Everdene, is the object of desire of the three male characters. Through these men, Hardy explores different kinds of love. Passion is highlighted as a particularly disastrous form of love. Self-giving love is the ideal, but is the hardest because it promotes the welfare of the other person even at the cost of one's own happiness. I enjoyed seeing this type of love rewarded (but only after it had been through the valley!)  

This was not Hardy's first novel, but it was the one that established him as a respected writer. I wonder if any of the movie versions are any good. I can see how they might be racy when interpreted visually, although the book was not. 

Have you read Hardy? Do you have a favorite? Any opinions on movie versions?

Blessings,

Modern British Poetry by Louis Untermeyer

Edited by Louis Untermeyer and printed in 1920, Modern British Poetry highlights the poets of the early Georgian era (1910-1920). Half of them have been forgotten. Others, like John Masefield, Rudyard Kipling, Walter de la Mare, G.K. Chesterton, Thomas Hardy, and Robert Louis Stevenson have endured. And no anthology of “modern” poets would be complete without the WWI poems of Siegfried Sassoon and Rupert Brooke who eloquently decried the brutality of war.

In general, the Georgian poets wrote in reaction to the sentimentality of the Victorian era and its “rhymed sermons.” Much of their poetry is realistic and fatalistic. William Ernest Henley’s Invictus makes sense coming out of this time period of societal renunciation of a Higher Power and man’s subsequent dependence on himself. I am amazed that in the midst of such pessimism and cynicism that poets like Stevenson, de la Mare and Davies were able to find their voices.  

Untermeyer gives an introduction to each poet and one or two samples of his poetry. Some of his descriptions were less than flattering. On Alfred Noyes, he wrote, “Unfortunately, Noyes has not developed his gifts as deeply as his admirers have hoped. His poetry, extremely straightforward and rhythmical, has often degenerated into cheap sentimentalities and cheaper tirades; it has frequently attempted to express programs and profundities far beyond Noye’s power.” He describes D.H. Lawrence poetry as rife with “a febrile morbidity to an exalted and almost frenzied mysticism.” (!)

Most amusing of all, he predicts that Chesterton will be remembered for his poetry rather than his prose.

This was a free-for-kindle title which led me down a rabbit trail to many other obscure gems. I added about a dozen books to my TBR list!

Blessings,

The Collected Letters of C.S. Lewis, Volume 2

I’m finally reviewing my favorite book of 2021. Volume One of the Letters of C.S. Lewis covers his early life and ends with his conversion. In Volume Two (1931-1949), we see how he grows in his faith and begins writing his fiction and his apologetical books. I was drawn in from the very first letter and was kept interested by the variety of his correspondents and his overwhelming kindness and humility. I was taken aback initially by a bawdy joke he included in a letter to his brother, but chortled at his nickname for a project in which he was unwillingly involved (The Oxford History of English Literature) that he referred to as “O Hell!”

There is much to savor in this volume: details of his friendship with Tolkien, his unbelievable patience with Jane (a cantankerous woman who was Lewis’ houseguest until the end of her life), his gentle, wise responses to people who asked him questions about his faith, and the endless list of books he was reading.

In spite of his brilliance as a thinker and writer, his letters are infused with a guilelessness that is disarming. He wrote to a Catholic nun on August 9, 1939, Though I’m forty years old as a man, I’m only about twelve as a Christian, so it would be a maternal act if you found time to sometimes mention me in your prayers.

In another letter written in April of 1935, he is renewing an old acquaintance and sums up his life simply, My father is dead and my brother has retired from the army and now lives with us…. I am going bald. I am a Christian. Professionally I am chiefly a medievalist.

As his fame grew, he was answering seven letters a day year-round and his brother, Warnie, began helping. Thank goodness hundreds and hundreds of those letters have been preserved for posterity. This book was a thousand pages and I loved every one of them.  

I was fortunate to pick this up when it was being offered for a few dollars on Kindle. When I investigated the possibility of purchasing hard covers for my permanent library, I found they are way out of my price range. Happily, the Kindle prices, though still high, are more accessible. Volume 1 and Volume 3 may be my big splurges for 2022.

Blessings,

Anthony Trollope: An Autobiography

I have to agree with my sister that Trollope's Autobiography is for diehard fans. Having read 23 of his novels, I put myself in that category, and, still, this book was an occasional slog. The early chapters were painfully sad memories of his poverty-stricken childhood and how he eked out an education at Harrow where he was regularly beaten. At nineteen, he left school and came home to find his father fleeing to Belgium and his mother dismantling the household in order to pay the creditors. The whole family joined the father in Europe, and since almost all of them were dying of consumption, his mother took on the full support of the family with her novel writing. Trollope's admiration for her knows no bounds:

The doctor’s vials and the ink-bottle held equal places in my mother’s rooms. I have written many novels under many circumstances, but I doubt much whether I could write one when my whole heart was by the bedside of a dying son. Her power of dividing herself into two parts, and keeping her intellect by itself clear from the troubles of the world, and fit for the duty it had to do, I never saw equaled. I do not think that the writing of novel is the most difficult task which a man may be called upon to do, but it is a task that may be supposed to demand a spirit fairly at ease…. My mother went through it unscathed in strength, though she performed all the work of day-nurse and night-nurse to a sick household – for there were soon three of them dying. 

Soon he was summoned to work as a clerk in the London Post office. He gives detailed descriptions of his post office duties through the years and how he managed to begin his own career as a novelist; he recalls his different books and how long they took to write and how much he got paid for them. Sometimes he compares how he felt about them with what the public felt about them.  (He didn’t give a hang about public opinion.) Regarding TheSmall House at Allington, he wrote, In it appeared Lily Dale, one of the characters which readers of my novels have liked the best. In the love with which she has been greeted I have hardly joined with much enthusiasm, feeling that she is somewhat of a prig. 

Chapter Thirteen was a commentary on fellow Victorian novelists and includes Trollope’s fascinating predictions of who would last and who would fade away. His “keepers” are Thackeray and George Eliot. He acknowledges Dicken’s popularity, but vehemently disagrees with it. His predictions for the “losers” were mostly right. He predicted that the novels of Charles Read, Henry Bulwer, Annie Thackeray, Rhoda Broughton, Charles Lever and Charlotte Brontë (!) would sink into oblivion.   

Although parts of this book were tedious, I was sad when it was over. The narrator, Bernard Mayes (with his grandfatherly British voice), did such a good job that I felt like I had just had a long conversation with a good friend that suddenly came to an end.

I will close with a favorite quote from Clifton Fadiman: Above all give me Trollope, from whom I have received so much pleasure that I would willingly call him another St. Anthony; his half a hundred novels are good for five years of bedside reading. Of those who minister to the tired, night-welcoming mind, Trollope is king. He never fails to interest, but not too much; to soothe, but not too much. Trollope is the perfect novelist for the bedside.

Blessings,

Reading Goals for 2022

My goals are loosely set, but these are some books that have been coming to my mind lately. I'll probably do a few on the Lit Life Challenge, but prefer to follow my own whims for the most part.

The Chronicles of Narnia (It's been ten years since the last time.)

More Lord Peter Wimsey (I read books 1-5 in 2021)

Finish the Betsy-Tacy series (I read books 1-4 about five years ago!)

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles (already on my Kindle)

Everthing Sad is Untrue by Nayeri (free via Hoopla)

I've also had a hankering to re-read the Miss Buncle books.

Also something by the wonderful Elizabeth Goudge. (I own Green Dolphin Street and The White Witch.)

What about you? Any opinions on this list? Any reading goals for the year?

May your new year be replete with good food, good books, good company, and God's blessing.

Blessings,

Reading Year in Review - 2021

Thank heavens that I came out of the pandemic-induced reading slump of 2020! This year got off to a roaring start because of the Literary Life Podcast group since their reading challenge caused me to attack my most daunting books right off the bat: Kristin Lavransdatter and Anna Karenina! Towards the end of the year I was reading much lighter fare, while dipping into Dante's Divine Comedy three times a week (via the 100 Days of Dante reading project.) It was a great year! (All 90 books, good and bad, are listed on my Goodreads challenge.) 

Here's the rundown of favorites: 

Most work, but worth the effort: Kristin Lavransdatter (reviewed here) After this, Anna Karenina was a cinch!

Best light fiction: A Tangled Web by L.M. Montgomery (reviewed here)

Most fun: All Creatures Great and Small by Herriot (reviewed here), and the first five Lord Peter Wimsey Novels by Sayers (reviewed here)

Favorite audio: The Ghost and Mrs. Muir by R.A. Dick & Pied Piper by Shute

Favorite re-read: Fahrenheit 451 by Bradbury (with the Lit Life group)

Favorite classic: Mansfield Park by Austen (with the Lit Life group)

Unexpectedly knocked my socks off: The Inferno by Dante/Ciardi (To be honest, this was only after listening to the videos explaining each canto.)

Favorite non-fiction: Christian Faith in the Old Testament by Cockerill

My two top picks for the year were  C.S. Lewis' Letters, Vol. 2 (1,000 pages) and Six Centuries of Great Poetry (600 pages). My daily sips into their contents brought me constant delight. I felt bereft when I finally reached the end of Lewis' letters.

What about you? Have you read any of these? Did you have a favorite book of the year? 

Blessings,

Christmas Poem by Christopher Smart

A wonderful poem that is also a hymn:

Where is this stupendous Stranger?

Prophets, shepherds, kings, advise!

Lead me to my Master's manger,

Show me where my Savior lies.

O most Mighty, o most Holy,

Far beyond the seraph's thought,

Are you then so mean and lowly

As unheeded prophets thought?

Oh, the magnitude of meekness!

Worth from worth immortal sprung!

Oh, the strength of infant weakness,

If eternal is so young!

God all bounteous, all creative,

Whom our sins could not dissuade,

You have come to be a native

Of the very world you made.

(Full poem here.)

Blessings,