Book #875

REVIEWER: Ange, of Tall, Short & Tiny

Silas Marner is a story about redemption, sin and repentance, love, honesty, loyalty and prejudice. It tells the story of Silas, an unimposing and unfortunate (in looks as well as experience) young man who is unfairly run out of his home village, Lantern Yard, for a crime he did not commit. He begins a new, reclusive life for himself in Raveloe, where the villagers consider him to be a rather enigmatic, unusual character. Silas is a weaver by trade, and spends every possible moment at his work; he weaves when he is sad, he weaves when he is lonely; he weaves. Consequently, he amasses quite a fortune, which brings him great joy. However, when his fortune is stolen, he finds himself aided and finally accepted by the village; when a young child is left orphaned and appears on his doorstep, he is desperate to adopt and raise her, believing his golden fortune to have been symbolically exchanged for this golden-haired toddler.

He raises Eppie alone, and she grows up to be a beautiful, sweet young woman. As she promises herself in marriage, she also promises Silas that she will never leave him alone.

When the thief is discovered, 16 years later, Eppie’s real father, and brother to the thief, wishes to do right by Silas and the daughter he failed to own previously. The story ends with he and his wife proposing to Eppie that she live with them, expecting her to choose their higher position in society over that of her adoptive father.

The blurb on the back of my copy touts Silas Marner as one of Eliot’s most successful and admired works, but I’m not sure I agree. I enjoyed it, but found it very predictable, and there were some chapters that I thought quite irrelevant and unnecessary. Eliot writes in the typically and excessively descriptive style of the 1800s, and I am a little ashamed to admit that I actually fell asleep whilst reading on more than one occasion.

None of the characters really gripped me. Silas was sweet and slightly endearing; I felt for him and the injustices he faced, but was never fully drawn to him. Eppie was bland, although her love for Silas and her strength of conviction for him did give her an extra edge not often found in 1800s heroines. However, the only characters I thought had any real substance were the young cad, Dunstan Cass, and Silas’ motherly neighbour, Dolly Winthrop.

The bonus with this story is that it’s very short, so there isn’t too much time for real boredom to sink in; if it had been longer, I think I would have struggled to get through it in one piece. However, the beginning meandered so slowly that I found my mind wandering quite often. In saying that, it’s not that I didn’t like Silas Marner…I just felt it didn’t live up to my expectations, which were based solely on the blurb on the back of the novel. A good friend of mine loved it, so it obviously has its appeal for some.

I’ll give it 3/5 stars.

Book #537 & #561

REVIEWER: TALL, SHORT & TINY

Today you are getting a bonus – two books from the list, plus a spare, for the price of one.  Enjoy!

I had never heard of ‘Gormenghast’ before it featured on the BBC Big Read Top 200 list, and even then, I had no idea what the novel was about. When a fellow reviewer offered commiserations over the fact that I was going to attempt it, I was a bit wary, but nonetheless, I decided to give it a go. When my copy arrived from The Book Depository, and it turned out I’d ordered a trilogy, I realised I was going to either have triple the fun, or triple the misery.

Sitting somewhere on the fantasy spectrum (although unusually so, as these novels feature no magic, no fantastical creatures, just strange and wild humans), Mervyn Peake has created a world unlike any other inhabited by humans. It’s as though he’s combined an ancient world with a futuristic one; the man’s imagination was certainly a wild one, with more than a touch of madness thrown in for good measure.

‘Titus Groan’
Young Titus, the long-awaited seventy-seventh Earl of Groan, is born into a family controlled by a long tradition of rituals and customs. From the moment he arrives, every action is governed by a pre-determined set of rules; rules which Titus very quickly desires to flout. From the very start, it’s apparent that the characters – the inhabitants of Gormenghast Castle – are a quirky, crazy bunch. Sepulchrave, the seventy-sixth Earl, is obsessed with his library of books, and descends into madness following a fire which destroys every volume. His wife, Gertrude, is surrounded by swarms of white cats and birds, and appears to love them more than her own children. Titus’ sister, Fuschia, is a moody young girl who comes to love her brother as they bond over the madness of their family. Flay, attendant to Sepulchrave, is consumed by his love for the Groans and Gormenghast, and his fatal hatred of the fat cook, Swelter. Steerpike is the young kitchen apprentice with evil designs on the running of the castle; his mastery of Sepulchrave’s gullible twin sisters leads to their ultimate destruction.

‘Gormenghast’
The second book follows Titus as he grows from a boy of seven to a young man of seventeen. From an early age he dreads the pre-ordained ritual that governs every aspect of castle life. His desire for freedom is all-consuming, and he makes various attempts to escape the castle; however, he always returns to his sister, with whom he has developed a strong and loving bond. When Steerpike is eventually unmasked as traitor and murderer, a timely flooding of the castle leads to his death at the hands of Titus. The death of the novel’s main protagonist means Titus is free to reign over the castle, but his desire to leave is so strong that the end of the novel sees him determined to leave.

‘Titus Alone’
The final in the series, this novel was completed and edited after Peake’s death, but if you didn’t know this, you wouldn’t be any the wiser – the editor has captured Peake’s imaginative style (and therefore the main characters’ madness) perfectly. It follows Titus’ abdication from his family home and his role as Earl of Groan. He flees from Gormenghast and finds himself in a foreign land where no one has heard of Gormenghast, or can tell him how to get back there. Through meetings with another bunch of insane characters and unlikely situations, Titus begins to doubt his own history and questions his own sanity; his seeming descent into madness mirroring that of his own father. The overriding impression is that Gormenghast is lost in the past, among traditions and rituals the origins of which have been long-forgotten; the contrast with the advanced city in which he finds himself alludes to this.

Did I enjoy the trilogy? I’m not sure. I’m glad I persevered, and I didn’t hate them, but I certainly breathed a sigh of relief when I turned that very last page.

Am I quietly stoked that I made it through? Most definitely, especially as I finished the second two while nursing my newborn son. Perhaps slight sleep deprivation and the subsequent descent into madness myself served to enhance my appreciation of Peake’s works??

Would I recommend you read them? Um…it’s doubtful. Not because I have any strong dislike of them, but because I (a) don’t want you questioning my own sanity, and (b) am well aware that these novels are a bit like Marmite: you either love it, or you hate it. These are the kind of books you recommend to very close friends only, because you know they won’t hold it against you if they don’t like them.

Book #873

Reviewer: Tall, Short & Tiny

When I first saw the musical – probably close to 20 years ago – I had no idea that it was based on a classic novel, and all I can really remember is that it was dark and gloomy, and seemed to be all about the French Revolution.

So it was with some trepidation that I picked up a copy of the book; the font was small and I envisaged a novel full of dreary tales and chapters made up entirely of the phrase, “Vive la Révolution!” However, it transpires that the backdrop for Hugo’s novel is not the French Revolution as most people believe, which means my pre-judgement of it was waaaaaay off base!

From the very first page, I was hooked – this was a novel I could not put down. It was one of the best classics I’ve read in a long time; it was powerful and poignant and very poetic, despite the often gruelling nature of its subject matter.

Hugo writes in a beautifully evocative way. I often found myself shivering with cold, experiencing numb feet and a gnawing hunger in my belly, along with the main characters. I was drawn in, and my imagination was in overdrive as I pictured the dark cobbled streets of Paris, run-down old buildings, and a vast contrast between the rich and the poor.

It is very difficult to summarise the plot without ruining the story. The characters and events are so cleverly intertwined, and each adds another layer to an already fascinating tale, that I feel I would spoil it for you if I tried. The main plot is the story of ex-convict, Jean Valjean, and his journey to becoming a good person; he is unable to escape his dark past, but various characters along the way help him to create a better life for himself and those he comes in contact with. He draws on each experience to benefit others, and pay forward the forgiveness and love that was shown to him at the beginning of the story.

Essentially, Les Misérables is a story about the power of love, social injustice, and right versus wrong (or perhaps legality versus morality). These themes run strongly through each sub-plot, adding to the complexity and intrigue.

I can’t recommend Les Misérables enough! Go to your local library or better yet, treat yourself to a copy – this is a book that every book lover should own. It exceeded all expectations, and was a beautifully harrowing tale of struggle, morality and humanity. Well-written, and well-deserving of being considered one of the best novels of the nineteenth-century.

Book #799

Reviewer: Tall, Short & Tiny

Speaking with a friend just before Christmas, our conversation turned to what we were each reading.

“Jude the Obscure,” I told her. “But I’m finding it pretty tough going at the moment…”

“It’s depressing, isn’t it??” she cried.

I was relieved; I’d thought that my morning sickness had been the only reason I’d been struggling to find anything endearing about this novel.

Jude the Obscure is a depressing story. Any moments of joy Hardy has thrown in are quickly tempered by tragedy, which makes for a compelling but gloomy read.

From what I’ve gathered, Hardy was one for making his feelings about aspects of Victorian society well-known through his writing. This is certainly evident in the themes running through Jude the Obscure; he is rather blatant in his commentaries of class boundaries, religion and the institution of marriage. At the time of publication (1895), the novel was heavily criticised and even publicly burned by one English bishop.

Jude Fawley, a young orphan, aspires to be a university scholar. He spends his spare time studying Latin and the classics, and firmly believes that his lack of money will be off-set by his intelligence and enthusiasm. He is tricked into marrying a local girl, Arabella. Arabella is vain, and mocks Jude for his studies; Jude in turn scorns Arabella for her trickery, and after two years, she leaves him.

Jude then sets out to follow his university dreams in a nearby city, but is disheartened to learn that his passion for learning is not enough to see him admitted into the university. He is poor, and of the wrong class of society, and no amount of knowledge is going to change this.

While earning his living as a stonemason (and still hopeful that one day he will fulfill his dreams), he meets and falls in love with his cousin, Sue Bridehead. Sue resists Jude’s pledges of love and marries an older gentleman, but is desperately unhappy and finds her husband physically (and therefore sexually) repulsive. This combined with her love for Jude sees her convincing her husband that he should free her from their union, and he agrees – his love for her is so great that he would rather let her go than see her stay and suffer.

Sue and Jude begin to live together in a non-sexual relationship; both are resistant to the idea of marriage in part due to each previous failure, but also because their family has a history of tragic unions. However, Jude eventually convinces Sue that they can have a sexual relationship and live together as a “married” couple without making it official, and they have two children together. They also become instant parents to a son from Jude’s marriage with Arabella; a son he did not know existed, as Arabella had not been pregnant long when she left him.

The family are socially ostracised when it is discovered that Sue and Jude are not legally married. A tragedy that befalls the family sees Sue turn to Christianity; she has previously been indifferent to religion, but is now convinced that the tragedy is divine punishment for her and Jude’s actions, and throws herself completely into the church which has previously ostracised her.

Hardy himself was unable to attend university for financial reasons, and his own wife turned to the church as she got older, causing increasing issues in their own marriage as Hardy was always highly critical of organised religion. I don’t think the novel was intended to be a biographical piece, but it is interesting to see Hardy using it as a very obvious sounding-board for his own thoughts and feelings.

I found this novel to be too depressing to be enjoyable, but there was something compelling about it that had me persevering until the end. I won’t lie – I breathed a sigh of relief when I read the last page – but I think the sporadic moments of happiness and lightness are enough to make this a novel I’m glad I read….I would just recommend you tackle it on bright sunny days, when you have enough moments of sunshine and happiness in your own life to ensure this novel doesn’t bring you down!