Oh the irony of this being the first book I am reading in my new life. This was meant to be the last book I read in my Staff Book Club, but due to life being mad over the holidays, I finished it a little later than usual. In the late forties, Sal Paradise (what a name!) sets off from his aunt's home in New York on a series of national adventures. Dean Moriarty is the cause of each - an eccentric, energetic young man who inspires Sal to cross America to Denver, San Francisco and finally into Mexico. Their trips are fuelled with drugs, drink, and sex, and are enabled by hitch-hiking and borrowed cars. Along the way, the men tell share everything with each other, from childhood memories to lose change to women. The novel explores masculinity in a time and place where the future seemed uncertain and the past haunted your every step. Young men were better educated than past generations; the threat of nuclear war hung over their heads, but they were not sent to Europe to fight on the front lines like their fathers. Equally, the American dream thrived in post-war success; and Sal and his friends push the boundaries of this ideal to the very limit. On the Road is written in Kerouac's well-known stream of consciousness style (not that I would actually know, having never read his work before). Great paragraphs flow through the pages, describing scenes of marijuana-filled ecstasy or beer-crazed jazz clubs. I didn't particularly like the characters in this book - the men were all selfish and the women were uninspiring - but I loved the way the story was told. Each part contained a new trip, with new faces and new towns. And each journey felt like a struggle - a battle with long, dull roads, against broken down cars and jobsworthy policemen, with limited money and no end goal. But every time they returned to their normal lives, they found themselves bored of the mundane nature of the every day; so unable to stay still for long, Sal and Dean would set off again for another journey. All it makes me want to do is book some flights. Somewhere. Anywhere.
Wuthering Heights Emily Bronte Oxford University Press, 1946, 419p
It's been a while since I read Wuthering Heights - the last time was when I was at school, and something about this summer has made me return to it. (Let's hope it's not a reflection of my love life.) Wuthering Heights is the darkest of romances. Cathy and Heathcliff grow up together, roaming the moors of Yorkshire, driving their carers mad with their angry rages and rebellious natures. But their relationship changes when Cathy gets engaged to the rich, sophisticated Edgar, with whom she hopes she can maintain Heathcliff through her new connections. It is a classic case of a couple lacking in communication - neither Cathy nor Heathcliff tell the other of the strength of their love, until it is too late and both are ravaged with anger and heartbreak. But the story continues beyond the lives of these two characters - Cathy has a daughter, also called Catherine, a feisty replica of her mother; and Heathcliff has a son, Linton, a sickly, delicate boy in whom his father can find no pride. But Heathcliff is determined that the union of these two youths will solve all his problem, bringing the families and estates together. It is hard to sympathise with any of the characters in this novel. It is narrated by Nelly, a servant at Wuthering Heights has watched all the events unfold; but even she arguably supports in the destruction of the characters in her meddling. And yet, you cannot stop reading, becoming engrossed in the devastation and tragedy of their lives, holding onto the slither of hope that it might be okay in the end.
A Streetcar Named Desire Tenessee Williams London, Methuen, 2009, 90p
What I like most about reading a play is that it can so often be done in the space of a day. And in that time, with a play like A Streetcar Named Desire, you can go from the comfort of your living room to the streets of Louisiana.
Blanche DuBois is visiting her sister, Stella, and her new husband, Stanley. She is a fragile, dreamy woman who is shocked to find her sister, once a Southern belle, is living in a dingy flat in New Orleans. To Blanche, Stanley seems aggressive and common, but Stella is smitten, and though they fight often and loudly, they make up with sweet kisses and tenderness. But the addition of Blanche to Stanley and Stella's household puts a strain on the couple, and it becomes increasingly apparent that Blanche may not be telling the truth about her visit.
Tenessee Williams' play is gritty and dramatic, contrasting Stanley's rough manners with Blanche's fragile state of mind. To Stanley, Blanche appears to be a compulsive liar, though she is suffering from mental health problems and seems to have a fantastical way of rationalising her past.
After I read the book, I watched the 1951 movie with Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando, which added another level of depth and drama to the play. Brando's performance - borish and sensual - is the complete antithesis of Leigh's scatty and angelic Blanche. And between the two sits the marvellous Kim Hunter (Stella), torn between sister and lover.
To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee London, Arrow, 1997, 309p I first read To Kill a Mockingbird in my teens, but a few weeks ago, when I saw the 1962 movie, I realised I couldn't remember anything about the book. So, whilst I holidayed in Hamburg this week, I picked up the classic and once again sank deep into the world of Scout and Jem. Scout and Jem are adventurous and curious children, but always stay within the limitations set by their househelp, Calpurnia, and their father, Atticus Finch. When they start hanging out with a boy called Dill, the children start pushing the boundaries of the rules, and seek out to lure their reclusive and potentially dangerous neighbour, Boo Radley, from his house. Meanwhile, Atticus is involved in a controversial case in court, defending a black man against the charge of the rape of a white girl from a poor family. All through town, Jem and Scout are subject to comments from classmates and neighbours, and Scout has to work hard to control her feisty temper and keep out of trouble. The relationship between Atticus and his children is something to be admired. They adore and respect him, despite some people outside the family thinking he lets them run wild and is bringing Scout up to be less than feminine. But Atticus feels safe and comforting; he is a brilliant role model, combining the right amount of intelligence, comedy and love.
There is so much going on in To Kill a Mockingbird that I feel this blog does not give me the space to explore all the themes and storylines. I think my favourite element is Scout's narrative - young and sometimes naive, but always ready to learn and to try. She is inquisitive, always asking questions of her father that even he sometimes struggles to answer, and she loves her older brother even when he is growing into a young man and his hormones start to take over. Her world view is optimistic and vulnerable in equal measure, but through Scout, we see the evil in poverty, racism and domestic abuse, and understand how a little love can go a long way.
101 Poems for Children: A Laureate's Choice ed. Carol Ann Duffy ill. Emily Gravett London, Macmillan, 2013, 193p
It is a valuable skill for a poet to be able to create a succinct and engaging anthology of poetry. With so much choice, the editor must be very well read and able to create a flow through the various works of multiple artists, bringing them together in one book.
This is precisely what Carol Ann Duffy has achieved in 101 Poems for Children. The poetry comes from many authors over lots of countries across many centuries and yet it flows brilliantly. Each poem leads into the next one, without any breaks or bumps along the way.
And the selection is very entertaining, exploring tales about animals, families, seasons and journeys. There are some with rhyme and some without; some are short and some are long; but all are exceptional demonstrations of language and writing.
One of my favourites, which I had not read before, is one of Carol Ann Duffy's own: F for Fox, a lovely piece that uses the letter 'f' more times than I imagined possible in one poem! As she discusses in her introduction to the collection, children's poetry is often characterised by the rhythm and simple use of language. Recurring tropes include alliteration and simile, and writers use the full extent of poetic license to make up new words.
I've been dipping in and out of this collection over the last couple of weeks, and was sad when it came to an end; and not least because the last poem in the collection is about the wonder of libraries!!
Death Comes to Pemberly P.D. James London, Faber, 2011, 324p My second piece of meta fiction in as many book reviews, but unfortunately is one was somewhat less satisfactory than the last. Eager to stick to my rule about reading the original before watching the adaptation, I wanted to read Death Comes to Pemberly before the BBC version reached my screen this Christmas, aired over three consecutive evenings. We are reunited with Janes Austen's infamous Bennett family, six years after the marriages of Darcy and Lizzie, and Jane and Bingley. The Darcys are planning the annual ball, supported by their abundant staff at Pemberly, when Lydia draws up in a carriage, declaring her husband has been murdered in the woods. Darcy sets off to find out what really happened, embroiling himself in a scandal that will dig up hidden secrets and and well-repressed feelings. As I have noted before, some meta fiction simply makes you want to repeat the original. Unfortunately, this was not one of those sequels,: although I love the concept of a murder mystery containing all my old favourites, I felt James was unable to write the see characters as well as Jane Austen once did. And now, seeing the adaptation on screen, it is clear that the concept it pure genius, mixing classic romance and drama with contemporary demand for crime fiction. In the BBC version, we are one again shown those characters we so greatly loved. Darcy is stubborn but noble, sometimes misguided in his actions but always acting with the best intentions. Lizzie is intelligent and observant, and proving to be a brilliant mother and wife. Lydia and Mrs Bennett (although not in the book) return, as hysterical and ridiculous as ever. Jane and Georgiana add a touch of feminine sensibility to the whole party, and Georgiana's suitors vie respectfully for her attention. And, to top it all off, Wickham brings drama and controversy to the peaceful existence of the Darcy home. But the book didn't bring any of this delight for me. I found the plot confusing and convoluted, unnecessarily jumping between characters, time and settings. Often, James' use of unclear pronoun was frustrating; for example she'd start a paragraph talking about two male characters, and continue the paragraph using just "he", leaving the reader confused about who was being discussed. As such, the revelation towards the end gave me no thrill, feeling instead like a necessary process I had to go through just to make it to the end. I found myself ploughing on, hoping for more, which I eventually found in the television adaptation. I think this might be the first time I've preferred the screen to the book! Hopefully, this novel will not put me off reading any P.D. James in the future.
Persuasion Jane Austen London, Penguin, 2007, 272p
My book hangover is cured!
If anyone was going to fix me, it had to be Jane Austen. Persuasion is my all time favourite book. It is like comfort food to me - warm, relaxing, like spending an evening with an old friend. I have read it a million times, and every time I have laughed and cried and gotten heart burn from forgetting to breathe. When the lives of Anne Eliot and Frederick Wentworth cross again, eight years after she was persuaded to break off their engagement, neither can be sure what the other now feels. Anne is a gentle, intelligent and practical young woman; modest and quiet unlike her humoursly self-centered family. And Wentworth is noble and agreeable, bursting with emotions but terrible at revealing them. So like every other perfect couple in history, they convince themselves that the other no longer loves them. Frederick's friendly attention to Anne's nieces convince her that he must love another; and her determined modesty makes him believe she could never return his affections. Oh, why don't they just tell each other!? And this is exactly why I get heart burn. Austen writes so well - building the suspence, carrying the novel through stolen glances and mistaken actions. I find myself drawn right into the room with Anne and Wentworth, watching their every move, trying to be patient, knowing they will come together eventually.
I have oodles of respect and love for Jane Austen. She is so clever and timeless. Her characters are vivid and true - we all know someone like the people in this story. And the locations remain alive today, places like Bath and Lyme Regis, still classically regent. This book mocks the foolish ignorance of the upper classes, challenges the percieved differences between the sexes, and celebrates the sensibility of educated women.
But the most incredible element in this novel is that letter - Captain Wentworth's confession. I can say no more; you must read Persuasion to understand.
Nineteen Eighty-Four George Orwell London, Penguin, 1989, 326p
Some reviews are extremely difficult to compose: sometimes because the book is pretty rubbish and I have to formulate an articulate way of saying why I didn't enjoy it; but sometimes because the novel is so complex that it takes a while to develop a succinct commentary. The story of 1984 is so well known it is hardly worth repeating, but in case you have just stumbled upon the Internet because of exchanging a mobile phone for safe passage across the bridge you live under: Winston Smith lives in a dystopia in which your every movement and thought is scrutinised. It is 1984, and the world is split into three states, Oceania, Eastasia and Eurasia, each vying for power. But Winston has his doubts; he sees through the brainwashing, past the unnecessary war: he sees the structures of power and the manipulation of the everyman. When Winston encounters Julia, he finds love and peace. Julia is a rebel, subtly defying the rules and expectations outlined by the state. She offers him companionship and a feeling of belonging, and finally Winston sees a way out a way to help a rebellion and create equality. Some books change you as you read, and I wish I had read this when I was younger, as I might have known less about it and been more open to its effect. And yet, I still found it incredibly invigorating - it angered and inspired me. I felt like Orwell's language was alive, seeping into my subconscious, shaping my thoughts. Although it was a criticism of the society in which Orwell lived, the subject is timeless and universal, exploring the evil of social power structures and greed. Big Brother is a terrifying concept, watching you all the time; and yet this is the society in which we now live. The power held by a minority is overwhelming, and the extent of their exhortation of the masses is incredible. It is brainwashing to the highest level, with documents being destroyed and history being altered. (As a librarian, this is my worst nightmare!) But as it is happening on such a large scale, I struggled to comprehend how the deception could succeed. Even though much of the written information was being corrupted, those doing the corrupting had to be aware of what they were doing and what the original documents stated, so should have been capable of doing something. But even this Orwell has thought of, and has introduced the concept of doublethink, a concept that feels almost impossible to explain. Perhaps I shall leave that to Orwell and make you read it. Whilst 1984 scared and angered me, it also made me feel very lucky. Oceania is a dystopia, and however much it reflects contemporary reality, it is not real. In theory, it still could become our reality - Orwell was writing in the 1940s about a future he feared might develop, and of course it still could. What would be fascinating would be to know what Orwell makes of our world now. I speculate he would not be best pleased.
I have this really beautiful old copy of Much Ado, which I brought from the book shop around the back of Winchester Cathedral (if you haven't been there, it is a must!). I think it is my favourite Shakespeare play - I have always preferred the simple jolliness of the comedies to the macabre depression of the tragedies, and Much Ado is a fabulous story about two incredibly proud individuals being bought down a peg or two. Beatrice and Benedict have met long before the start of this play, and have already declared a dislike for each other. Beatrice is a confident, intelligent woman who has no desire to be subject to the tradition of marriage; and Benedict is a promiscuous bachelor who follows around rich young men, feeding off their popularity. In theory, they seem vile, desperate creatures, but they are sharp and witty, equal matches for each other in terms of pride and foolishness. And so, their friends and families plot against them, in order to trick them into loving each other. Whereas in Taming of the Shrew, it appears that only the woman is overtly tamed, in Much Ado, they are both ridiculed and made far more amenable. They deny their love for each other, right up to the end scene: too proud to admit the feelings they have discovered. Their competitiveness is full of banter and wit, building up the sexual tension that characterises their love.They are the original love-to-hate couple.
There are some brilliant one-liners in this play: many from Beatrice and Benedict, but also from the watchmen in the subplot. Dogberry is offering advise on what to do if the watchmen come across any scoundrels on the night:
"If you meet a thief, you may suspect him, by virtue of your office, to be no true man; and, for such kind of men, the less you meddle or make with them, why, the more is for your honesty."
It is not a flawless approach to policing that Dogberry presents, but his team provide entertainment for the other characters and for the audience. He is the caricature of ridiculousness. Later, when listing the offences of a criminal, Dogberry says,
"Marry, sir, they have committed false report; moreover, they have spoken untruths; secondarily, they are slanders; sixth and lastly, they have belied a lady; thirdly, they have verified unjust things; and, to conclude, they are lying knaves."
Shakespeare has this incredible way with words and, through Dogberry's 'synonymising', demonstrates his intellect. In his plays, he offers something for everyone, and often, his best characters are the supporting cast. In this play, there is the drama and romance between Hero and Claudio, the evil plotting of Don John, the argumentative love-making of Benedict and Beatrice, and the strange detective work of Dogberry. And it is not Hero and Claudio's ups and downs that I love, but the language and conversations - from Beatrice's angry rebuffing of Benedict to the watchmen's strange soliloquising. There is power in language, and Shakespeare wields it like a sword to woo his audience into admiration.
I first came across Dorothy Parker a few years ago at a Dead Poet's Slam, in which people performed the poems of their favourite deceased writers. Her poems were sharp and witty, full of cynicism and anger, but not ranting-and-raving anger, but a more poignant and observational social critique. This collection includes Parker's poems, short stories, and journalistic writings. Her style is singular and her tone is unique. In the introduction to this collection, one particular phrase stood out: "the imagination of disaster". By this, it is implied that she always manages to see the worst in things, as all her stories end badly. It is suggested that Parker did not think she would live as long as she did: in an age when all young female writers seemed to die prematurely, Parker lived to the ripe old age of 73. The theme of death, particularly suicide, is prominent throughout her poems ans stories, in which many of her characters are angry, lonely or depressed. Most of these works were written in the 1920s, a time in which anything seemed possible. There were riches, sex and parties: the American Dream. But nothing was ever enough, and Parker highlights people's dissatisfaction with this world, anticipating the crash of the 30s. Her stories are about people who are lonely and confused, always wanting: wanting for their absent lover, wanting for a fur coat like the one the neighbour has, wanting for more of this or less of that. These characters turn to gossip, alcohol or extra-marital sex. They crave meaning and purpose, but always seem to be unable to find that fulfillment. And yet, her language and descriptions are so captivating and addictive that I found myself in love with the beauty in the world, rather than lamenting the problems in it. Her stories are magnificently visual, and in just a few pages, you become engrossed in these worlds, intrigued by these people. For example, in one story, she describes a women as such:
"She was tall, and her body streamed like a sonnet. Her face was formed all of triangles, like a cat's is, and her eyes and her hair were blue-grey."
There is a beauty to this language that is unprecedented. Parker's humour is sharp and observational, drawing your attention to some of the most common-place things and making them entertaining:
"Men seldom make passes/ At girls who wear glasses."
And that is the whole poem. Two lines: just brilliant. Though I think my favourite poem is Observation, because it perfectly encapsulates a thought I have almost every day.
Her tone and wit continue into her journalistic writing: reviews, commentaries, columns. It is like she is sat across the table from you in a coffee shop, telling you about the play she saw last night, laughing at the unconvincing acting or praising the audience's reaction.
I really enjoyed reading these stories and poems over the last few weeks, and I am ashamed I knew so little of her before now. Parker's stories end in tears or death - none of them offer the that fairytale happy ending - but they are real and honest, a criticism of the time in which she lived. She was a rare literary beauty, and I am glad she was an exception of her generation and lived long enough to give us such a vast and entertaining collection of writing.
Agnes Grey Anna Bronte London, Penguin, 1994, 302p
When it has been some time since I last read a book, I often find I cannot fully remember the plot, but I remember the impression it left upon me. This is the case with The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, which I must have enjoyed as I think of so fondly. However, this is my first reading of Agnes Grey. This novel, Anne's first, is based on her experiences as a governess. As her family has so little money, Agnes volunteers to leave home and take a position tutoring two young children in a stately home. Although doted upon by their mother, the children are unruly and tempestuous, causing mayhem in their classroom and nursery, refusing to listen to her lessons. In her next position, she is governess to two slightly older girls, who are spoilt and thoughtless. The novel explores class conflict, explored through the way in which Agnes is neglected and mistreated by her employers. In the first instance, the young children manipulate and terrorise, which reminded me of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. The parents look down upon Agnes as their inferior. She is a well-educated young lady, but her poverty and dependence sets her in a difficult position. I found myself unable to really like Agnes. I sympathised with her situation, becoming angry at the way she was treated, but I also found her too pious and miserable. Of course, her position renders her unable to dispute her employers, but I found her continuing complaints infuriating. And later, when a love interest was introduced, her pining and longing engendered her insipid. She is a very religious character - a product of her time - and tends to depend upon God for justification and validation. Having read a good deal of nineteenth century literature, she is one of the weakest protagonists I have met. I had longed for a strong and hardy woman, who remains self-assured in the face of poverty, like Margaret Hale (North & South), Elinor Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility) or Helen Graham (Wildfell Hall).
The Great Gatsby F Scott Fitzgerald London, Everyman's, 1991, 148p
As an English graduate, I am ashamed that I have not read this novel in the past. The Great Gatsby is emblematic of it's time, portraying 1920s New York as the centre of materialism and wealth. Narrated by Nick Carraway, Fitzgerald's novel tells the tale of Jay Gatsby, party host, socialite, and subject of many rumours. Those in Gatsby's circle are living the American dream - wearing expensive gowns, drinking champagne through the night, exploiting the possibilities of wealth and privilege. Underlying this descriptive element is a tale of romance, as Gatsby embarks on a conspiracy to be reunited with his past love, Daisy. Carraway's tale is one of few characters and little drama, excepting the rather unexpected fall from grace at the end, which I shall not spoil. Through his narrative tone, Carraway is quietly critical of all that Gatsby's guests represent - many are uninvited, few actually know the host, and all speculate on the truth of gossip suggesting he's a German spy, or perhaps he's killed a man. Few of these wealthy elites seem happy with their lot, though by appearance they have achieved the American dream. It reminds me of American Psycho (just with slightly less sex and murder), with Patrick Bateman's tireless hatred of the life that he leads, and the ideology of consumerism that overwhelms society. You float through this novel on a bed of Fitzgerald's words - he uses the most romantic language to describe the parties and people. He perfectly captures the Jazz Age, contrasting it's beauty and excitement with horror and dissatisfaction.
Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen London, Everyman's Library, 1991, 368p
This month marks the bicentenary of the publication Pride and Prejudice, arguably the definition of the classic novel. Everyone knows the title, the characters and the plot. Everyone seems to have an opinion on it - whether you think it's the best literature ever written, or the origin of the trashy girly novel. And I think it deserves celebrating. The Guardian kicked off the party with the 10 best Jane Austen characters (see also their other article about the bicentennial here). My own personal party began with rereading Pride and Prejudice - a novel I have read so often that I can't remember life before it. I first read it in my early teens. It was the kind of thing my mum was in to (she continues to watch period dramas almost every weekend); so, in wanting to emulate her, I embarked on a journey into fin de siecle England, and the mind of Miss Jane Austen. I found myself in a world full of gowns and dancing, money and wealth, and where family dynamics were central to the plot. Social expectations were mocked or put on trial. Beauty came from within, and girls who exhibited sillyness were just ... silly. But, most quintessentially, it was a world where women were funny and intelligent, and men repeatedly made fools of themselves due to their inability to look beyond their own experience. For a modern reader, the language may be a little challenging at first. But with a little effort, I found it fairly easy to get past the structure and form, to uncover the wonderful story beneath. And due to the complexity of some of the terminology, as I grow up and learn more, I find something new each time I reread. Pride and Prejudice is not my favourite Jane Austen novel (see my previous rant about Persuasion), but it has such an incredibly strong cult following, from movies to modern interpretations to the insertion of zombies into the plot. Surely you should read it just so you know what everyone else is talking about!
The Hobbit JRR Tolkien London, Harper Collins, 1993, 285p
So here I am, jumping on The Hobbit bandwagon. I tried to read this a few years back, but all I remember now is the excessive singing whilst sat around fires in the forest. Reading it now, there is so much more to Tolkien's story. I am sure I do not need to tell you the plot of The Hobbit, but just in case - Bilbo Baggins is talked into going on an adventure with thirteen dwarves, over mountains, along rivers and through forests, to reclaim the treasure stolen from the dwarves by the dragon, Smaug. It is Tolkien's prequel to The Lord of the Rings, written for the younger reader. The language isn't totally accessible for the modern reader, it having been originally published in 1937; but the plot is fast paced and exciting, and Tolkien's narrative tone is light-hearted and easy. The story progresses smoothly and rapidly, and the characters are brilliant - Bilbo in particular, of course. Gandalf repeatedly tells the dwarves that Bilbo will prove to be invaluable, and indeed, this is true. He is their spy and burglar, creeping into all sorts of dangerous situations to gather information or plan an escape. The action is easy to visualise, especially due to Tolkien's maps and illustrations. Yet, simultaneously, he leaves much to the imagination of the young audience, as his typical reader is probably adventurous and intelligent. It is incredible that a world so far from our reality can so easily come to life! Like many other Tolkien fans, I am excited to see how this story plays out across the film adaptations, though a little apprehensive about this short tale being converted into 9 hours on screen. I really hope that a product of the release of this film is an increase in readers, young and old, going back to the original adventure story.
The Oxford Treasury of Classic Poems ed. Michael Harrison and Christopher Stuart-Clark Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011, 158p
It's National Poetry Day, but I feel I have failed in my role as a librarian. I have not had enough time or energy to organise any events. I have even failed to make an adequate display, although I do have a table full of poetry books as recommended reading for the students. I have, however, been working hard to prepare a permanent display of the work of the students at my school. We have a First Story club, and many of the students are aspiring novelists and poets. Alongside the students work, I want to display some classics of poetry, as inspiration and comparison. Therefore, I have been reading, amongst other anthologies, The Oxford Treasury of Classic Poems. It's a beautiful book with an incredibly diverse collection, from Rossetti to Betjeman. It's targeted at children ages from 9-12, but I think it could appeal to all ages. It definitely had some of my favourites included, like William Blake's London and Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll. There are also modest illustrations, almost sketch-like drawings throughout the book. There doesn't appear to be any specific order to the poems - they are not chronological, alphabetical or thematic. But I feel like they have included every classic poem I can think of, both old and new. This anthology is a great resource for my display, and a lovely book for young and old to enjoy.
Lark Rise, Over to Candleford, Candleford Green Flora Thompson Bungay, Suffolk, Richard Clay & Co, 1948, 512p In moving from South Yorkshire to Oxford, I felt I needed something to ease me through the transition. And what better than a fin de siecle classic set in rural Oxforshire?! The Lark Rise to Candleford trilogy is the semi-autobiographical tale of Laura, describing her journey from her childhood in a rural hamlet to her teenage years in a nearby village. Thompson goes into minute detail about all aspects of life - the novel begins as a broader exploration of the people, but slowly focuses in upon Laura's family.
The beginning of the novel is very general, as Thompson talks about everyday life in Lark Rise. She dedicates chapters to the school system, the work of the village men, and local gossip. Her descriptions of the countryside were incredible, making me want to get right out there and enjoy my new surroundings. The way in which the reader is drawn right into the lives of the characters is incredible. First, Thompson talks generally about a certain village tradition, like rules regarding callers - when to expect visitors, whom to expect, and when to reciprocate. In this way, the story is not very plot based, nor does it focus upon character development. Yet the intricacy of the anecdotes makes it difficult to put down.
Occasionally, Thompson takes you right into a specific example, usually one in Laura's experience; documenting a particular episode of entertainment. This is how we get to know Laura - her experiences are often drawn upon to demonstrate certain village rules and expectations. Throughout the book, there is a more dedicated focus upon Laura's life, so that when she moves to the nearby village of Candleford, we go with her. She becomes assistant to the post mistress, and learns about life outside the comfort of the parental home.
A particular aspect of Thompson's novel that I thoroughly enjoyed was her exploration of the new century. She seems very preoccupied with change - villages are getting bigger, democracy is developing, and social rules are no longer so stiff. Thompson seems open minded, but it is clear that not everyone felt the same way. As such, Lark Rise is almost a social history novel - a documentation of life at the turn of the century in rural Oxfordshire. And as someone who is currently living through a lot of changes, it was comforting to know that I'm not alone.
