All Reviews by chip
Awful Disclosures
by Maria Monk
I believe every word of this book is true.I hope this poor nun is resting in peace in the hands of our lord
which she couldn't get when she was alive.Let her rest in peace.Amen
The Secret Sharer
by Joseph Conrad
Conrad is one of the great geniuses of modern English literature, and “The Secret Sharer” is my favorite among his works I’ve read.
The story is sort of a non-story, in the modern fashion: A newly appointed ship’s captain rescues and hides a fugitive from another ship. The fugitive eventually leaves. That’s about it as far as narrative goes.
Instead of a linear story progressing from A to B, “The Secret Sharer” spins in upon itself as an exploration of character and situation, especially that of the captain. The hows and whys of rescuing and protecting the fugitive—the causes and effects of the captain’s guilt—are the questions at the core of the novella. The metaphorical referent of the Sharer is something I don’t think can be determined definitively, any more than the many other questions raised. Above all, “The Secret Sharer” leaves much room for thinking and drawing conclusions. It is a “writerly text."
Of course Conrad’s distinctive prose and the strength of all the characterizations in this book make it enjoyable for those things, no matter what one makes of its other aspects.
Miss Cayley's Adventures
by Grant Allen
This book is a hoot. It is well-written, and its characters feel quite real, as do the situations they get themselves into -- and out of. And a lot of the latter goes on.
Allen has taken the form heroic epic and turned it around, twice. First by making it modern, second by making the hero a heroine, and a mighty feisty one at that. But he retains the geographic wandering, episodic structure, clearly-defined good and bad, and an invincible and nearly infallible protagonist.
The heroine is worthy of note, and respect. Rarely at a loss for what to do or say, Miss Cayley is perhaps at her best turning aside potential suitors and taming tough old ladies. Everything that happens is more or less realistic. That is, until she comes home to save her beloved from the clutches of evil-doers, making for a happily ever after.
I had to laugh at Allen's rendering of colloquial American speech, which he seems to concocted out of 50% Mark Twain (Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer) and 50% "How to Make Money." It's all good fun, though, in the end, just like this book.
Dr Heidenhoff's Process
by Edward Bellamy
Well this is quite a snoozer. I don't know if anyone used to reading 19th century lit will find the style too overpowering, although it sure ain't Hemingway.
The story is basically boy loves girl, girl disses boy for city slicker, city slicker uses the girl and throws her away. She is really sad. And so on. Not that great.
Despite all this, I think the story's not entirely without interest.
Bellamy does two good things.
First, he involves an interesting technical process (for easing the pangs of conscience, presumably a larger issue then than now).
Bellamy also uses that technical process to pose some "what if"-type moral questions. One might argue that he blathers on at length while doing so, but still. This reminds me of someone like Phillip K. Dick, who did the same thing. Of course Dick did it much more interestingly, but hey: we may have an early precursor of a certain kind of sci fi here, which gives the story a potential lit-hist interest.
Helen Vardon's Confession
by R. Austin Freeman
This novel was a delight.
Not for the story, or at least not only for that. The novel tells the story of how Helen Vardon, a young woman, is manipulated into an unwelcome marriage, then implicated as having apparently caused the suicide of her husband. You can probably guess whether she did it or not. And things resolve, of course, with a bit of help from Dr. Thorndyke, Freeman's scientific hero. It's pretty straightforward mystery, and Freeman handles it well.
But what made this novel so enjoyable for me were the varied and highly independent women characters. Helen herself is of course the prime example. All too often, women in detective stories are passive -- victims to be rescued. And there is a titch of that at work still.
Yet Helen is anything but passive. At every stage in the story, she actively chooses how she will live: she not only refuses to stay in an unhappy marriage, but is determined to make her own living. And she does so by joining a group of independent and talented women who have a sort of artists' collective.
I found it very refreshing to find all this portrayed and portrayed very favorably in an early 20th century mystery story.
I'm not sure that the characters are necessarily fully rounded and believable, exactly. But they are rounded and believable to the same degree that male characters are in Freeman's work. So the book essentially argues for equality.
I don't mean to say that there are no patriarchal notions at work. But in comparison with many other mysteries from the time, this one is downright enlightened.
The Wind in the Willows
by Kenneth Grahame
This is a wonderful book. Not only for the story, which is amusing, or the writing, which is brilliant (amazing what they used to write for children!). But because in this single book Grahame has captured some many aspects of the human spirit.
Mr. Mole, alternately timid and bold -- his battle cry: "A Mole! A Mole!" -- meets the Water Rat, who is sometimes peevish, sometimes not, but always ready for a bit of messing about on the water. Together they go traveling with the delightful braggart Toad, who is led astray -- as so many have been -- by motor cars. His conscience, such as it is, can wink at car theft, horse theft, and many a jolly lie, but his loyalty to friends is firm.
And of course one can't forget the solitary and serious Mr. Badger, who is writing a dissertation on the Creation of Man off in his subterranean forest abode. It is he who leads the party through the secret tunnel to attack to the Weasels and Stoats and retake Toad's home, which they have occupied.
Sound exciting? It is.
"A Mole! A Mole!"
The Shadow Line
by Joseph Conrad
I had read a number of Conrad's works before this. "The Secret Sharer" is one of my favorites, and of course "Heart of Darkness" is famous for a reason.
But, like another reviewer (below), I came to "The Shadow Line" specifically because Philip Roth mentions it in "Exit Ghost." However, my estimate of the book is quite different from the preceding reviewer's.
On the surface, the story is simple: a young man quits one ship and ends up, unexpectedly, with command of another ship. Things proceed from there.
I read "The Shadow Line" at one sitting. Conrad's characters are brilliant -- there are characters in the book with the barest walk-on parts and despite that have a fully real feel to them. Brilliant ain't the half of it.
I did trade "The Shadow Line" once or twice, for a few minutes, with another book (R. Austin Freeman's "A Silent Witness," to be exact), when the mood got too heavy.
For "The Shadow Line" is a heavy book. Not only its themes -- illness and death, and especially the workings of chance on human life. It is also heavy because of the mood, which starts light and becomes progressively darker, until the climax, which is much more a climax of Stygian atmosphere than it is of action in any usual sense of the word.
It's easy to see why Roth mentions this book. Its themes are similar to his own, of course. But more important, I think, is that "The Shadow Line" is a very "modern" book, in which the concern with plot is replaced by character and situation.
In fact, even more than Roth's work, "The Shadow Line" made me think of J.M. Coetzee's books, particularly "Disgrace." I haven't had time yet to fully think about how and why, but at the very least, "Disgrace" is another book written in exquisite prose, filled with characters having real depth, and in which conventional climax has been replaced by one internal to the characters.
So if you're looking for action and plot in the more usual sense, this is probably not the book for you.
But if you're interested in reading (and maybe thinking) about other approaches to literature and thus to life, I highly recommend "The Shadow Line."
I would, however, also recommend having something lighter at hand, should the mood prove too dark. It did for me.
A Silent Witness
by R. Austin Freeman
This is a straightforward detective story, complete with a murder or two, a couple good-looking women, and apparently unrelated events that turn out to be tied together by the thread of criminal deception.
I recommend this book as entertainment. It certainly has a few of the tics of its time and its genre. But it's still a good read.
I also found its climax to be very interesting, because it really focuses on a technical process more than events.
That the criminal is caught -- I don't mean this as a spoiler. Indeed, I think anyone at all familiar with detective stories knows that the criminal is always caught. Unless of course we're talking about a master like Raymond Chandler, who can play with the expectations of the genre and succeed --
That the criminal is caught is in "A Silent Witness" less important for the book than how he is caught. This focus on a technical process as part of a book, as the core of the climax, and as a literary end in itself, reminds me very much of novels like Stephenson's "Cryptonomicon," and other SF stuff, especially cyberpunk. You also have your genius viewed close yet from afar, a possessor of unique talents and insight combined with technical ability -- which is another trope of the Sterling/Gibson/Stephenson set.
Anyway, if you're looking for entertainment and you like detective novels, this could be a good choice for whiling away a couple of evening hours.
Brain Twister
by Gordon Randall Garrett
“The Brain Twister” is a thoroughly enjoyable sci-fi / mystery story.
There’s a telepathic spy at work, but this is really just a MacGuffin that works to send the hero, Malone, chasing across the country and hanging out with the certifiably insane. So the resolution of the telepathic spy thing is a non-climactic climax. But what with Malone, Queen Elizabeth, the delectably pneumatic Miss Thompson, a gun battle, and some high-stakes poker, well… there’s some good readin’ here, friend.
The whole thing is tongue in cheek, and the authors play with genre elements typical to classic sci-fi and to mysteries. The language is probably the most obvious of these. The prose is “The Brain Twister” is so hard-boiled you could chop it up, add mayo, and use it to make a sandwich. You’ve got manly-men and girlly-girl(s) and love and violence and everything you want from the best of pulp SF. It’s all there and it all works well. Just don’t look for any meaning beyond the surface: this novella is meant to be enjoyable, and it is just that, nothing more.
Robinson Crusoe
by Daniel Defoe
“Robinson Crusoe” has been called by some the earliest English novel per se. Somehow in the course of the centuries it has become the stuff of children’s stories and movie adaptations (generally bad, although it has inspired some good ones, like “Castaway”).
All this obscures the fact that “RC” is in and of itself a really excellent book. It is no coincidence that one of (if not the) greatest current writer of English, JM Coetzee, wrote “Foe,” putting himself into the mind of Defoe. For this earliest of novels is still one of the best.
The plot of “RC” is simple and its broad outlines are known by all: Robinson Crusoe is shipwrecked on an island; much adventure ensues.
Robinson struggles with his environment and himself, and comes out a better man. This is, I think, generally recognized. There are goats there on the island, and he eats them. Everyone knows that properly prepared goat is tasty, so again: no news flash.
What gets less attention is the dark paranoia that drives much of the action of the book. Robinson spends much of his time imagining and preparing for violent eventualities that in the end he encounters only because he brought them on himself.
The other thing that struck me as I read this book for what must have been the fifth time is how profoundly religious it is. Not just because Robinson talks about God all the time. That is believable (after all, Evelyn Waugh in his travel book “Ninety-Two Days” wrote about tendency of men who live alone to obsess on theological topics), but just the first step.
What “RC” gives us is a profoundly Protestant view of salvation: A man—a sinner, and a willful one at that—is left alone with the Bible, discovers within himself the forgotten seeds of Protestant (Defoe is explicit about that) Christianity, reconciles himself with God, and proceeds to convert the unbeliever. Whatever one thinks of this as an ideology, I think Defoe’s incorporation of it into his story was brilliant. The whole thing is a Protestant morality tale, and is probably the only such tale I've encountered that possesses literary value.
Come to think of it, maybe the two elements—paranoia and religion—are actually linked: Schreber’s depiction of his schizophrenia in “Memoirs of My Nervous Illness,” too, reflects perhaps not dissimilar obsessions (though rather differently formulated, of course).
Anyway. “RC” being a work of its time, one must also note the absence of women characters, except for Robinson’s mother, and of course the pervasive sense of racial superiority that characterizes all depictions of non-Europeans. And also, I think, as a result of its age, the language of the book is sometimes not euphonous to the modern ear; the syntax sometimes rather more tortured than clear.
But the book remains a resounding success, and is well worth reading.
The River of Darkness
by Wm. Murray Graydon
"The River of Darkness" is a highly readable adventure story. In terms of novelist skill, it is well done.
Its content is far from original. Graydon cribs from Burton's _First Footsteps in East Africa_ (itself well worth reading) as well as Haggard's novels -- and indeed he acknowledges his debt to both these writers by mentioning their names in his book.
It is filled with scientific implausibilities -- like the cave-dwelling, man-eating snakes that try to devour the narrator.
But being derivative and re-using material found elsewhere is a classic part of the adventure novelist's trade, so there's no foul there.
If you're looking for great literature, look elsewhere. But if you want a bit of straightforward entertainment, you may well find it here.
The Moon and Sixpence
by W. Somerset Maugham
As the notes above mention, Maugham derived much of "The Moon and Sixpence" from the life of Paul Gauguin. And although Charles Strickland (Gauguin's proxy in the novel) is at the center, he is in fact not the main character. Let me explain.
First, Maugham formed his novel around several different characters. None of these are Strickland himself.
First is Strickland's wife -- and indeed when the narrator first meets her, Strickland himself is a non-entity. And when he throws it all away to become a painter, it is a total surprise (or would be, if one didn't know what was coming from elsewhere). Later the novel shifts to follow Dirk Stroeve, friend of the narrator and acquaintance of Strickland. Finally Maugham turns to the narrator's discussions with people who knew Strickland after he had gone to the South Seas.
So Strickland's presence is actually quite minimal. But in the end I think that is not surprising. Because he is not the real main character.
The real main character is art. That is where the action is, and that is -- I think -- why Maugham wrote "about" Strickland/Gauguin, made the painter a thoroughly unpleasant character, and then made him a creator of wonderful beauty.
The point is, in the end, how art and beauty supersede the individual, and come to mean something completely beyond him or her. This may sound like wannabe nonsense. But Maugham develops and explores the theme without a hint of pretense or condescension.
Since this is Maugham, it goes almost without saying that the writing is excellent, and the characters themselves memorable and well-drawn.
Totally recommended. Even -- maybe especially -- for people skeptical about modern art.
Little Brother
by Cory Doctorow
"Little Brother" is well-written sci-fi of a caliber one usually doesn't find for free. Sci-fi as a genre tends to be derivative, and "LB" is no exception (influences of William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, et al. are evident). But Doctorow keeps his story flowing, his plot believable and his characters more or less realistic. "LB" is a great read and if you like sci-fi, I think you'll like this.
"LB" is, as the other reviews indicate, a strongly political work, criticizing recent moves toward government intrusion in areas most people would consider private. That is great. And I was impressed that Doctorow managed to both accurately criticize American policy and yet avoid tarring an entire country as backward troglodytes (something that happens all too often).
But as I was reading this book, I kept thinking of Herman Melville. Melville wrote, of course, what is almost surely the best American novel, and perhaps even the best novel in English: "Moby Dick." Before writing "MB," Melville wrote a number of good novels, including "Typee" and "Omoo" (which are worth reading still, btw).
But Melville also wrote "White Jacket," which was his attempt at social commentary. "White Jacket" is a novel arguing against flogging as a naval punishment. It is also amazingly dull (to me, anyway).
I don't think any sci-fi novel will be challenging "Moby Dick" for its place at the top of the novel rankings. But just as trying to argue for social change made Melville write a novel inferior to his other work. And I think the same goes here.
I am of course far from the first to argue in this vein at the general level. But I felt that Doctorow's choice to try and engage present-day issues diminished my enjoyment of the novel. For example, much of the technology he talks about either already exists (RFID, Onion routing, etc.) or could easily. And most of the security issues Doctorow treats are far from new.
Thus, as I was reading the novel, I kept wondering: Why is he treating this like it's some sort of bleeding edge stuff? Does anybody even semi-savvy not know about these issues?
Now I know that Doctorow may be trying to spread knowledge, and that is great, but when a work of art is used as a vehicle for political statement, usually it suffers as a work of art. And I think that is the case here.
But it's still a good read and highly recommended for sci-fi fans.
In Africa
by John T. McCutcheon
John T. McCutcheon’s In Africa is an enjoyable account of the author’s safari trip to Kenya, then British East Africa. The tale begins in London and covers McCutcheon’s pretravel outfitting as well as the journey by sea to the starting-point of the safari in Nairobi. It goes on to the main part, which consists of safari travel and killing as many lions as possible and other animals as deemed necessary.
What makes this book a good read is the author’s light and often humorous writing. According to a note, it was written for a newspaper, and its style reflects this.
McCutcheon notes and laughs about the absurdities of safari travel, including everything from the quirks of his companions to the absurdity of the giant entourage a hunting trip entailed. He even acknowledges in passing many of the things that bother the conscience of a modern reader of such literature, like the waste involved with trophy hunting, showing that these were not unknown at the time (just ignored).
In many ways McCutcheon is the anti-Hemingway, though he of course preceded the great novelist. For Hemingway hunting was a test of manhood and courage, and he embues the events of his safari writing (like his other works) with dark, metaphorical meaning. Patterson gives another view again, refusing to admit any secondary significance to his actions, filling his tales instead with a colonial certainty about the rightness of his every deed -- be it killing man eating lions or building a bridge.
And McCutcheon refuses to take himself or the safari seriously. He jokes about courage and cowardice, laughs about danger and difficulty and his own desire to avoid them, and makes light of his own alleged purposelessness in taking part. Such an attitude combined with blood sport and colonialism jarred me more than once. And of course In Africa is ultimately not nearly so important or weighty as work like Hemingway’s.
But I liked the McCutcheon’s frankness and lack of pretense, and his story includes details of the hunting life that I had not found in other writing. His prose is delightful, too, being possessed of that seemingly effortless grace that characterizes good writing from the time. We are -- most of us -- hopefully -- now to a point where observing and photographing African wildlife, not killing them, is the purpose of a safari. But reading about the past can still be enlightening and enjoyable, and for that I can recommend In Africa.
Of Human Bondage
by W. Somerset Maugham
At the outset I must say that I highly recommend "Of Human Bondage." It is a solid and serious yet enjoyable work, written in a crisp and clean style, and well worth reading. Its characters are realistic and very human, both in their strengths and their failings.
Its situations are very hard-edged -- Maugham shows us what social problems look like, and pulls no punches while doing so. Prostitutes here don't sell sex by choice, but because they have no choice. And they don't end up nicely turning into housewives, but instead infected with syphilis, their children dead, on a downward spiral into destruction.
"Of Human Bondage" is also probably the best picture of poverty I've seen since (in terms of my reading) Orwell's "Down and Out in Paris and London," and is all the better for being more serious on the one hand, and broader on the other, for it concerns itself not with those who are poor by choice (like Orwell was), but whole families and classes of people who are poor for reasons beyond their control.
Jeff Bristol has written a long review of this book, and in addition to giving a general introduction makes a number of good points. I am going to concentrate in the following on some ways my take differs from his (though with all due respect for his fine review).
The first of these would concern the end of the book, namely, Philip's marriage to Sally, the daughter of his friend. And although I agree there is a degree of compromise there, in that Philip gives up on his dreams, I think that this actually relates the strongest aspect of Philip's internal growth, namely, the ability to finally look beyond his imaginings and desires, and instead being "where he was": this was a move away from dream and toward maturity and reality.
It was a hard-won development, and it is not only sexual politics but also personal growth that leads Philip to acknowledge the problems with his lust for Mildred, and to contrast those feelings with that something quieter but deeper he feels for Sally. The fact that Sally was _not_ pregnant when Philip asked her to marry him underscores that this was a free choice on Philip's (and her) part, not because of external factors.
I think also we can connect this to Philip's changing attitudes toward his job. Philip dreams of sailing away to distant lands, to visiting a world he knew from picture-books as a child. This world of pictures is clearly an analogue of his dreams of becoming a painter (an avocation he lacks the talent for). Leaving the world of pictures behind represents leaving his childhood and becoming an adult.
Instead of this dream, he chooses a comfortable but hardly luxurious life as a physician in a small community, working with a difficult partner. This may be compromising youthful dreams for adult reality, but that is a compromise many people make.
Finally I would argue that although it is true that Mildred's character is manipulative and destructive in the end, she does not start out that way. Indeed she starts out being diffident, and clearly showing her lack of interest in Philip, who himself seeks to manipulate her through gifts and demands. It is only after she is deceived by another man and left alone with a child -- a position of extreme shame and impoverishment -- that she turns into the grasping woman she ends up as. Indeed, the her character is more a portrayal of how poverty changes a person than it is of how a society viewed women. And that, I think, is why Philip ends up feeling simply sorry for her, and trying to help her.
The Coral Island
by R.M. Ballantyne
"The Coral Island" is a readable adventure story of the sort Ballantyne wrote so well.
The core idea itself is, of course, hardly new. Being stranded on a desert island has been a part of English novels since the first "novel" (per se) in English: "Robinson Crusoe," a story that (on the surface, anyway) is about one main fighting his environment.
In "The Coral Island," there are three friends involved. They have minimal trouble with their environment, and the climactic aspects of the book come through their interactions with native peoples.
This book was written for youth. Nowadays youth literature too often means an impoverished vocabulary and structure -- a lack of intellectual content. Back in the day, it could just mean plots, themes, and characters that were simpler and/or naive. But they were treated in language not all that far removed from that of ordinary literature (see e.g. F.H. Burnett's beautiful novels), and the ideas driving them were not so different from what drove adult lit.
"The Coral Island" is in line with this trend. The plot is simple as can be, and highly marked by the imperialist ideology of its age. The characters are quite simple, and give the impression of having been picked out of a box of cardboard cutouts.
But it's an entertaining and pleasurable read. I think anyone who enjoys old-fashioned adventure literature will find it worthwhile (though with the usual caveats of the genre).
The Gorilla Hunters
by Robert Michael Ballantyne
Ballantyne was a master novelist and an expert at writing page-turners. "The Gorilla Hunters" is no exception, and it flows along at a pace that would make Wilbur Smith proud.
The idea of hunting gorillas seems a bit strange today, but Ballantyne acknowledges within the scope of the story the incongruity of killing in order to study nature. So although this realization doesn't seem to really affect the outcome in the story, it shows some sophistication, I think.
But despite this book's good points, I found the racist character of much of the depiction of local people in Africa to be troubling and distracting.
Of course anyone who reads 19th century or early 20th century English adventure literature has encountered these things before, and (hopefully) learned to acknowledge such things for what they are, and to read around them as much as possible.
Some books are good despite serious flaws like racism, which reflect the mentality of their time. Thus, even Edward Said could acknowledge the excellence of Kipling's "Kim" from an "aesthetic" viewpoint, even though it is shot through with racism and imperialism.
But sometimes those depictions form such an integral part of the book that they leave little unspoiled. Unfortunately I think that's the case for "The Gorilla Hunters."
In the Heart of Africa
by Samuel White Baker
"In the Heart of Africa" is a quite readable -- sometimes even exciting -- example of what I think of as the "White Men Exploring" (WME) genre. The tale concerns Baker's wanderings through Africa tracing the Nile. Simple as that.
And to most people living in the age of Google Earth, exploration as a purely geographical quest may well have minimal intrinsic interest. I know that I didn't and still don't care about tracing the exact path of the Nile.
But "In the Heart of Africa" also relates Baker's adventures while traveling, the people he met and animals he hunted. There are some great passages describing this or that group's particular manner of living. He has some particularly detailed descriptions of hairstyle, which I found interesting. And the stories about men who took elephant with swords, or tracked lions through dense brush, etc., are very well done.
Like all examples of the WME genre, Baker's book frequently creates very mixed emotions. One cannot but envy him for meeting the variety of people he did, for coming into contact with such a great diversity of culture and custom, as well as an astounding quantity and variety of wildlife.
But -- of course -- Baker's encounter with local people is colored by an ingrained sense of racial superiority, making it sometimes a bit depressing. The hunting stories, too, seem also sad. In a day when we take it for granted that too few elephants are left, it sticks in the craw to read about Baker killing as many as possible of them -- and indeed many other animals -- with a wide array of guns brought for that purpose.
But these are all par for the WME course. And if you enjoy tales of hard travel through distant lands, you may well enjoy "In the Heart of Africa."
The Man Who Was Thursday
by G.K. Chesterton
I notice that on the paperback version of this book, Kingsley Amis calls it, "The most thrilling book I have ever read." And indeed it starts out very strong.
The narrator is introduced to a band of terrorist anarchists who, one by one, are revealed to all be agents sent by a single man -- a man who turns out to be something like a god. That is the nightmare part.
What can I say. Chesterton is a great writer and his Father Brown stories are excellent both as mysteries and as moral inquiries. I wish I knew Father Brown.
There is no such likable character in "The Man Who Was Thursday." Oh sure the writing is up to Chesterton's usual high standard, and the story moves along well enough, and I was never bored.
But I was left wondering what the point was -- especially since Chesterton himself disavowed the most obvious reading (that the man in charge was actual some sort of insane God). I imagine Chesterton scholars can explain the whole thing, but I was left wishing for something.
On the other hand, this book makes me think of stories like Raymond Chandler's "The Long Goodbye" (spoiler alert, if you haven't already read that really good mystery) in which the central crime is eventually revealed to actually not have occurred. In Chandler's moral universe, no explanation is necessary, but somehow I had hoped for more from the creator of Father Brown.
by
This is a wonderful book. Not only for the story, which is amusing, or the writing, which is brilliant (amazing what they used to write for children!). But because in this single book Grahame has captured some many aspects of the human spirit.
Mr. Mole, alternately timid and bold -- his battle cry: "A Mole! A Mole!" -- meets the Water Rat, who is sometimes peevish, sometimes not, but always ready for a bit of messing about on the water. Together they go traveling with the delightful braggart Toad, who is led astray -- as so many have been -- by motor cars. His conscience, such as it is, can wink at car theft, horse theft, and many a jolly lie, but his loyalty to friends is firm.
And of course one can't forget the solitary and serious Mr. Badger, who is writing a dissertation on the Creation of Man off in his subterranean forest abode. It is he who leads the party through the secret tunnel to attack to the Weasels and Stoats and retake Toad's home, which they have occupied.
Sound exciting? It is.
"A Mole! A Mole!"
The Secret Garden
by Frances Hodgson Burnett
This is not a book fit for all, not only for young readers. Some modern children might even find the vocabulary requires explaining.
The story itself can be appreciated by anyone. A little girl, alone in the world, is sent to live with her uncle in a nearly empty house -- but not so empty as it seems at first. For as she comes to see, the house is filled with friends. And they change her.
And that's the real theme, I think: the power of friendship to affect us. Be it Mary with Colin, Colin with his father, Dickon, Ben -- everyone in the story, really -- people are transformed through their relationships with each other.
Burnett's style ought not be passed over lightly. She was brilliant at giving a feeling of being in a place, of understanding an environment. I've never been on a moor, or in a manor, or in an English garden. But she makes me feel like I have. And she does it without the "writer's workshop" feeling of so much modern evocative writing.
It's a cynical time to be alive right now. But if you're in the mood for something less cynical -- maybe even something idealistic -- maybe something with robins and jumping rope in it -- you might well enjoy this book. I do.
My Man Jeeves
by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
There might be an author of English who is funnier than PG Wodehouse, but I've never seen her or him. This is the man. And the funniest books of this funniest of authors are the Bertie and Jeeves ones.
The story is nothing in particular, and Wodehouse was a master at weaving a plot out of gossamer and fairy kisses (i.e., NOTHING).
But between the brilliant dialogue, the utter absurdity, the names, the quirks, the very smell of that special Wodehouse ink on the page, you will be amused.
The Moonstone
by Wilkie Collins
"Moonstone" is brilliant, if not exactly brief. If you like it, check out Collins' "The Woman in White," which might be even better.