Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
September 2005
Growing up with books, I used to read my father's collection of medical and legal thrillers when I was ten, and then he bought me the Harry Potter series, and I realized that I could fall in love with books after all. Though J.K Rowling may be the author that introduced me to that possibility, it was Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's timeless creation Sherlock Holmes who won my heart when I was twelve and his grip hasn't let up since. The Sherlock Holmes stories were the source of modern crime-solving adaptations that we now experience in television, and Doyle's tales of mystery and adventure were often audacious, insightful and clever. The real draw of his stories is the process of crime detection ("deductive reasoning") that Doyle allows the readers to understand, experience and apply themselves alongside Watson as Holmes investigates the cases.
The Complete Sherlock Holmes volumes 1 and 2 by Bantam publishing co. had never changed its price from the first time I bought it back in 2003 until the present. They're affordable and therefore anyone who is interested in the Great Detective will have an easy access. With the modern adaptations of Holmes lately (from the Guy Ritchie films to BBC's Sherlock), a new reader may be surprised to find out that Doyle's stories are more self-contained as opposed to the James-Bond tone and setting of the modern interpretations mentioned (in fact, the American adaptation Elementary is a lot more faithful to the original structure of the narrative). Nevertheless, the Doyle canon (composed of 56 short stories classified into the Adventures, Memoirs, Return, His Last Bow and Casebook; and four novels) are more engrossing and intimate to read as Watson's accounts manages to illuminate Holmes' methods as well as humanize the often callous, razor-sharp and unfeeling sleuth.
Volume 1 encompasses The Adventures, The Memoirs and the novels A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four. A Scarlet in Scarlet has an unusual structure; the first part was the formulaic detective exposition with the introduction of the characters, the presentation of the crime, and the roster of suspects. The second part was entirely a flashback that reveals the history of the criminal himself which is quite a perplexing plot device and Doyle had definitely experimented the first time around but has since learned to contain his cases with more creative restraint. The Sign of Four, my personal favorite, was about as close as to romance as a Holmes story could get, possibly because of Watson's relationship with his wife-to-be Mary Morstan and the struggles she faced pertaining to her heirloom. The next set of short stories, Adventures and Memoirs, are each composed of twelve cases and some of them are most unforgettable because of the blend of absurdity and horror (such as the Musgrave Ritual, Five Orange Pips, Red-Headed league and Speckled Band). The Final Problem marks the death of Sherlock Holmes which the public vehemently protested so Doyle was forced to revive his sleuth and hence the second volume of the canon.
Volume 2 contains the ever-popular The Hound of Baskervilles and the chilling novel A Valley of Fear. The short stories are divided into The Return, The Casebook and His Last Bow. My favorites include The Problem of Thor Bridge, Devil's Foot, The Dying Detective, The Illustrious Client, and His Last Bow. Holmes himself got to write his own accounts of the cases in The Blanched Solider and The Lion's Mane (which are both odd tales and here it is revealed once and for all that Watson's narrative voice is a lot more beguiling than Holmes' dry and scientific approach of storytelling). It is worth noting that when Holmes returned from the grave, Doyle has added more ambiguous layers to his personality and characterization which is why the second volume is the most enjoyable for its gray shades of morality and scope of justice and punishment.
Volume 1 encompasses The Adventures, The Memoirs and the novels A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four. A Scarlet in Scarlet has an unusual structure; the first part was the formulaic detective exposition with the introduction of the characters, the presentation of the crime, and the roster of suspects. The second part was entirely a flashback that reveals the history of the criminal himself which is quite a perplexing plot device and Doyle had definitely experimented the first time around but has since learned to contain his cases with more creative restraint. The Sign of Four, my personal favorite, was about as close as to romance as a Holmes story could get, possibly because of Watson's relationship with his wife-to-be Mary Morstan and the struggles she faced pertaining to her heirloom. The next set of short stories, Adventures and Memoirs, are each composed of twelve cases and some of them are most unforgettable because of the blend of absurdity and horror (such as the Musgrave Ritual, Five Orange Pips, Red-Headed league and Speckled Band). The Final Problem marks the death of Sherlock Holmes which the public vehemently protested so Doyle was forced to revive his sleuth and hence the second volume of the canon.
Volume 2 contains the ever-popular The Hound of Baskervilles and the chilling novel A Valley of Fear. The short stories are divided into The Return, The Casebook and His Last Bow. My favorites include The Problem of Thor Bridge, Devil's Foot, The Dying Detective, The Illustrious Client, and His Last Bow. Holmes himself got to write his own accounts of the cases in The Blanched Solider and The Lion's Mane (which are both odd tales and here it is revealed once and for all that Watson's narrative voice is a lot more beguiling than Holmes' dry and scientific approach of storytelling). It is worth noting that when Holmes returned from the grave, Doyle has added more ambiguous layers to his personality and characterization which is why the second volume is the most enjoyable for its gray shades of morality and scope of justice and punishment.
Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
October 2006
Les Misérables is a story of how love could redeem us. Its message has been heard countless times across centuries and generations, a testament to the goodness in all of humankind. The readers are introduced to the Jean Valjean and his journey towards moral redemption. The word "misérables" means all the miserable people on earth: the poor, villains and criminals whose lives are woven into the gloomy tapestry of Paris. When Valjean was imprisoned for five years which interestingly became thirteen years when he tried to escape, Jean Valjean developed a great hatred against society in general. He got arrested when he stole a load of bread to feed his malnourished brothers and sisters. Because he doesn't represent any value to society, he was taken advantage of hence the five (to thirteen) years imprisonment. Through the prejudice of Jean Valjean's life, the story showed the injustices of the lawful process which is supposed to protect us.
"It is society buying a slave. From misery, from hunger, from cold, from loneliness, from abandonment, from privation. Melancholy barter. A soul for a bit of bread. Misery makes the offer, society accepts."
Jean Valjean escapes the second time but no one took him in because he was a convict. When he decided to sleep on the sidewalk, a woman directed him into a household where he quickly went. When the door opened he was astounded that an old bishop named Myriel and his gentle sister Mademoiselle Baptistine took him without hesitation. Jean Valjean felt that it was all too much, "Everytime he said the word 'Monsieur' with his gentle, solemn and heartily hospitable manner, the man's countenance lightened up. 'Monsieur' to a convict is like a glass of water to a man dying of thirst at sea." But although Jean Valjean was grateful, he robbed the bishop with his silver plates. He got caught by two officers and he was brought back to the bishop. But the bishop claimed that he gave him the silver plates himself! He put a hand on Jean Valjean's forehead amd said, "You belong to no longer evil, but to good. It is your soul I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition and give it to God!"
Even from the beginning of the story, Jean Valjean was not evil in nature. But he condemned society and even believed that even providence itself became impious. No one but the Bishop Myriel actually accepted him as a real person. And as soon as he steps out of the house, Jean Valjean decided he will become a new man. After Jean Valjean adopted a new name and a new life, he went to serve as a town mayor under the name of Monsieur Madeleine and there he met the young mother Fantine.
Fantine became a victim of her circumstances. Taken advantage of by society and twisted beyond recognition, she was just a pure-hearted person who was reduced into a pitiful soul in just a short span of time in the chapters. One scene showed Fantine was accused of attacking a rich man in the street. The police were already biased against her, and were quick to condemn her for the simple fact that a prostitute assaulted a respectable citizen. Fantine has "endured all, borne all, experienced all, and suffered all, lost all, wept for all. She is resigned but with resignation that resembles indifference as death resembles sleep." Jean Valjean understood Fantine and related strongly to her situations which is why he felt the need to save her and the daughter she gave away named Cosette. It was by becoming a parent himself that Valjean's redemption came full-circle. For a long time Valjean believed that he was wretched, and that his spiritual disease is incurable. Hugo shows that even a man like that can manage to love and be loved again.
On his death bed, Jean Valjean told Cosette and her husband Marius to "Love one another. There is nothing stronger in this world than love," and that's because "To love another person is to see the face of God."
Les Misérables is a timeless piece of work. Although it is set in the old times, the story can still be applied to the world today. It's the mirror of all the beautiful and terrible things in life. There is a Valjean in all of us; a person who has done everything to survive in life and was accused of terrible deeds that after a while he became convinced that he is beyond saving; but then kindness took him by the hand and showed him a better way to live; a life where he could fight for the people he loves.
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
November 2014
Unlike the titular heroine herself, I would much rather be DIGNIFIED than HAPPY. I have that much pride and entitlement, and I admit openly that my autonomy and self-reliance were the most useful tools that kept me ever so hard and strong that you cannot break me--especially my heart which only cracks in some places but can be readily restored, more fierce than before. Reading this novel and Jane's story with her Mr. Rochester has brought me sheer, reckless joy and yet at times the deepest of sorrows as well.
They say the most unforgettable books we've read serve as a looking-glass where all our fears and desires are reflected back to us and we dare not flinch away from. Well, I gazed into Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyreand saw again the first person I was ever in love with. The girl I loved with passion was simply called Lei who was only thirteen when we met while I was five years her senior. She was my Jane and I was her Rochester...and she was the only one in the world who had the capacity and good sense to truly break my heart.
Reading about Jane Eyre's childhood rife with alienation and spiritual defeats was like rediscovering Lei again who sought me out and bravely shared her tales of woe and whose youth has struck me to be such a queer thing because it surprised me to learn that she had been through so much grief at such an age. I instantly found myself enjoying Jane's company in her narrations for this book even with her imbued bitterness so unnatural for an impressionable little girl to possess because it was how Lei's own sorrow tasted during our conversations that could go on for hours on end. Sensible, modest and with a touch of vulnerability that can shame you, my Lei was a contradiction who doesn't even know it. Like Jane who always has a good head on her shoulders yet still dreams to rest it on the clouds, my Lei at was capable to claim a wisdom only reserved for adults twice her age and yet still she remains quite innocent, unknowing and willing to believe in impossible heroes. And I was her hero as Rochester was to poor, sweet Jane.
I should have known even then that stories like ours is ultimately going to be a rather tragic one.
As I continue on exploring and sifting through Jane's reveries, exultation and frustrations to untangle her deepening fondness and affection for her Mr. Rochester, its warmth began to sting me but I repeatedly placed my hand on top of it like I was a stubborn child playing with a candle, daring herself to endure the heat as if it's a worthy accomplishment to succeed in. It reminded me so cruelly of my Lei's infatuation with me which was a quiet sort of bliss that engulfed me before I even knew it had the power to cripple my every thought and breath.
With enough distance but still quite bitterly acquainted with the feelings Jane is caught up in with Rochester (for I was at the receiving end of that not long ago and knew that it can be a persistent intoxication), I understood the attraction festering between them--its magnetism, the loudness of it--and I'm embarrassed to admit now as I write this that I knew the effect its glow can have on someone of Rochester's proud and unyielding countenance because I share his indulgences and reservations if not his person altogether. I knew Jane loved Rochester in a self-aware blindness that accepts readily even the faintest of flaws because that was how my Lei welcomed me; not just with loving arms but with an open mind that challenged me, intrigued me, enchanted me to pry it completely and solve it for myself.
And I knew Rochester loved Jane with a desperation he will never admit because I never had either until today. Rochester loved Jane for her youth which he believed he never had and therefore had always craved. He loved her for her strange ideas and the impressive ways she could still stand out to him even when she's being inconspicuous. He admired the skilled way she reads him when he had long ago believed he was indecipherable. I know these are the reasons he loved her because this was how I loved Lei. I didn't fall or stumble my way into feeling the way I felt for this girl--I decided it with a precision and intensity. Whilst Jane's love was gentle, patient and resilient, Rochester's was a fire that threatens to cauterize or devour, depending on his whim and the moment that would inspire it. I knew I must have exhausted Lei too but I poured everything into her knowing she will open her palms to catch every drop as Jane had with Rochester, her master, her Edward and hers alone.
And though independent and perpetually discontent as I was, I allowed myself to believed that I was Lei's. I allowed someone to have me.
Like Rochester was with Jane I was always secure with her and never doubted her allegiance. I worship her in my own possessive way, giving her tokens, written testaments and poetry not to flatter her or limit her but to celebrate her as my chosen one, and she, like Jane, would feel abashed and think herself unworthy of the most grandeur of gestures. She would seek to temper my roaring passions with a brief kind word, to soothe my romantic trifles with the simplest yet the most elegant of ways. It was puzzling that she had given herself wholly to me yet will not suffer the immensity of what having me back would entail. It's funny that her love like Jane's love does not burn hot but steadily flows like a cleansing stream, appeasing me especially in my darkest moods. Every time I read Jane instantly able to stand up for herself when Rochester unconsciously tries to overwhelm her, I think of the times when Lei held her ground against me. All she ever demanded from me is to be myself without exaggerating romance, fabricating my happiness, or testing the bonds that hold us together. Jane expected this little from Rochester too because to her he was enough; no more, no less.
Rochester also believed Jane will understand him even if he was in his most unintelligible and unknowable and yet he had made terrible mistakes in life before and continues to doubt that he is someone made for love. I too had these moments of sheer self-loathing and disgust and I don't think I will ever let go of such harrowing self-deprecating notions. Nothing was sweeter than my solitude so I considered it such a miraculous development when I gave Lei permission to trespass and prove me wrong.
I did say that a love this contradictory is bound to be ultimately tragic and just like Jane, Lei had deserted me not to be cruel but to be responsible. To her it was the best course of action, the only possible way not to damn us both. She believed her sacrifice would make us happier in our separate existences, and I begrudgingly allowed her cold reason to prevail because I wanted to be dignified. What else does my woman of intellect and an ego that matches its size have to else to contend with? But I committed an omission of truth as well--I once again clung into that desperate belief that I was unfit for love and therefore unfit for her so I cannot possibly have any right to make her stay. She left because it was what I deserved. There is no doubt in my mind that Rochester welcomed these ideas too and that they cut him deep and true.
Alas, this wasn't the book review you wanted to read but I wouldn't rewrite it because this contains the testament of my cowardice and hope as reflected back to me by these two characters who resemble two people in my life I used to know, who dared themselves to love each other and partake in all the consequences it entailed. This is letter to the girl I once called mine, the one I gave five years of my life to until it came to its conclusion just earlier this year. I watched her grow up and, subsequently, outgrow me. For my part I have never felt older than when I was with her, and I liked that feeling; it gave me repose and made me think about my mortality more often than I should. It kept me alert then, unafraid to take on risks, reminded me that life in its brevity doesn't always require me to be dignified but rather to be happy, always more importantly, happy..
I suppose I should take comfort that at least, in this fiction, Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester had a happier and more enduring ending. And so I kiss this book with trembling lips as I close it, never to be opened again unless I feel particularly nostalgic and most humbled.
I should have known even then that stories like ours is ultimately going to be a rather tragic one.
As I continue on exploring and sifting through Jane's reveries, exultation and frustrations to untangle her deepening fondness and affection for her Mr. Rochester, its warmth began to sting me but I repeatedly placed my hand on top of it like I was a stubborn child playing with a candle, daring herself to endure the heat as if it's a worthy accomplishment to succeed in. It reminded me so cruelly of my Lei's infatuation with me which was a quiet sort of bliss that engulfed me before I even knew it had the power to cripple my every thought and breath.
With enough distance but still quite bitterly acquainted with the feelings Jane is caught up in with Rochester (for I was at the receiving end of that not long ago and knew that it can be a persistent intoxication), I understood the attraction festering between them--its magnetism, the loudness of it--and I'm embarrassed to admit now as I write this that I knew the effect its glow can have on someone of Rochester's proud and unyielding countenance because I share his indulgences and reservations if not his person altogether. I knew Jane loved Rochester in a self-aware blindness that accepts readily even the faintest of flaws because that was how my Lei welcomed me; not just with loving arms but with an open mind that challenged me, intrigued me, enchanted me to pry it completely and solve it for myself.
And I knew Rochester loved Jane with a desperation he will never admit because I never had either until today. Rochester loved Jane for her youth which he believed he never had and therefore had always craved. He loved her for her strange ideas and the impressive ways she could still stand out to him even when she's being inconspicuous. He admired the skilled way she reads him when he had long ago believed he was indecipherable. I know these are the reasons he loved her because this was how I loved Lei. I didn't fall or stumble my way into feeling the way I felt for this girl--I decided it with a precision and intensity. Whilst Jane's love was gentle, patient and resilient, Rochester's was a fire that threatens to cauterize or devour, depending on his whim and the moment that would inspire it. I knew I must have exhausted Lei too but I poured everything into her knowing she will open her palms to catch every drop as Jane had with Rochester, her master, her Edward and hers alone.
And though independent and perpetually discontent as I was, I allowed myself to believed that I was Lei's. I allowed someone to have me.
Like Rochester was with Jane I was always secure with her and never doubted her allegiance. I worship her in my own possessive way, giving her tokens, written testaments and poetry not to flatter her or limit her but to celebrate her as my chosen one, and she, like Jane, would feel abashed and think herself unworthy of the most grandeur of gestures. She would seek to temper my roaring passions with a brief kind word, to soothe my romantic trifles with the simplest yet the most elegant of ways. It was puzzling that she had given herself wholly to me yet will not suffer the immensity of what having me back would entail. It's funny that her love like Jane's love does not burn hot but steadily flows like a cleansing stream, appeasing me especially in my darkest moods. Every time I read Jane instantly able to stand up for herself when Rochester unconsciously tries to overwhelm her, I think of the times when Lei held her ground against me. All she ever demanded from me is to be myself without exaggerating romance, fabricating my happiness, or testing the bonds that hold us together. Jane expected this little from Rochester too because to her he was enough; no more, no less.
Rochester also believed Jane will understand him even if he was in his most unintelligible and unknowable and yet he had made terrible mistakes in life before and continues to doubt that he is someone made for love. I too had these moments of sheer self-loathing and disgust and I don't think I will ever let go of such harrowing self-deprecating notions. Nothing was sweeter than my solitude so I considered it such a miraculous development when I gave Lei permission to trespass and prove me wrong.
I did say that a love this contradictory is bound to be ultimately tragic and just like Jane, Lei had deserted me not to be cruel but to be responsible. To her it was the best course of action, the only possible way not to damn us both. She believed her sacrifice would make us happier in our separate existences, and I begrudgingly allowed her cold reason to prevail because I wanted to be dignified. What else does my woman of intellect and an ego that matches its size have to else to contend with? But I committed an omission of truth as well--I once again clung into that desperate belief that I was unfit for love and therefore unfit for her so I cannot possibly have any right to make her stay. She left because it was what I deserved. There is no doubt in my mind that Rochester welcomed these ideas too and that they cut him deep and true.
Alas, this wasn't the book review you wanted to read but I wouldn't rewrite it because this contains the testament of my cowardice and hope as reflected back to me by these two characters who resemble two people in my life I used to know, who dared themselves to love each other and partake in all the consequences it entailed. This is letter to the girl I once called mine, the one I gave five years of my life to until it came to its conclusion just earlier this year. I watched her grow up and, subsequently, outgrow me. For my part I have never felt older than when I was with her, and I liked that feeling; it gave me repose and made me think about my mortality more often than I should. It kept me alert then, unafraid to take on risks, reminded me that life in its brevity doesn't always require me to be dignified but rather to be happy, always more importantly, happy..
I suppose I should take comfort that at least, in this fiction, Jane Eyre and Edward Rochester had a happier and more enduring ending. And so I kiss this book with trembling lips as I close it, never to be opened again unless I feel particularly nostalgic and most humbled.
Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe
April 2015
Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart is a substantial and illuminating piece of African literature written by its author in the English language with the purposes of not only portraying the Nigerian tribal culture through the neutral lenses of one of its native writers, but also to connect with a wider, global audience who very much need a fresh perspective when it comes to how Africans live, worship and govern themselves as families and clans.
In this sense, most of the critical acclaim that this novel received is well-deserved. I could definitely agree that it's something schools should require for students to read and analyse in their literature classes. I also think that the broader strokes that Achebe achieved in writing Things Fall Apart must be better appreciated, I believe, with the sequels that followed it. I myself feel encouraged to pick them up someday. For now, I'm content to lavish on the richly detailed significant moments that happened in this book which were relayed with both sheer insight and pragmatism in a scale I thought was admirable and genuine. |
The central figure of this book is a native named Okonkwo who is considered to be one of the most formidable wrestlers in his clan. He also fancies himself as a self-made man of brute force and hard labor, dedicated in making a name and reputation for himself where his own father before him has failed. From the very start, readers are immediately informed that Okonkwo despises weakness and laziness since his culture demands a man to be strong with the typical and traditional traits of masculinity. He must be steadfast in dominating his wives and children and must never show affection or leniency even towards his loved ones. The mark of a proud man, indeed, and this singular quality has made him rather unappealing to me. Nevertheless, I thought he was a main character I didn't mind reading about or learning more from since there are other times I think he is also sympathetic enough to warrant some of my understanding and compassion. I like the fact that Okonkwo values hard work above all else, that he has to strive to attain for a prosperous life, and that he wants the same for his eldest son borne of his first wife. In this sense, I thought he was agreeable enough.
With Okonkwo as the focal point, Achebe also explored the inner workings of the clan he is a part of which include some practices and customs that may seem bizarre from an outsider's point-of-view. Much of the book delved upon the daily grind of their lives which include the homemaking and services provided by the women, festivities and certain offerings for their gods especially during harvest seasons, and the clan's very own judicial system which may seem primitive if not outright cruel for modern readers who will encounter it in this book but I think it's a system that works best for them in the long run. There is also a matter of how Okonkwo treats his wives and children which are questionable, of course, because he can be violent and definitely beats them around whenever they displease him but Achebe never describes this violence in detail which gives the effect that such a occurrence is commonplace. I didn't particularly feel enraged either only because Achebe can somehow make a reader readily understand that this is simply a matter of how the culture works and whatever preconceived judgments someone of my own upbringing has should be cast aside to enable to view this with a more pragmatic observation.
I succeeded, in this case, and bore in mind that a husband beating his wife in the context of their culture is his right because she is his property, and that is a norm I should only consider myself fortunate not to be a part of. In my perspective, it is nothing other than systematic abuse that is normalized by societal acceptance, but to the clansmen and women it's what is prescribed by their laws and religion. I find it amusing, though, that there was a mention of a certain holiday where husbands cannot beat their wives because it would displease gods. The irony of that did not escape me.
I think books like this one (and Mahfouz' Palace Walk which I read a week ago) have challenged me to keep an open mind when it comes to things which I'm readily prejudiced against especially when it comes to the maltreatment or oppression of women as portrayed in fiction. I think an author's intention is the defining point in this and so far neither Achebe or Mahfouz has glorified violence or the subjugation of women and their neutrality is helpful and comforting somewhat. Still, there are real social issues and horrors that condemn and harm women across the world; some of those struggles are culturally unique as well, but although Achebe and Mahfouz have touched upon them in their respective books, their stories were ultimately not modes of advocating for it or against it, so readers shouldn't concern themselves too seriously about them when reading either of these books. Or you may choose to do so but hopefully with caution, tact and good intentions. Such an open discussion is something that might prove to be otherwise fruitful.
Going back to the review: Things Fall Apart as a chronicle of tribal life is well-versed and insightful, but midway in the book, the story gradually builds up to the altercations and cross-cultural misunderstandings that occur between the Africans and the Christian missionaries who settled in their homelands, and whose warped sense of ethnocentrism and religious fervor drove them to convert these people they perceive to be barbaric and inferior to them. I thought this is the most exciting part of the entire novel itself even though it only happened for less than a hundred pages. Amdist this conflict is Okonkwo who view these outsiders as a plague that threaten to corrode their way of life and worship, and he must make the ultimate choice as an individual as to whether or not he must subject himself and his family to their will.
At the heart of Things Fall Apart are the small moments of triumph and compassion that Okonkwo and his family share which are my favorite parts of the book. But, unlike Palace Walk, this novel is not character-centered so I can admit that I find myself rather detached at times when reading certain texts. I never felt like I knew any of the characters in this book so identifying with their sorrows and struggles never deepen enough to take root. In general, I've looked at the events that took place in Things Fall Apart with the knowledge and experience of someone who grew up and lived in a colonized nation such as the Philippines. Contextualizing my own cultural struggles with the ones Achebe have showcased here was rather helpful.
My country is an archipelago which meant that there are still a variety of existing tribal natives in other lands, and though the Philippines is now a homogeneous Christian nation, that road to progress is paved by civil wars between the Filipinos and their Spanish patrons who aimed to spread the Catholic faith by any means necessary. I think this was why I was very fascinated and sympathetic with the last five or six chapters of the book that delved upon this conflict because I have read it in my own history books. In this manner, I thought Things Fall Apart is remarkable and brilliant. It may not be as personal or intimate as my reading of Mahfouz' Palace Walk has been but it's nonetheless just as invigorating and exceptional. This is a book with impressive breadth and insight, and one you should strive to explore at one point in your life. It's quite an indisputable treasure.
With Okonkwo as the focal point, Achebe also explored the inner workings of the clan he is a part of which include some practices and customs that may seem bizarre from an outsider's point-of-view. Much of the book delved upon the daily grind of their lives which include the homemaking and services provided by the women, festivities and certain offerings for their gods especially during harvest seasons, and the clan's very own judicial system which may seem primitive if not outright cruel for modern readers who will encounter it in this book but I think it's a system that works best for them in the long run. There is also a matter of how Okonkwo treats his wives and children which are questionable, of course, because he can be violent and definitely beats them around whenever they displease him but Achebe never describes this violence in detail which gives the effect that such a occurrence is commonplace. I didn't particularly feel enraged either only because Achebe can somehow make a reader readily understand that this is simply a matter of how the culture works and whatever preconceived judgments someone of my own upbringing has should be cast aside to enable to view this with a more pragmatic observation.
I succeeded, in this case, and bore in mind that a husband beating his wife in the context of their culture is his right because she is his property, and that is a norm I should only consider myself fortunate not to be a part of. In my perspective, it is nothing other than systematic abuse that is normalized by societal acceptance, but to the clansmen and women it's what is prescribed by their laws and religion. I find it amusing, though, that there was a mention of a certain holiday where husbands cannot beat their wives because it would displease gods. The irony of that did not escape me.
I think books like this one (and Mahfouz' Palace Walk which I read a week ago) have challenged me to keep an open mind when it comes to things which I'm readily prejudiced against especially when it comes to the maltreatment or oppression of women as portrayed in fiction. I think an author's intention is the defining point in this and so far neither Achebe or Mahfouz has glorified violence or the subjugation of women and their neutrality is helpful and comforting somewhat. Still, there are real social issues and horrors that condemn and harm women across the world; some of those struggles are culturally unique as well, but although Achebe and Mahfouz have touched upon them in their respective books, their stories were ultimately not modes of advocating for it or against it, so readers shouldn't concern themselves too seriously about them when reading either of these books. Or you may choose to do so but hopefully with caution, tact and good intentions. Such an open discussion is something that might prove to be otherwise fruitful.
Going back to the review: Things Fall Apart as a chronicle of tribal life is well-versed and insightful, but midway in the book, the story gradually builds up to the altercations and cross-cultural misunderstandings that occur between the Africans and the Christian missionaries who settled in their homelands, and whose warped sense of ethnocentrism and religious fervor drove them to convert these people they perceive to be barbaric and inferior to them. I thought this is the most exciting part of the entire novel itself even though it only happened for less than a hundred pages. Amdist this conflict is Okonkwo who view these outsiders as a plague that threaten to corrode their way of life and worship, and he must make the ultimate choice as an individual as to whether or not he must subject himself and his family to their will.
At the heart of Things Fall Apart are the small moments of triumph and compassion that Okonkwo and his family share which are my favorite parts of the book. But, unlike Palace Walk, this novel is not character-centered so I can admit that I find myself rather detached at times when reading certain texts. I never felt like I knew any of the characters in this book so identifying with their sorrows and struggles never deepen enough to take root. In general, I've looked at the events that took place in Things Fall Apart with the knowledge and experience of someone who grew up and lived in a colonized nation such as the Philippines. Contextualizing my own cultural struggles with the ones Achebe have showcased here was rather helpful.
My country is an archipelago which meant that there are still a variety of existing tribal natives in other lands, and though the Philippines is now a homogeneous Christian nation, that road to progress is paved by civil wars between the Filipinos and their Spanish patrons who aimed to spread the Catholic faith by any means necessary. I think this was why I was very fascinated and sympathetic with the last five or six chapters of the book that delved upon this conflict because I have read it in my own history books. In this manner, I thought Things Fall Apart is remarkable and brilliant. It may not be as personal or intimate as my reading of Mahfouz' Palace Walk has been but it's nonetheless just as invigorating and exceptional. This is a book with impressive breadth and insight, and one you should strive to explore at one point in your life. It's quite an indisputable treasure.
The Tell-tale Heart and Other Writings by Edgar Allan Poe
December 2015
No other writer evokes horror in its rawest, most human form like Edgar Allan Poe. Sometimes his stories are a blunt force trauma while others are drilled into the mind using precision instruments of terror. His themes and depictions of people's greatest fears are very diverse and uniquely constructed, more visceral in some aspects but also cerebral in execution for a select few. This anthology The Tell-Tale Heart and Other Writings is comprised of his finest works in short story and poetry tackling what is readily terrifying, certain terrors that elude the psyche, and the unfortunate ways human beings transform into the very monsters they fear. |
No other writer evokes horror in its rawest, most human form like Edgar Allan Poe. Sometimes his stories are a blunt force trauma while others are drilled into the mind using precision instruments of terror. His themes and depictions of people's greatest fears are very diverse and uniquely constructed, more visceral in some aspects but also cerebral in execution for a select few. This anthology The Tell-Tale Heart and Other Writings is comprised of his finest works in short story and poetry forms tackling what is readily terrifying, certain terrors that elude the psyche, and the unfortunate ways human beings transform into the very monsters they fear.
With seventeen gruesome tales and sixteen morbid poems, this anthology is a must-have for any aficionado of the genre. The prose that Poe crafts in each of his pieces is spellbinding; we get descriptive ramblings of mad men and women, psychologically layered instances and premonitions, and frightening yet subtle symbolisms plus debated interpretations of each work. Reading his short stories transport you right into the disturbed minds of irredeemable individuals who heed the call of misery and darkness, acting both predator and prey of their own machinations and failures.
His best pieces are those that make readers experience paranoia and dissociation themselves and such stories have become a classic for that very reason. The titular The Tell-Tale Heart is a brief yet searing account of a man haunted by his macabre misdeed while The Black Cat and The Cask of Armontillado have characters who commit murders for reasons somewhat hollow and petty; the former was discovered in the most absurd way possible while the other was successful in concealing it but is forever tainted after the fact. We also have allegorical pieces such as The Masque of Red Death, The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar, and A Descent in the Maelstorm which evoke a series of unavoidable misfortunes, marking its characters in blood and death. And then we have tales that have more non-conclusive interpretations and resolutions such as The Fall of the House of Usher, Ligeria, The Pit and the Pendulum and The Premature Burial. All four of these stories are imaginative and insidious, dealing with fantastical elements and spine-tingling primitive fears that plague as all, only if we allow ourselves to contemplate deeper about them. A few other stories deal with catastrophic, life-altering conflicts which are found in Ms. Found in a Bottle and Silence--A Fable. And then we have the character-centric baffling accounts of William Wilson, Eleanora, and The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, the last of which has the most trying length.
Before there was ever a more defined detective genre and its formulaic elements, Poe has created C. Auguste Dupin, the first crime reasoner who used deductive reasoning in solving criminal cases that later on inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle with his more famous great detective Sherlock Holmes. Dupin only appeared in two stories, The Murders in Rue Morgue and The Purloined Letter which deserve multiple readings to be acquire a more nuanced appreciation for the groundwork and thought process that Poe has employed in characterizing his detective and resolving the plots.
After readers had their fill of his gripping short stories, they can move on to the assortment of his poems which offer a more economical way of slaking their interest and intrigue for the memorably horrific and sometimes even upsetting concepts regarding ailments and discord that people will always find themselves caught up in and often not overcoming. Poe's poetic style is refined and elegant in a lot of respects but there are moments of sporadic contemplations and truly intense retrospective epiphanies that will keep reeling readers in. I personally enjoyed Israfel, The City in the Sea, The Valley of the Unrest, The Sleeper, The Bells and Alone.
With a vigorous and daring marksmanship in which he penned his works with, Poe's prose is very much alive--rustling, palpitating, throbbing, moaning and groaning and every other vivid ways that may drive weaker minds mad upon reading. His tales are cavernous places, buried deep in the recesses of our minds we never fully acknowledge. But every so often we can hear them calling for us--like a bell tolling from a distance--or the low, persistent humming of a heartbeat; whether concealed in a crypt, lodged inside a bottle in the middle of an ocean or has made itself comfortable right under our very beds where we believe we are most safe when we really aren't.
With seventeen gruesome tales and sixteen morbid poems, this anthology is a must-have for any aficionado of the genre. The prose that Poe crafts in each of his pieces is spellbinding; we get descriptive ramblings of mad men and women, psychologically layered instances and premonitions, and frightening yet subtle symbolisms plus debated interpretations of each work. Reading his short stories transport you right into the disturbed minds of irredeemable individuals who heed the call of misery and darkness, acting both predator and prey of their own machinations and failures.
His best pieces are those that make readers experience paranoia and dissociation themselves and such stories have become a classic for that very reason. The titular The Tell-Tale Heart is a brief yet searing account of a man haunted by his macabre misdeed while The Black Cat and The Cask of Armontillado have characters who commit murders for reasons somewhat hollow and petty; the former was discovered in the most absurd way possible while the other was successful in concealing it but is forever tainted after the fact. We also have allegorical pieces such as The Masque of Red Death, The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar, and A Descent in the Maelstorm which evoke a series of unavoidable misfortunes, marking its characters in blood and death. And then we have tales that have more non-conclusive interpretations and resolutions such as The Fall of the House of Usher, Ligeria, The Pit and the Pendulum and The Premature Burial. All four of these stories are imaginative and insidious, dealing with fantastical elements and spine-tingling primitive fears that plague as all, only if we allow ourselves to contemplate deeper about them. A few other stories deal with catastrophic, life-altering conflicts which are found in Ms. Found in a Bottle and Silence--A Fable. And then we have the character-centric baffling accounts of William Wilson, Eleanora, and The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, the last of which has the most trying length.
Before there was ever a more defined detective genre and its formulaic elements, Poe has created C. Auguste Dupin, the first crime reasoner who used deductive reasoning in solving criminal cases that later on inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle with his more famous great detective Sherlock Holmes. Dupin only appeared in two stories, The Murders in Rue Morgue and The Purloined Letter which deserve multiple readings to be acquire a more nuanced appreciation for the groundwork and thought process that Poe has employed in characterizing his detective and resolving the plots.
After readers had their fill of his gripping short stories, they can move on to the assortment of his poems which offer a more economical way of slaking their interest and intrigue for the memorably horrific and sometimes even upsetting concepts regarding ailments and discord that people will always find themselves caught up in and often not overcoming. Poe's poetic style is refined and elegant in a lot of respects but there are moments of sporadic contemplations and truly intense retrospective epiphanies that will keep reeling readers in. I personally enjoyed Israfel, The City in the Sea, The Valley of the Unrest, The Sleeper, The Bells and Alone.
With a vigorous and daring marksmanship in which he penned his works with, Poe's prose is very much alive--rustling, palpitating, throbbing, moaning and groaning and every other vivid ways that may drive weaker minds mad upon reading. His tales are cavernous places, buried deep in the recesses of our minds we never fully acknowledge. But every so often we can hear them calling for us--like a bell tolling from a distance--or the low, persistent humming of a heartbeat; whether concealed in a crypt, lodged inside a bottle in the middle of an ocean or has made itself comfortable right under our very beds where we believe we are most safe when we really aren't.
Emma by Jane Austen
January 2016
I would like to disclose in this review once and for all that I could never consider myself a Jane Austen fan. I know that she's an amazing, influential classical female writer whose works have been adapted on screen and translated worldwide. I also always nod in amicable agreement whenever someone mentions her as their favorite author because I can acknowledge her contributions to literature as well as respect the fact that you enjoy her works. That being said, Austen is simply not the kind of writer whom I can connect with. I tried finding a semblance of kinship in her works several times in the past with Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility, two novels which I hadn't finished for the first two times I read them, but I only did so by the third and fourth time respectively. |
Simply put, I don't like Jane Austen's books even if she is an immensely celebrated writer. I find her prose often tedious even if she can compose passages with wit and humor. I think her characters are intolerable and the only redeeming quality I admire about her characterizations is that she obviously isn't afraid to make her protagonists unlikable and absurd which is where the source of her rich social comedy of manners sprout from. For the longest time I told myself I will never read another Austen novel again but because I was so irrevocably smitten with the Pemberly Digital web series Emma Approved which is the modernized adaptation of this novel, I decided to venture on, reassuring myself that perhaps third's time the charm. In a few inspired ways, it was. But in many other instances that's almost painful, it wasn't.
EMMA is supposed to be a story about 'youthful hubris and misconstrued romance' and with Austen's signature dry humor and amusing observations and parody regarding the exhausting social graces during the era she is writing in, Emma more than fulfills that promising premise. The titular heroine Emma Woodhouse is beautiful, clever and rich but she's also conceited and proud; often overestimating her so-called "matchmaking" skills. She's only twenty-one and a privileged one at that who has a very high opinion of herself and how others should view her. In spite of these flaws, Emma can be impressive particularly because of her streak of independence and ideas about a woman's agency which were considered queer and upsetting during her time. Because she has no financial hardships unlike other Austen heroines, Emma does not feel obligated to get married.
In fact, as an heiress, she would rather just live by herself in her estate and possibly throw cool parties and hang out with other legible ladies whom she can charm and bewitch. One of them who has fallen prey to Emma's irresistible companionship is the modest Harriet Smith who eagerly tries to please Emma by following every single advice the other woman gives even if ultimately it proves to be to her detriment. Their friendship is not exactly of equals which make their interactions quite infectiously funny and warm at times. I have no doubt Emma adores Harriet but she tends to confuse that with her incessant need to control Harriet's choices for her which had proved to be bothersome. Emma's heart is in the right place but she's also far too headstrong to realize that her actions often cause harm or misunderstanding to the people around her. But Austen has written the approach to this relationship as a little bit of a comedy so at least that breaks the tension a bit.
The main conflict that happened in the first volume (this novel is divided into four, or whatever, I'm too lazy to check the book again) is Emma's adamant belief that a certain Mr. Elton fancies her friend Harriet. Emma was so convinced that she is doing something remarkable and worthwhile by matchmaking these two that she was totally blind-sighted by the fact that Mr. Elton actually wants Emma and not Harriet. It was only when Mr. Elton himself confessed that Emma realized that she was wrong to make assumptions from evidence that she willfully and purposefully interpreted for her own convenience and in support of her own twisted logic. Not only did she embarrass and humiliate Harriet and Mr. Elton by placing them in a very awkward position concerning misread signals and feelings, she has also deliberately cast aside Harriet's suitor Robert who seemed to like Harriet enough and sincerely wanted to be a good husband to her, if she will have him. To Emma, however, Harriet should aspire for more. Not a bad sentiment; in fact it's the kind of liberal thinking ahead of her time--but it's not something accepted by society back then so poor Harriet will only suffer humiliation to her character, all because Emma wants to put her in equal footing as herself which is ridiculous! Harriet is nice and sweet but she can't have the same set of choices and freedom as Emma because Emma has the privilege to be fickle, vain and independent--Harriet simply does not. Emma's ignorance over such an obvious difference between their social standing is irritating--yet also very endearing.
Emma does not care that people in her social circle would see Harriet as beneath them; she adores Harriet nevertheless because she finds her interesting and special and whether or not she realizes it can be a tad condescending is unimportant because Emma only has good intentions even if those intentions get her into troubles of her own silly making. I think Emma is very well-written, filled with enough flaws and entitlement that give her much depth as the protagonist. Another aspect of her character that I had fun exploring was when it comes to her opinions and insights regarding the lovely Jane Fairfax. Emma is insecure around Jane, mostly because Jane is reserved and hard to engage in small talk, as well as the very definition of an accomplished woman that Emma aspires to be. While Emma is merely content indulging on her whims for so-called self-improvement and autonomy outside marriage, Jane Fairfax dedicates herself to fulfilling work outside the confines of her social class which makes her more learned, resourceful and educated about the world. The only thing that Emma comforts herself with when it comes to Jane Fairfax is that Jane is actually pretty dull in personality, often the subject of light mockery between Emma and the slightly douche-y Frank Churchill. In one conversation, they talk about how boring Jane is and that people like Emma and Frank are not to blame if they can't find the energy or time to try and coax Jane out of her shell. Both so arrogant, self-assured and individualistic, Emma and Frank for me are the perfect match.
However, Emma has claimed since the beginning of this book that she has never fallen in love and could never be capable of it hence her aversion towards marriage. I could easily surmise that she could have been an asexual which would be okay but I don't think Austen ever intended her to be that which would have been more of a rewarding character twist, to be honest. It's worth nothing that even though Emma does not want to involve herself in personal romantic entanglements, she is more than happy to insert herself in other people's love lives. Austen plays this absurd character flaw of hers to a tee and I can admit that they are the instances in this novel that I find very enjoyable to peruse. It's the source of this book's conflicts. That being said, almost a good sixty percent of this four-hundred-seventy-seven-paged book is SO FUCKING SLOW AND REPETITIVE. I even said during one of my status updates for my reading progress that the social interactions among characters that populate this book are the Victorian-equivalent of Facebook-ing. The content of these scenes and dialogue does not at all justify the length and I hated every goddamn minute I have to read through all the non-events that happened by the 180-paged mark. Nothing monumental truly transpires after the amusing Mr. Elton-Harriet-Emma drama save for the scarce intriguing narrations concerning Jane Fairfax being a bore to Emma (and Emma feeling guilty about feeling that way), and Emma's contemplation about her real feelings for Frank; and whether or not she's attracted to him or not.
Emma does not end up with Frank Churchill, though. She ends up with Mr. Knightly, an old family friend who is ten or twelve years her senior. And it only took for Harriet to realize that she might fancy Mr. Knightly for herself just so Emma can realize too that she had always loved Mr. Knightly after all. WOW. Who knew that's all it takes? It would have been awesome if we cut out the tons of bullshit parties/get-togethers/whatever where random characters would gossip or charm each other so we could have arrived to this stellar revelation earlier but hey, Austen felt like the other stupid parts of this book that I hated were important so--who I am to argue with a classical writer? I just never remember being this annoyed about minutiae descriptions of ordinary events in classical works unlike when I read an Austen book. Dickens, Hugo, Dumas, and Doyle all have moments where they dwell on piles of descriptive narrative pertaining to scenes that are often not as relevant as others, but at least they kept it down to a minimum and go back to the purpose of their plot in the first place. With Austen's Emma, it was an indulgent feat that littered a great number of chapters for the second and third volume. By the three hundredth or so page, I almost did not want to finish.
But I made a promise to myself that I will push through a Jane Austen novel this time. If I was ever going to do it, I want it to be for Emma because I do find the main character so engaging and relatable, and I care about what happens to her a lot. It's really the other inconsequential interactions among other characters that I would rather without which negatively affected by overall enjoyment and appreciation of this novel once I finished. If only this book was at least two volumes shorter, it would have gotten another full star in its rating instead of three and a half.
EMMA is supposed to be a story about 'youthful hubris and misconstrued romance' and with Austen's signature dry humor and amusing observations and parody regarding the exhausting social graces during the era she is writing in, Emma more than fulfills that promising premise. The titular heroine Emma Woodhouse is beautiful, clever and rich but she's also conceited and proud; often overestimating her so-called "matchmaking" skills. She's only twenty-one and a privileged one at that who has a very high opinion of herself and how others should view her. In spite of these flaws, Emma can be impressive particularly because of her streak of independence and ideas about a woman's agency which were considered queer and upsetting during her time. Because she has no financial hardships unlike other Austen heroines, Emma does not feel obligated to get married.
In fact, as an heiress, she would rather just live by herself in her estate and possibly throw cool parties and hang out with other legible ladies whom she can charm and bewitch. One of them who has fallen prey to Emma's irresistible companionship is the modest Harriet Smith who eagerly tries to please Emma by following every single advice the other woman gives even if ultimately it proves to be to her detriment. Their friendship is not exactly of equals which make their interactions quite infectiously funny and warm at times. I have no doubt Emma adores Harriet but she tends to confuse that with her incessant need to control Harriet's choices for her which had proved to be bothersome. Emma's heart is in the right place but she's also far too headstrong to realize that her actions often cause harm or misunderstanding to the people around her. But Austen has written the approach to this relationship as a little bit of a comedy so at least that breaks the tension a bit.
The main conflict that happened in the first volume (this novel is divided into four, or whatever, I'm too lazy to check the book again) is Emma's adamant belief that a certain Mr. Elton fancies her friend Harriet. Emma was so convinced that she is doing something remarkable and worthwhile by matchmaking these two that she was totally blind-sighted by the fact that Mr. Elton actually wants Emma and not Harriet. It was only when Mr. Elton himself confessed that Emma realized that she was wrong to make assumptions from evidence that she willfully and purposefully interpreted for her own convenience and in support of her own twisted logic. Not only did she embarrass and humiliate Harriet and Mr. Elton by placing them in a very awkward position concerning misread signals and feelings, she has also deliberately cast aside Harriet's suitor Robert who seemed to like Harriet enough and sincerely wanted to be a good husband to her, if she will have him. To Emma, however, Harriet should aspire for more. Not a bad sentiment; in fact it's the kind of liberal thinking ahead of her time--but it's not something accepted by society back then so poor Harriet will only suffer humiliation to her character, all because Emma wants to put her in equal footing as herself which is ridiculous! Harriet is nice and sweet but she can't have the same set of choices and freedom as Emma because Emma has the privilege to be fickle, vain and independent--Harriet simply does not. Emma's ignorance over such an obvious difference between their social standing is irritating--yet also very endearing.
Emma does not care that people in her social circle would see Harriet as beneath them; she adores Harriet nevertheless because she finds her interesting and special and whether or not she realizes it can be a tad condescending is unimportant because Emma only has good intentions even if those intentions get her into troubles of her own silly making. I think Emma is very well-written, filled with enough flaws and entitlement that give her much depth as the protagonist. Another aspect of her character that I had fun exploring was when it comes to her opinions and insights regarding the lovely Jane Fairfax. Emma is insecure around Jane, mostly because Jane is reserved and hard to engage in small talk, as well as the very definition of an accomplished woman that Emma aspires to be. While Emma is merely content indulging on her whims for so-called self-improvement and autonomy outside marriage, Jane Fairfax dedicates herself to fulfilling work outside the confines of her social class which makes her more learned, resourceful and educated about the world. The only thing that Emma comforts herself with when it comes to Jane Fairfax is that Jane is actually pretty dull in personality, often the subject of light mockery between Emma and the slightly douche-y Frank Churchill. In one conversation, they talk about how boring Jane is and that people like Emma and Frank are not to blame if they can't find the energy or time to try and coax Jane out of her shell. Both so arrogant, self-assured and individualistic, Emma and Frank for me are the perfect match.
However, Emma has claimed since the beginning of this book that she has never fallen in love and could never be capable of it hence her aversion towards marriage. I could easily surmise that she could have been an asexual which would be okay but I don't think Austen ever intended her to be that which would have been more of a rewarding character twist, to be honest. It's worth nothing that even though Emma does not want to involve herself in personal romantic entanglements, she is more than happy to insert herself in other people's love lives. Austen plays this absurd character flaw of hers to a tee and I can admit that they are the instances in this novel that I find very enjoyable to peruse. It's the source of this book's conflicts. That being said, almost a good sixty percent of this four-hundred-seventy-seven-paged book is SO FUCKING SLOW AND REPETITIVE. I even said during one of my status updates for my reading progress that the social interactions among characters that populate this book are the Victorian-equivalent of Facebook-ing. The content of these scenes and dialogue does not at all justify the length and I hated every goddamn minute I have to read through all the non-events that happened by the 180-paged mark. Nothing monumental truly transpires after the amusing Mr. Elton-Harriet-Emma drama save for the scarce intriguing narrations concerning Jane Fairfax being a bore to Emma (and Emma feeling guilty about feeling that way), and Emma's contemplation about her real feelings for Frank; and whether or not she's attracted to him or not.
Emma does not end up with Frank Churchill, though. She ends up with Mr. Knightly, an old family friend who is ten or twelve years her senior. And it only took for Harriet to realize that she might fancy Mr. Knightly for herself just so Emma can realize too that she had always loved Mr. Knightly after all. WOW. Who knew that's all it takes? It would have been awesome if we cut out the tons of bullshit parties/get-togethers/whatever where random characters would gossip or charm each other so we could have arrived to this stellar revelation earlier but hey, Austen felt like the other stupid parts of this book that I hated were important so--who I am to argue with a classical writer? I just never remember being this annoyed about minutiae descriptions of ordinary events in classical works unlike when I read an Austen book. Dickens, Hugo, Dumas, and Doyle all have moments where they dwell on piles of descriptive narrative pertaining to scenes that are often not as relevant as others, but at least they kept it down to a minimum and go back to the purpose of their plot in the first place. With Austen's Emma, it was an indulgent feat that littered a great number of chapters for the second and third volume. By the three hundredth or so page, I almost did not want to finish.
But I made a promise to myself that I will push through a Jane Austen novel this time. If I was ever going to do it, I want it to be for Emma because I do find the main character so engaging and relatable, and I care about what happens to her a lot. It's really the other inconsequential interactions among other characters that I would rather without which negatively affected by overall enjoyment and appreciation of this novel once I finished. If only this book was at least two volumes shorter, it would have gotten another full star in its rating instead of three and a half.
The Voyage Out by Virginia Woolf
April 2016
I read Virginia Woolf for the second time last year with her non-fiction essays A Room Of One's Own, and Three Guineas. The first time I've encountered her was when I bought a secondhand copy of Carlyle's House and Other Sketches. I found her so intriguing not just as a writer but as an individual especially the struggles she had about her mental health (she was diagnosed as a manic depressive). It could be said that her creativity is strongly tied or may even be enhanced by her sporadic mood swings and intense emotionalism.
Whether that's the case or not, Woolf is a celebrated author because she is innovative in the way she portrayed the inner workings of a thinking woman who aspired for intellectual stimulation and dedicated herself to a life of passionate pursuit for artistic achievement. The Voyage Out is the earliest novel Woolf ever published, and introduces the character of Clarissa Dalloway who will become her lead protagonist in Mrs. Dalloway which is one of her best works. |
"To feel anything strongly was to create an abyss between oneself and others who feel strongly perhaps but differently.
It appeared that nobody ever said a thing they meant, or ever talked of a feeling they felt, but that was what music was for."
It appeared that nobody ever said a thing they meant, or ever talked of a feeling they felt, but that was what music was for."
I read Virginia Woolf for the second time last year with her non-fiction essays A Room Of One's Own, andThree Guineas. The first time I've encountered her was when I bought a secondhand copy of Carlyle's House and Other Sketches. I found her so intriguing not just as a writer but as an individual especially the struggles she had about her mental health (she was diagnosed as a manic depressive). It could be said that her creativity is strongly tied or may even be enhanced by her sporadic mood swings and intense emotionality. Whether that's the case or not, Woolf is a celebrated author because she is innovative in the way she portrayed the inner workings of a thinking woman who aspired for intellectual stimulation and dedicated herself to a life of passionate pursuit for artistic achievement. The Voyage Out is the earliest novel Woolf ever published, and introduces the character of Clarissa Dalloway who will become her lead protagonist in Mrs. Dalloway which is one of her best works.
In The Voyage Out, we meet twenty-four year old Rachel Vinrace; a deeply sheltered yet inherently curious young woman who embarks on 'a journey of self-discovery' as she was taken under the care of her aunt Helen Ambrose who expressed her anxiety over the fact that Rachel knew so little about the world and all it has to offer; including the relationships with women in a polite yet slowly but surely progressing Edwardian society, as well as the burden and expectation of marriage and lifelong compatibility. Rachel is musically gifted, but wants to learn more about herself and others by getting acquainted with books, and having conversations with other older and more learned women such as her aunt and her friends. She also becomes drawn to two very different men--St. John Hirst and Terrace Hewet.
The former is a rather disparaging and academic man whose depressingly misogynistic views and sense of entitlement often creates a tension with Rachel because he keeps on belittling her person; while the latter she finds a real connection with because he respects her and eventually falls in love with her. The Voyage Out might as well be called The Voyage In because a lot of Woolf's passages for this novel are composed of self-reflection and evaluation of characters' inner lives and their turmoils. One thing I could commend about this book a lot was how well-rounded Woolf's characters had been--even down to the ones I find very disagreeable in nature and manner. I could compare and contrast this with the Jane Austen novel Emma which I read this January and struggled to finish. The stark difference in both novels is that Austen's protagonist Emma Woodhouse is confident about herself and knows who she is and what she wants--only to spectacularly fool herself about a very important grain of truth about her person. Meanwhile, Woolf's Rachel Vinrace knows next to nothing about herself and the depths of her ignorance and passion to become the best version of who she is--only to discover that the greatest inhibition on her way is only herself.
"Of course we're always writing about women--abusing them, or jeering at them, or worshiping them; but it's never come from women themselves. But the lives of women of forty, of unmarried women, of working women, of women who keep shops and bring up children, of women like your aunts--one knows nothing about them. They won't tell you. Either they're afraid, or they've got a way of treating men.
It's the man's view that's represented."
It's the man's view that's represented."
However, I confess that I like Emma more as a character and as a female representation that Rachel. In spite of her flaws, Emma is remarkably admirable; she demands only the best because she respects herself enough to understand no one should ever mistreat her or cast her aside. That being said, Rachel's journey of self-discovery was more nuanced and fully realized than Emma had been in her titular novel, and that lies in how Austen and Woolf writes their female protagonists. Woolf was simply not satisfied by making her heroine fall in love with a man and leave it as that. Throughout her narrative of Rachel and Terrace's love affair, she poses questions regarding gender roles and interpersonal distinctions between how a man and woman communicate, live and pursue their respective vocations.
I also can't help but view Rachel and Terrace's relationship as a representation of how Woolf views her marriage with her husband, whom she was deeply devoted to even if she did commit suicide due to accumulated stress over the years. I maintain personally that there will always be an inequality between men and women in relationships, no matter how much we want to believe we can extinguish this. Opposite-sex relationships can only be meaningful if there is an innate understanding that couples should focus more on their complementary traits. Men and women were never meant to be equal, at least not all the time. I'm sure this wasn't the intended message of The Voyage Out, but it's definitely what was on my mind the entire time I was reading it since I already have established opinions. But this novel doesn't tackle romantic relationships in a way where it romanticizes them and where every couple is better off marrying and raising a family just because it is what is expected. Not at all.
In Woolf's point of view of Edwardian society, a power struggle not just in gender politics but also religion is unavoidable. The women are becoming independent and outspoken of their views already; even those who are blissful with their domestic lives as wives and mothers. They are more willing to talk to their suitors and husbands about what they want, and this is a challenging shift in dynamic for both sexes--but Woolf has portrayed it in a manner that is respectful of both men and women. Helen Ambrose, my favorite character, is one of these progressive women. She doesn't have to be a radical feminist who fights vocally about women's rights. That's not why I found her particularly admirable.
What I love about Helen is that she is happy with her choices--and encourages Rachel to make her own choices and face both rewards and consequences no matter what. Helen was such a splendid woman in her forties who values the wisdom of her age without imposing it on others, especially Rachel. She may not agree with people and their conceited and narrow-minded views, but she is willing to listen and discuss issues with these people, and try to understand where they are coming from. This is notable in the way she welcomes the critical perspectives of St. John Hirst (who never ceases to annoy me so much) who learns to respect her not because she earned it from him but because she is worth it.
"I worship you but I loathe marriage. I hate its smugness, its safety, its compromise, and the thought of you interfering with my work."
I selected that quotation above, which is something Terrace Hewet said to himself as he contemplated the future he may have with Rachel, precisely because it shockingly exposed my very worst fears about domestic life as a whole. But after a few more years went by, I've come to terms with the truth that I'm not afraid or loathsome of marriage as an institution--in fact, I may even respect it too much as a sacred union that I don't want to become a part of it in fear of invalidating its importance. A rather foolish and immature view, I know, which was why I've finally amended it. I think marriage can become a part of my lifelong goals--but it's not my only final destination in life. What I strive for is a career in writing myself, as well as to find a true partner--regardless if it's a man or a woman--who can share and work together with me without sacrificing my individual prospects and desires.
The Voyage Out was a really memorable and enjoyable novel to read. Rachel Vinrace's intellectual awakening to the world of books and philosophy is also a noteworthy representation of Woolf's own initiation to the Bloomsbury Group; an association of like-minded individuals who have encouraged her writing and perspective on things and where she also became more enraptured with her husband who never once discourage her creative voice from reaching its heights. I love and would recommend this book because Virginia Woolf's prose needs to be experienced by anyone interested in seeing things in an invigorating, exploratory way such as she has done with her works.
I may not relate to Rachel completely, but I respected how she evolved in the book, and was definitely happy about her relationship with Terrace Hewet, mostly because Woolf didn't focus on the short-lived romantic fantasy about relationships, but rather the struggles to achieve compatibility and compromise with your partner in spite of your differences in views, experiences and upbringing.