Some people (mostly men) wrongly refer to Jane Austen books as ‘chic books’. Although there is nothing wrong with chic books (I confess to having a soft spot for Little Women and Jane Eyre, hard-core chic books), treating Jane Austen books as such degrades the work of a great artist, focusing on form rather than substance.
It is undeniably true that each and every one of her books features a young heroine going through some sort of journey or crisis on the way to finding the man she will eventually marry and setting out to the horizon on the exciting life of a married woman. BUT where other people see only the romance, I see sharp and poignant social criticism of the situation of women in society at the time and the mechanisms ensuring things will not change, including inheritance laws, unavailability of education for women and the most effective tool of all – pressures from other women. Though her books are comic, to me they have a rebellious streak which echoes in my heart, as unfortunately we girls are not done fighting for our rights yet.
Yes, yes, I know, you all adore Emma. I’m sorry – to me she seems like a not very bright spoiled brat. Of all Austen’s heroines, only Catherine Morland is more stupid than Emma, and is therefore my least favorite. I like the more sensible Austen girls – Lizzie Bennet and Elinor Dashwood, and Lizzie is my all time favorite.
In a scene that explains in the best way why I love Lizzie so much, Mr. Darcy – the man most women in the country would kill to marry – proposes to Lizzie in the rudest possible way, explaining that although she is clearly quite beneath his class and could in no way be considered a good match for him, he finds himself inexplicably attached to her. In a response that always makes me go: “Go Lizzie! Go Lizzie!” she makes the socially suicidal and courageous act of throwing him the hell out. FANTASTIC.
I do recommend each and every one of Miss Austen’s books. They provide a look into the difficult lives of young women in a different era.
I leave you with a clip from the fantastic 1995 BBC mini-series adaptation of Pride and Prejudice(Attention:Addictive!)
Like other hoarders, one does not become a story hoarder – one is born that way. Since early childhood I had a deep love for stories and books. My mother says that the only way to make me sit quietly for a few minutes was to read me a story. When I was about four I had a series of children tales in Spanish that I already knew by heart, and I would read them aloud, pretending to read the print, and even turning the pages on cue.
When I started school, a fantastic new world was open to me – the world of books. So many books available, containing fantastic stories! My father, a fellow aficionado, recognized my passion and took me to the public library, and from that day onwards I was the favorite of all the librarians I met. They all let me borrow much more books per week than was allowed, and allowed me to forage into the darkest corners and into “staff only” zones of the library.
As I grew older, I left public libraries behind in favor of a new addiction – the second hand book store. Good second hand book stores give me a rush – the floor-to ceiling shelves packed with books, a real Aladdin’s cave where the strangest, most wonderful books await, make me dizzy with anticipation.
The great thing about thsee cstores is that, unlike chain stores, they don’t rely on a steady stream of books arriving from publishers but on chance and on the specific tastes and whims of the people arriving at their door. Second hand book stores allow you to find books that are out of print, books which nobody heard about but are great, authors you would generally not come across…
This is particularly true for someone living in a non-English speaking country as myself. Although books in English are readily available in any bookstore, most of them tend to have only bestsellers or classics – no surprises there. Buying online is a good solution if you know what you are looking for, but does not provide a good rummaging experience. Only a second hand book store gives you the opportunity to wander around, hunting for something unique, bizzare, interesting and completely new.
One of the great things about establishing a blog is that whatever you write is OK – it is all a matter of opinion, and you are expressing yourself. That said, the next post might cause some aggravation to fellow readers who do not agree with my views. I apologize for any inconvenience, but I have to be heard on this matter.
Every now and then I come across a work of art – a book, a film, a play – that is considered to be very good or even a masterpiece, and sometimes really is very good, except for one flaw – the main character seems to be riding the fast lane for self destruction for no apparent reason.
You might argue that people don’t always act in a reasonable way, and being the emotional being that I am I would of course have to agree.
Nevertheless, to me, the character’s actions should be explainable in terms of the character’s inner world and motivations as reflected in the story. Random or unjustifiable acts of suicide disguised as acts of love/heroism/despair/folly just don’t do it for me. There has to be something more.
To demonstrate my point, here are several examples of such annoying acts in otherwise very good books:
This one really bugged me. After leading a life that’s mostly lead in his own mind, Oscar attempts to kill himself, which is reasonable within the scope of the story. He later goes on a suicidal mission of love, which thanks to the author’s great talent is compelling and even moving, but really uncalled for. It greatly annoyed me and made me dislike the main character immensely.
The mother of all annoying characters. That she is frustrated with her small suburban life is understandable. Even sleeping with the neighbor can somehow be within reason, but the final act April commits seemed to me to be the ultimate act of an aging drama queen. It really left me unmoved and cold – a rare state for me.
Tolstoy must have really had it for his leading lady. To be honest, she is quite an annoying character throughout the book, but when she commits suicide for no reason, with no explanation, be it external or internal, I felt betrayed. People don’t jump in front of trains just because. This is no light matter, and should have been treated in a more intelligent manner.
What are your feelings regarding these heroes and heroines?
As a Jewish Ashkenazi woman who was born in a Spanish speaking country and immigrated as a child, I consider myself as having a broad perspective on the issues of identity, Latin culture, Jewish culture and immigration. Although I am not Hispanic, I did grow up in a home steeped in Latin culture and Spanish is my mother tongue. The memories of immigration are also very fresh in my mind.
Therefore ,when I come across books that tell the stories of Latin immigrants, their family life and adjustment to their new surroundings, I am greatly moved. Here are two recommendations of books I recently read that tell such stories:
Let’s face it: I am a big sucker for historical sagas, especially ones that portray the legacy of generations of women.
This book is not as very complex one, but it has everythingyou can ask for in a book of its kind: exotic scenery, moving love stories, a little magic and Cuban music. All in all – a very nice read. What I liked about it in particular is how it relates the story of the three largest ethnic groups in Cuba – Spaniards, Blacks and Chinese, how they arrived in Cuba and how they later arrive to the United States.
I had no knowledge of the existence of a Chinese minority in Cuba, let alone of their involvement in the Cuban struggle for independence, and I enjoyed learning a little about the subject.
My second recommendation is still a fun book to read, but a little less lightweight:
This is a truly moving and at times breath-taking book telling the story of Oscar’s family, and specifically the women in his family. The author might be offended and he has my deepest apologies in advance, but I found the female characters to be far more interesting than the main character, Oscar (more about the reasons for that in my next post, Unaccounted for Weird Behaviors by Lead Characters).
For me, a book that has entire paragraphs in Spanish is irresistible, and so are the sharp-tongued, beautiful, tough women portrayed by the author. I recommend this book with all my heart.
After revealing my deep love for John Irving’s books, I now turn to a different angle of his work.
The relationship between an author and his fans is acomplex one. Often you stumble upon a book that knocks you down, sending you an a mission of finding everything written by this author. I am known to have these bouts that I prefer to call “Festivals”, during which I read three, four or five books by the same author in a row.
But when dealing with an author working for a long time and only gaining fame after publishing three or four books, as in Irving’s case, the story may differ. Because I do not live in an English speaking country, books in English are readily available but in a rather sporadic fashion. That is to say, an author’s entire bibliography may not be available, especially the books that were not great hits. There are ways to address this issue (which may be discussed in a separate post), but what is means in the context of this post is that I was exposed to Irving’s work gradually, and read his books not according to the order in which they were published but when I happened to find them.
When I got home, the fabulous Until I Find You hit the stores in Israel, and so it happened that I first read it and then read A Prayer for Owen Meany I brought home with me. I was astonished by the similarities between these two books that have completely different plot lines but speak of the same issues, written more than 15 years apart. They both speak about a child who has a complex relationship with a loved but somehow absent mother, of religion in the broader sense, of the power of music and classical music in particular, of the semi-incestuous love for a sister/friend, and of the search for a father.
It is amazing and thrilling to see the development of these issues in the course of time in the author’s mind. To my taste, the later book is much more compelling, dealing with the issues in a more mature and profound way, but they are both fantastic books.
It is a great joy that a coincidence made me read them together for the first time and observe this evolution of ideas.
I would love to have your input on this and other connections you may have noticed.
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