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1Petroglyph
Main List
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Black opera by Mary Gentle. Finished: July 2016
I enjoyed the hell out of her alternate history doorstopper Ash: A secret history last year, so my hopes for this one are high. All I know is that it's set in an alternate 19thC Napels, and that it's about summoning the devil through the magical properties of music and opera. -
Currently reading Brobyggarna by Jan Guillou. English title: The bridge builders
A 2014 christmas present from my in-laws. First in a series of four books following a Norwegian family of engineers through the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. -
De yttre boulevarderna by Patrick Modiano. Translation: Ring roadsFinished: May 2016
A present from my in-laws (which is why I'm reading this in Swedish instead of the original French). -
Currently reading Collected Stories by Gabriel García Márquez.
Part of an effort to read more Latin-American authors. -
Le crime du comte Neville by Amélie Nothomb. Translation: The crime of Count NevilleFinished: June 2016
I love Nothomb's quirky little novels full of spirited dialogues and off-kilter perspectives. This is her latest and one of the few I haven't yet read. -
Villette by Charlotte Brontë.Finished: December 2016
It's been years since I read anything by the Brontës, so on this year's list it goes. From what I've gathered, Villette is a gender-flipped and more elaborate version of The Professor, which I thought was ok. -
The bonesetter's daughter by Amy Tan.
I've heard many good things about Tan, but have never read her. This one has stood unread on my shelves for years, ever since I picked up a copy at a library sale. About time I got to it. -
Der Potemkinsche Hund by Cordula Simon. Translation: The Potemkinian dogFinished: November 2016
Part of an effort to read more German. All I know about this book is that it's by a friend of a friend, that it's magical-realism-ish, and that it's about a reanimated corpse wandering around Odessa. Sounds entertaining enough. -
The quest for Corvo: An experiment in biography by A. J. A. Symons. Finished: December 2016
I loved the eccentric Catholic fanfic Hadrian the Seventh when I read it last year, and The quest for Corvo is a highly-recommended biography of that book's cantankerous and erratic Mary Sue author, Frederick Rolfe. -
Currently reading Little, big by John Crowley.
A gift from a good friend of mine, which I have sadly never gotten around to reading. Until this year, that is! -
Ancillary justice by Ann Leckie.Finished: September 2016
It won all the big SF prizes, so I'm expecting it to be pretty good. -
Araben by Pooneh Rohi. Translation: The Arab
Written by a colleague. About immigrants' experiences in Stockholm.
Alternates:
- TBA. EITHER Meditations by Marcus Aurelius OR Drosilla and Charikles by Joan B. Burton.
Part of an effort to read more by the Ancients. I left the Meditations unfinished as a teen; D&C is a 12thC Byzantine novel, one of four extant examples of the genre. -
Euphoria by Lily King. Finished: October 2016
A present from my SO. A fictionalized semi-biography, about anthropologist Margaret Mead's experiences in Papua New Guinea. -
Currently reading Prosten Huuskonens bestialska betjänt by Arto Paasilinna. Translation: The beastly servant of Pastor Huuskonen
I've embarked on this slim volume twice, but each time it's failed to keep my interest. It's about a Lutheran pastor in a small Finnish village and the wild bear he adopts as pet/companion. -
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen. Finished: December 2016
I'm reading my way through Austen's bibliography in order of publication. This one is next on the list. -
Så går en dag ifrån vårt liv och kommer aldrig åter by Jonas Gardell. Translation: And so another day disappears from our lives, never to returnFinished: December 2016
I've enjoyed other books by Gardell, who is one of the more prominent contemporary Swedish authors, and I liked the films he wrote the script for. -
The king in yellow by Robert W. Chambers. Finished: October 2016
Preparation for a binge-watch of True Detective, which my friends keep recommending to me. -
The song of Achilles by Madeline Miller.Finished: December 2016
A 2014 SantaThing present. Gay fiction about the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos. -
Late Antiquity: a very short introduction by Gillian Clark. Finished: July 2016
I know relatively little about the gradual dissolution of the Western Roman Empire and the subsequent establishment of Germanic kingdoms. This book (and the next one on this list) should give me at least a general idea. -
Die Germanen by Herwig Wolfram. Translation: The Germanic tribes. Finished: December 2016
See previous item. Also, part of an effort to read more German: every time I visit a German-speaking country I bring back at least one book, which I then leave to clutter up the "to be read next" shelf. -
New Amsterdam by Elizabeth Bear. Finished: June 2016
Short stories of the fantasy/steampunk persuasion. Intended as a palate cleanser, to be read over several months, one or two stories at a time. -
Homo faber by Max Frisch. Finished: January 2017
A 2015 Christmas present. Appears to be a 20thC classic. -
Currently reading Valsrivier by Dominique Botha.
A present from my SO, bought during a recent trip to South Africa. It's in Afrikaans, which I, as a native speaker of Dutch, can probably get through without too much effort; or perhaps not: I've never tried. We'll see!
Many local authors (I live in Sweden), some light non-fiction, and a few books I've been meaning to get to. Almost all of these (except Drosilla and Charikles and The king in yellow) I already own, which means that the TBR pile should have shrunk by at least 20 items this time next year. Right?
4Petroglyph
Yeah, I kinda neglected to comment on the 2015 thread (though the original post is kept updated), partly because I didn't have the time to write reviews this year. But this time around I'm determined to Get Stuff Done, and an unfinished post like that is going to irk me into action.
6Petroglyph
>5 artturnerjr: Glad to be back!
The list is up! (with two empty spots, to be filled by any christmas presents).
The list is up! (with two empty spots, to be filled by any christmas presents).
8Cecrow
I've only read one short story by Marquez and it was in keeping with the magical realism of One Hundred Years. Villette I've downloaded for my ereader, after really liking Jane Eyre and wanting to try more by Charlotte. Same here with Amy Tan, I have her Joy Luck Club on TBR. Little, Big is on my pile too. Ann Leckie definitely has won a high profile and I've considered that series.
Byzantine novels - wow, there's such a thing? You're doing with Austen what I'm doing with Dickens. That's the third list with King in Yellow, I didn't realize there was a tv show prompting it. Lots of variety here, not just in genre and format but also in language - whew! I'm overwhelmed enough just considering what's printed in English.
Byzantine novels - wow, there's such a thing? You're doing with Austen what I'm doing with Dickens. That's the third list with King in Yellow, I didn't realize there was a tv show prompting it. Lots of variety here, not just in genre and format but also in language - whew! I'm overwhelmed enough just considering what's printed in English.
9.Monkey.
>8 Cecrow: No TV show in my case, though it's not technically on my list either, just being read all the same. But it's been on my shelves several years now. :)
10Petroglyph
>7 .Monkey.:
Six, though at varying levels of fluency. German is definitely my weakest language, hence the effort to read more in it.
>8 Cecrow:
I've long since given up on the idea of "keeping up" in any real sense: I've a vested interest in too many subfields and too many nations/languages. I now merely plod along as best I can, veering from recommendation to favourite to random curiosity.
Six, though at varying levels of fluency. German is definitely my weakest language, hence the effort to read more in it.
>8 Cecrow:
I've long since given up on the idea of "keeping up" in any real sense: I've a vested interest in too many subfields and too many nations/languages. I now merely plod along as best I can, veering from recommendation to favourite to random curiosity.
12Cecrow
Coming from a unilingual person who has struggled to learn French his entire life, I can only admire as well. Wish I had the talent for that. I try not to lose sleep over worrying whether I read the best translation of anything. It would be fantastic to be able to read a work in two languages, compare them and judge how good the translation actually was.
13.Monkey.
Yeah, I'm still struggling with Dutch and recently decided to throw my hat in with Italian as well because, hey why not! LOL. We'll see how I actually get on with them in a while! :P
14abergsman
Someone gave me a copy of Euphoria this year. While it's not on my challenge list, I do plan on reading it in 2016.
Six languages, impressive!
Six languages, impressive!
15billiejean
I have been meaning to read Villette for a while. So I hope it's a great read for you. I liked Northanger Abbey.
16artturnerjr
>1 Petroglyph:
The only one of your authors that I've read is Jane Austen (well, I've read a couple of short stories each by Robert W. Chambers and Elizabeth Bear, but that hardly counts). We've discussed the Chambers collection elsewhere; hope we are able to get on the same page (pun intended) with that one later on this year. I've heard lots of good things about both Little, Big and Ancillary Justice; hope they live up to the hype. Oh, and I hope you get around to True Detective - it really is an excellent show.
Good luck and happy reading! :)
The only one of your authors that I've read is Jane Austen (well, I've read a couple of short stories each by Robert W. Chambers and Elizabeth Bear, but that hardly counts). We've discussed the Chambers collection elsewhere; hope we are able to get on the same page (pun intended) with that one later on this year. I've heard lots of good things about both Little, Big and Ancillary Justice; hope they live up to the hype. Oh, and I hope you get around to True Detective - it really is an excellent show.
Good luck and happy reading! :)
17thebookmagpie
Villette is definitely an improvement on The Professor, IMO. It definitely fleshes out the motivations and struggles of the characters to a greater degree. A great list though, and one I'll watch your progress on with interest! I wish I could read more fluently in another language (I can manage fairly well in Spanish but only fairly).
18Petroglyph
Just FYI: the listing in the OP is now complete. I've also added a book pile photo; the other books are either at the office or I have as ebooks, and a picture of (most of) those will be included in a future update.
>14 abergsman:
Let me know when you're planning on reading Euphoria: we could do it simultaneously, if you want.
>17 thebookmagpie:
Spanish is sadly a language that I cannot speak (yet), but it's probably going to be the next one I try on!
>14 abergsman:
Let me know when you're planning on reading Euphoria: we could do it simultaneously, if you want.
>17 thebookmagpie:
Spanish is sadly a language that I cannot speak (yet), but it's probably going to be the next one I try on!
19abergsman
>18 Petroglyph: I just finished Euphoria today! I picked it up last week when I realized it was the January selection for my book club...that meets tomorrow. I am currently holding off on my final opinion. I vacillate back and forth between liking it, and being annoyed by big chunks of it! If you read it anytime soon, I would love to discuss it with you! It's a quick read.
20Petroglyph
>19 abergsman:
Great! Let's do that!
Great! Let's do that!
21Petroglyph
De yttre boulevarderna by Patrick Modiano. Translation: Ring roads
Why did I choose to read this?
A present from my in-laws (which is why I'm reading this in Swedish instead of the original French). Nobel-worthy material, apparently.
Review
If one of the more annoying subgenres of LitFic is “Middle-aged introvert contemplates adultery”, then this book can be described as “Middle-aged introvert contemplates their daddy issues” -- another subgenre I have very little patience with.
Rest of the review here. TL;DR: worldbuilding and atmosphere good, main story too whiny.
Why did I choose to read this?
A present from my in-laws (which is why I'm reading this in Swedish instead of the original French). Nobel-worthy material, apparently.
Review
If one of the more annoying subgenres of LitFic is “Middle-aged introvert contemplates adultery”, then this book can be described as “Middle-aged introvert contemplates their daddy issues” -- another subgenre I have very little patience with.
Rest of the review here. TL;DR: worldbuilding and atmosphere good, main story too whiny.
22Cecrow
Yeah, I just read a "Middle-aged introvert contemplates adultery" novel called Angle of Repose, lol. She contemplated that for several hundred pages, no less.
23Petroglyph
Der Potemkinsche Hund by Cordula Simon
Why did I choose to read this?
Part of an effort to read more German. All I know about this book is that it's by a friend of a friend, that it's magical-realism-ish, and that it's about a reanimated corpse wandering around Odessa. Sounds entertaining enough.
Review
Unfortunately, I did not like this book. I wanted to, because the premise sounds entertaining enough -- a reanimated corpse wanders around Odessa, and so does the woman who reanimated him -- but the execution was much too plodding and overwrought. The two main characters take ages to almost get somewhere: they rarely act or impact their stories and instead muse their slow way across the pages. It’s rather too stream-of-consciousness for my taste -- the kind designed to show off that the author has ideas, not the one that stimulates immersion or familiarity with characters. I also found it hard to distinguish between the various character voices: their stream of consciousness blended into indistinctiveness. Perhaps I’m too impatient, but I felt that the book was artificially kept running in place.
It did not help that several of the chapters felt entirely pointless to me: alternate chapters flesh out background characters that observe or cause something in the main plot (that was a good thing), only for them to get dropped after their fifteen minutes on the page. And this is a trick that Simon repeats until almost the end: even four fifths into the book, new characters disappear as soon as the next chapter heading shows up.
Perhaps Simon was going for the kind of morose lack-of-purpose fiction that illustrates a post-war or post-soviet zeitgeist. If so, the conceit went over my head. I did not feel this one at all.
Why did I choose to read this?
Part of an effort to read more German. All I know about this book is that it's by a friend of a friend, that it's magical-realism-ish, and that it's about a reanimated corpse wandering around Odessa. Sounds entertaining enough.
Review
Unfortunately, I did not like this book. I wanted to, because the premise sounds entertaining enough -- a reanimated corpse wanders around Odessa, and so does the woman who reanimated him -- but the execution was much too plodding and overwrought. The two main characters take ages to almost get somewhere: they rarely act or impact their stories and instead muse their slow way across the pages. It’s rather too stream-of-consciousness for my taste -- the kind designed to show off that the author has ideas, not the one that stimulates immersion or familiarity with characters. I also found it hard to distinguish between the various character voices: their stream of consciousness blended into indistinctiveness. Perhaps I’m too impatient, but I felt that the book was artificially kept running in place.
It did not help that several of the chapters felt entirely pointless to me: alternate chapters flesh out background characters that observe or cause something in the main plot (that was a good thing), only for them to get dropped after their fifteen minutes on the page. And this is a trick that Simon repeats until almost the end: even four fifths into the book, new characters disappear as soon as the next chapter heading shows up.
Perhaps Simon was going for the kind of morose lack-of-purpose fiction that illustrates a post-war or post-soviet zeitgeist. If so, the conceit went over my head. I did not feel this one at all.
25Cecrow
There you are, haven't seen you in a while! Sorry that it's to report a stinker, though. I've been sucked in by a premise or two that should have worked wonders and couldn't work a single one.
26Petroglyph
>24 .Monkey.:
I thank my sense of duty and my stubbornness. Or maybe my neuroses. Either way, it's finished. Only a few more to go!
>25 Cecrow:
Yeah, I've been crazy busy this year -- not much time to write reviews -- or read, for that matter (my count for this year is fairly low).
Not all books are winners. Makes you appreciate the ones that work all the more!
I thank my sense of duty and my stubbornness. Or maybe my neuroses. Either way, it's finished. Only a few more to go!
>25 Cecrow:
Yeah, I've been crazy busy this year -- not much time to write reviews -- or read, for that matter (my count for this year is fairly low).
Not all books are winners. Makes you appreciate the ones that work all the more!
27Petroglyph
Black Opera by Mary Gentle
Why did I choose to read this?
I enjoyed the hell out of her alternate history doorstopper Ash: A secret history last year, so my hopes for this one are high. All I know is that it's set in an alternate 19thC Napels, and that it's about summoning the devil through the magical properties of music and opera.
Review
I’ve noticed a trend with books about opera: some of the craziness and whimsy of opera plots tends to bleed into the main plot, resulting in an in-universe reality that feels slightly enhanced. Black Opera has that in spades.
Going by the sales pitch, Black Opera has all the makings of a riveting alternate-history yarn, complete with opera, 19th-century royalty, secret societies, the raised dead, the Inquisition, a volcanic eruption, a Napoleon Bonaparte prison break, and a main plot that sets an atheist against a secret religious society planning on using uncatholic magic to hack into reality and bring into being a nasty, cruel and vindictive God to sit in judgement over all. If that is not a recipe for awesomeness, I don’t know what is.
Ultimately, I felt that the book did not deliver on all the promises that its premise made. That is not to say I did not enjoy the book -- large stretches of it I basically speed-read because Gentle applied the Rule of Cool so expertly. And yet, for all the intrigue and awesomeness that drive the crazy plot, the pacing of the book was off sometimes: I felt the balance with slower-moving subplots and the timing of plot twists could have been handled a little better. Also, not everything was brought to a conclusion that matched the book’s tone and/or my expectations: some resolutions I thought were too rushed, others too neat.
Still, in a weird way, the opera-esque recklessness of the plot compensates for these shortcomings, and makes them feel almost appropriate. Almost.
In short, I found Black Opera to be a pretty enjoyable read, a rolicking ride that almost goes all-out, but that doesn’t end as satisfactorily as it could have. Pick it up if you’re interested, though: the good parts are more than good enough to outweigh its problems.
Why did I choose to read this?
I enjoyed the hell out of her alternate history doorstopper Ash: A secret history last year, so my hopes for this one are high. All I know is that it's set in an alternate 19thC Napels, and that it's about summoning the devil through the magical properties of music and opera.
Review
I’ve noticed a trend with books about opera: some of the craziness and whimsy of opera plots tends to bleed into the main plot, resulting in an in-universe reality that feels slightly enhanced. Black Opera has that in spades.
Going by the sales pitch, Black Opera has all the makings of a riveting alternate-history yarn, complete with opera, 19th-century royalty, secret societies, the raised dead, the Inquisition, a volcanic eruption, a Napoleon Bonaparte prison break, and a main plot that sets an atheist against a secret religious society planning on using uncatholic magic to hack into reality and bring into being a nasty, cruel and vindictive God to sit in judgement over all. If that is not a recipe for awesomeness, I don’t know what is.
Ultimately, I felt that the book did not deliver on all the promises that its premise made. That is not to say I did not enjoy the book -- large stretches of it I basically speed-read because Gentle applied the Rule of Cool so expertly. And yet, for all the intrigue and awesomeness that drive the crazy plot, the pacing of the book was off sometimes: I felt the balance with slower-moving subplots and the timing of plot twists could have been handled a little better. Also, not everything was brought to a conclusion that matched the book’s tone and/or my expectations: some resolutions I thought were too rushed, others too neat.
Still, in a weird way, the opera-esque recklessness of the plot compensates for these shortcomings, and makes them feel almost appropriate. Almost.
In short, I found Black Opera to be a pretty enjoyable read, a rolicking ride that almost goes all-out, but that doesn’t end as satisfactorily as it could have. Pick it up if you’re interested, though: the good parts are more than good enough to outweigh its problems.
28billiejean
Nice review!
29Petroglyph
>28 billiejean:
Thanks!
Thanks!
30Petroglyph
Euphoria by Lily King
Why did I choose to read this?
A present from my SO. A fictionalized semi-biography, about anthropologist Margaret Mead's experiences in Papua New Guinea.
Review (also here)
This was a lovely book. Set in 1930s Papua New Guinea, it focuses on a trio of anthropologists trying to understand the local cultures without approaching them through patronizing/colonial attitudes. There’s human interest in there, field methods, a love story, professional admiration, professional jealousy, ruminations on social roles, and plain old slice-of-historical-life. All that, and reading it felt entirely effortless and natural, as though the book could not have been told differently. And additionally, it’s a fictional semi-biography, too. Pretty damn good writing, in other words.
Warmly recommended.
Why did I choose to read this?
A present from my SO. A fictionalized semi-biography, about anthropologist Margaret Mead's experiences in Papua New Guinea.
Review (also here)
This was a lovely book. Set in 1930s Papua New Guinea, it focuses on a trio of anthropologists trying to understand the local cultures without approaching them through patronizing/colonial attitudes. There’s human interest in there, field methods, a love story, professional admiration, professional jealousy, ruminations on social roles, and plain old slice-of-historical-life. All that, and reading it felt entirely effortless and natural, as though the book could not have been told differently. And additionally, it’s a fictional semi-biography, too. Pretty damn good writing, in other words.
Warmly recommended.
31Petroglyph
Le crime du comte Neville by Amélie Nothomb
Why did I choose to read this?
I love Nothomb's quirky little novels full of spirited dialogues and off-kilter perspectives. This is her latest and one of the few I haven't yet read.
Review (Also here)
This was entirely what I expected it to be, and I’m happy with that.
Le crime du comte Neville deals with a family of impoverished Belgian aristocracy whose famed garden parties and whose obsession with being the perfect hosts have garnered them a reputation of indispensability, while simultaneously (and secretly) driving them to bankruptcy. Various unconventional circumstances lead almost inevitably to the central question: can the Count’s youngest daughter (his favourite) convince him that it is in everyone’s best interest that he assassinate her during their final garden party?
Nothomb’s great gift is that she knows how to present as entirely natural her weird, off-kilter plots that veer wildly from one previously unconsidered perspective to another, culminating in a weirdly-sensical resolution. (I would even go so far as to say that her books feel fairly Japanese, in this respect.) On the other hand, her greatest failing is not knowing how to end her stories organically once that point has been reached (in this particular bookshe opts to resolves the issue through deus ex machina ). Le crime du comte Neville is a good example of both of these.
In other words, not her best one, but a fun little read nonetheless, and entirely representative.
Why did I choose to read this?
I love Nothomb's quirky little novels full of spirited dialogues and off-kilter perspectives. This is her latest and one of the few I haven't yet read.
Review (Also here)
This was entirely what I expected it to be, and I’m happy with that.
Le crime du comte Neville deals with a family of impoverished Belgian aristocracy whose famed garden parties and whose obsession with being the perfect hosts have garnered them a reputation of indispensability, while simultaneously (and secretly) driving them to bankruptcy. Various unconventional circumstances lead almost inevitably to the central question: can the Count’s youngest daughter (his favourite) convince him that it is in everyone’s best interest that he assassinate her during their final garden party?
Nothomb’s great gift is that she knows how to present as entirely natural her weird, off-kilter plots that veer wildly from one previously unconsidered perspective to another, culminating in a weirdly-sensical resolution. (I would even go so far as to say that her books feel fairly Japanese, in this respect.) On the other hand, her greatest failing is not knowing how to end her stories organically once that point has been reached (in this particular book
In other words, not her best one, but a fun little read nonetheless, and entirely representative.
32Petroglyph
Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie
Why did I choose to read this?
It won all the big SF prizes, so I'm expecting it to be pretty good.
Review (Also here)
Ancillary Justice is pretty good. A deserved winner. Feels like social science fiction with a hard science fiction setting and ditto protagonist. So many other people have reviewed it that I don’t think I need to say more.
I’ll certainly read the rest of the trilogy.
Why did I choose to read this?
It won all the big SF prizes, so I'm expecting it to be pretty good.
Review (Also here)
Ancillary Justice is pretty good. A deserved winner. Feels like social science fiction with a hard science fiction setting and ditto protagonist. So many other people have reviewed it that I don’t think I need to say more.
I’ll certainly read the rest of the trilogy.
33Petroglyph
The song of Achilles by Madeline Miller
Why did I choose to read this?
A 2014 SantaThing present. Gay fiction about the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos.
Review (Also here)
The song of Achilles could be pitched as a biography of Patroklos. It predominantly deals with the relationship between Achilles, greatest of the Achaeans, and Patroklos, his lover and brother-in-arms (but mainly the former).
There were lots of things that this book did right. For one, it was well-written, with a language and style that kept a neat middle between the requirements of contemporary prose and the sense of a three-thousand-plus year old tale. It’s also a complete story, in that it not only retells the Trojan War, but all the semi-mythic material before and after that is needed to properly complete the story. For all that, it’s well-paced: the bits that could drag are given enough charm or interest of their own that they don’t, and the bits that shouldn’t drag, don’t.
What I particularly liked about this book, though, is that Miller made the whole thing feel downright crisp: the choice of side-character like Patroklos as main character forces a judicious selection from well-known material, but it also brings a fresh perspective on the whole mythological cycle. As a result, neither feels constraining, and the story seems almost new.
The song of Achilles engaged me from about the second chapter in, and kept me committed until the very end. Not bad at all!
Why did I choose to read this?
A 2014 SantaThing present. Gay fiction about the relationship between Achilles and Patroklos.
Review (Also here)
The song of Achilles could be pitched as a biography of Patroklos. It predominantly deals with the relationship between Achilles, greatest of the Achaeans, and Patroklos, his lover and brother-in-arms (but mainly the former).
There were lots of things that this book did right. For one, it was well-written, with a language and style that kept a neat middle between the requirements of contemporary prose and the sense of a three-thousand-plus year old tale. It’s also a complete story, in that it not only retells the Trojan War, but all the semi-mythic material before and after that is needed to properly complete the story. For all that, it’s well-paced: the bits that could drag are given enough charm or interest of their own that they don’t, and the bits that shouldn’t drag, don’t.
What I particularly liked about this book, though, is that Miller made the whole thing feel downright crisp: the choice of side-character like Patroklos as main character forces a judicious selection from well-known material, but it also brings a fresh perspective on the whole mythological cycle. As a result, neither feels constraining, and the story seems almost new.
The song of Achilles engaged me from about the second chapter in, and kept me committed until the very end. Not bad at all!
34Petroglyph
Så går en dag ifrån vårt liv och kommer aldrig åter by Jonas Gardell
Why did I choose to read this?
I've enjoyed other books by Gardell, who is one of the more prominent contemporary Swedish authors, and I liked the films he wrote the script for.
Review (In Swedish here)
Such comforting existential angst. I love Gardell’s dysfunctional family books: most everyone is slightly ocd, they don’t really believe they deserve to exist, they are convinced that to interact with people equals imposing on them, they fail to really talk to each other the way perfect people do on tv, and they are stuck in neurotic rituals of their own making. The big city gets bigger, mere ageing does not necessarily bring about maturity, and the future looks like it’s going to change everything just like it always does. On top of that, it’s Christmas, and everyone has their role to put up with. Cue veritable depression.
This is all told in Gardell’s trademark short-burst style that lands on precisely the right detail or finds the perfect phrase to reiterate sarcastically. Style mirrors content, as it should.
Having been raised in such a family, I can only approach this book with a mixture of admiration at Gardell getting it so absolutely right, and quaint type of nostalgia. Like a nostalgia for the famous disasters from when I was a kid: only now can I truly understand just how horrible they must have been for the people involved, but at the same time the distance in time lets me stay at an emotional distance.
Comforting, easy-to-read existential angst. That’s exactly what this book feels like.
Why did I choose to read this?
I've enjoyed other books by Gardell, who is one of the more prominent contemporary Swedish authors, and I liked the films he wrote the script for.
Review (In Swedish here)
Such comforting existential angst. I love Gardell’s dysfunctional family books: most everyone is slightly ocd, they don’t really believe they deserve to exist, they are convinced that to interact with people equals imposing on them, they fail to really talk to each other the way perfect people do on tv, and they are stuck in neurotic rituals of their own making. The big city gets bigger, mere ageing does not necessarily bring about maturity, and the future looks like it’s going to change everything just like it always does. On top of that, it’s Christmas, and everyone has their role to put up with. Cue veritable depression.
This is all told in Gardell’s trademark short-burst style that lands on precisely the right detail or finds the perfect phrase to reiterate sarcastically. Style mirrors content, as it should.
Having been raised in such a family, I can only approach this book with a mixture of admiration at Gardell getting it so absolutely right, and quaint type of nostalgia. Like a nostalgia for the famous disasters from when I was a kid: only now can I truly understand just how horrible they must have been for the people involved, but at the same time the distance in time lets me stay at an emotional distance.
Comforting, easy-to-read existential angst. That’s exactly what this book feels like.
35Petroglyph
Villette by Charlotte Brontë
Why did I choose to read this?
It's been years since I read anything by the Brontës, so on this year's list it goes. From what I've gathered, Villette is a gender-flipped and more elaborate version of The Professor, which I thought was ok.
Review (Also here.)
SPOILERS THROUGHOUT THIS REVIEW
TL;DR: There are a few things I liked about this book, but overall, to me, this is an instance where changing times and mores have rendered earlier centuries’ attitudes too distasteful to be ignored.
I liked the main character. Miss Snowe is clever, resourceful, and knows what she wants (even if her ambitions are low). Her snarkiness plays a big role in her charm. She’s a wonderfully complex character. There were enough interesting musings and general bird’s-eye views on life mixed in with the text, too. It drags in places, but overall the narrative maintains a pleasant momentum.
However.
The attitudes espoused in the book and held up by the characters as “how things ought to be” I found too distasteful to overlook: there’s aggressive patriarchal abuse, there’s sanctimonious posturing with religious credentials, and there’s colonial-style racism aplenty. They may make the text a rich field to explore intellectually, but they annoyed much of the reading pleasure out of me.
First, there’s the gender issues. Viewed as a romance novel, Villette presents the main character, introverted expat teacher Lucy Snowe, with the choice between two love interests. One is an ideal (English)man, whose ideal spouse is one who is his intellectual partner. And on the other hand there is M. Emanuel, a domineering, exacting brute with frightening anger management issues and temper tantrums, who will not tolerate contradiction or even imagined disobedience. His ideal woman is one who obeys him absolutely (an arch eyebrow will trigger a “know your place, woman” speech), who immerses herself in him, lives up to his exacting yet unspoken standards, and who successfully navigates his moving-the-goalposts scrutiny. Spoiler: This is the one Miss Snowe ends up choosing.
Brontë “redeems” M. Emanuel in true battered-woman form: his exactitude, tyranny and temper tantrums merely stem from genuine, full-on passion and honesty, dontcha see? That’s just who he is. Also, he’s been hurt before: doesn’t that earn him indulgence and compassion? That time he scolded her for wearing clothes that weren’t mouse-grey and wildly (and knowingly) exaggerated their showiness because even a mild “transgression” is a transgression? That’s not domineering, it just shows you he cares. His constantly lording his academic superiority over her, well he only means the best for her, and his expectations are high! Don’t you see that he needs to test her, to be sure she’ll live up to his standards? It’s for her own good. Really, he means well. That time he showed her some much-needed affection and then went completely incommunicado for two weeks, well, that was necessary because he was preparing a surprise, and he would not be able to keep it from her if she subjected him to her sincere and irresistible feminine questions. So you see, it really was her own fault. Also, her emotional despair during the interval is irrelevant, this really was about his emotions.
Lucy Snowe (and the reader) is not to notice the systematic pattern of denigration and abuse. We are invited to see him as a poor, suffering victim who needs fixing by a special woman who can see the real person underneath the abuse and tyranny.
This is where the religious hypocrisy comes in: M. Emanuel is, after all, a very pious man -- surely that will vouch for his decency?
Much is made of Emanuel’s strongly held Roman Catholicism: to illustrate that, it is revealed that he has been spending his last twenty years in self-imposed mortification, near-poverty and deprivation, in order to benefit people who kinda sorta wronged him. Brontë presents that as laudable and redeem-worthy because isn’t he just sooo pious? I thought it was merely perverse, a case of ostentatious and downright pathological Catholic guilt taken to extremes. Especially because the revelation about his mortification is presented to the reader as an invitation to reconsider the quality of his character: it takes principles and lofty morality and strength of resolve to commit to this course of action. Well, no. To me, this turns the whole affair into a case of ostentatious flagellation, designed to trigger goodwill: showy Catholic suffering used as emotional manipulation while pretending to high morality. Somebody is suffering beyond necessity; therefore the issue deep and admirable and worthwhile. No, it really, really isn’t. (It is true that it is Brontë who sets it up like this, but in-universe it is M. Emanuel who expects the revelation to change Miss Snowe’s opinion of him, too.)
And finally, there is the racism. The main cast consists mostly of smug, impossibly arrogant English expats looking down on both the locals and the immigrants -- except other Englishmen, and the occasional Frenchman, who, after all, represents a prestigious and long-standing High Culture. They are so smug they do not realize they are immigrants too -- and do not realize their smugness. The native people of Labassecour/Belgium are generally described as too rural, ugly and stupid to merit any interest, except for a few of the ones who’ve mastered enough French to not sound like a local. Anyone who’s worth noticing is either a French or an English expat/immigrant; even the indigenous royalty, nobility and bourgeoisie is dismissed haughtily, not to be taken seriously as company or one’s intellectual equals.
(Disclaimer: I myself am Belgian.)
It’s not as though these issues are mainly located in the background as (well, the racism is, usually): the patriarchal abuse is held up front and center, and the main focus of the book, and this made it too hard for me to give the book the benefit of the doubt. The fact that pretentious religious posturing is presented as a redeeming factor did not help.
Why did I choose to read this?
It's been years since I read anything by the Brontës, so on this year's list it goes. From what I've gathered, Villette is a gender-flipped and more elaborate version of The Professor, which I thought was ok.
Review (Also here.)
SPOILERS THROUGHOUT THIS REVIEW
TL;DR: There are a few things I liked about this book, but overall, to me, this is an instance where changing times and mores have rendered earlier centuries’ attitudes too distasteful to be ignored.
I liked the main character. Miss Snowe is clever, resourceful, and knows what she wants (even if her ambitions are low). Her snarkiness plays a big role in her charm. She’s a wonderfully complex character. There were enough interesting musings and general bird’s-eye views on life mixed in with the text, too. It drags in places, but overall the narrative maintains a pleasant momentum.
However.
The attitudes espoused in the book and held up by the characters as “how things ought to be” I found too distasteful to overlook: there’s aggressive patriarchal abuse, there’s sanctimonious posturing with religious credentials, and there’s colonial-style racism aplenty. They may make the text a rich field to explore intellectually, but they annoyed much of the reading pleasure out of me.
First, there’s the gender issues. Viewed as a romance novel, Villette presents the main character, introverted expat teacher Lucy Snowe, with the choice between two love interests. One is an ideal (English)man, whose ideal spouse is one who is his intellectual partner. And on the other hand there is M. Emanuel, a domineering, exacting brute with frightening anger management issues and temper tantrums, who will not tolerate contradiction or even imagined disobedience. His ideal woman is one who obeys him absolutely (an arch eyebrow will trigger a “know your place, woman” speech), who immerses herself in him, lives up to his exacting yet unspoken standards, and who successfully navigates his moving-the-goalposts scrutiny. Spoiler: This is the one Miss Snowe ends up choosing.
Brontë “redeems” M. Emanuel in true battered-woman form: his exactitude, tyranny and temper tantrums merely stem from genuine, full-on passion and honesty, dontcha see? That’s just who he is. Also, he’s been hurt before: doesn’t that earn him indulgence and compassion? That time he scolded her for wearing clothes that weren’t mouse-grey and wildly (and knowingly) exaggerated their showiness because even a mild “transgression” is a transgression? That’s not domineering, it just shows you he cares. His constantly lording his academic superiority over her, well he only means the best for her, and his expectations are high! Don’t you see that he needs to test her, to be sure she’ll live up to his standards? It’s for her own good. Really, he means well. That time he showed her some much-needed affection and then went completely incommunicado for two weeks, well, that was necessary because he was preparing a surprise, and he would not be able to keep it from her if she subjected him to her sincere and irresistible feminine questions. So you see, it really was her own fault. Also, her emotional despair during the interval is irrelevant, this really was about his emotions.
Lucy Snowe (and the reader) is not to notice the systematic pattern of denigration and abuse. We are invited to see him as a poor, suffering victim who needs fixing by a special woman who can see the real person underneath the abuse and tyranny.
This is where the religious hypocrisy comes in: M. Emanuel is, after all, a very pious man -- surely that will vouch for his decency?
Much is made of Emanuel’s strongly held Roman Catholicism: to illustrate that, it is revealed that he has been spending his last twenty years in self-imposed mortification, near-poverty and deprivation, in order to benefit people who kinda sorta wronged him. Brontë presents that as laudable and redeem-worthy because isn’t he just sooo pious? I thought it was merely perverse, a case of ostentatious and downright pathological Catholic guilt taken to extremes. Especially because the revelation about his mortification is presented to the reader as an invitation to reconsider the quality of his character: it takes principles and lofty morality and strength of resolve to commit to this course of action. Well, no. To me, this turns the whole affair into a case of ostentatious flagellation, designed to trigger goodwill: showy Catholic suffering used as emotional manipulation while pretending to high morality. Somebody is suffering beyond necessity; therefore the issue deep and admirable and worthwhile. No, it really, really isn’t. (It is true that it is Brontë who sets it up like this, but in-universe it is M. Emanuel who expects the revelation to change Miss Snowe’s opinion of him, too.)
And finally, there is the racism. The main cast consists mostly of smug, impossibly arrogant English expats looking down on both the locals and the immigrants -- except other Englishmen, and the occasional Frenchman, who, after all, represents a prestigious and long-standing High Culture. They are so smug they do not realize they are immigrants too -- and do not realize their smugness. The native people of Labassecour/Belgium are generally described as too rural, ugly and stupid to merit any interest, except for a few of the ones who’ve mastered enough French to not sound like a local. Anyone who’s worth noticing is either a French or an English expat/immigrant; even the indigenous royalty, nobility and bourgeoisie is dismissed haughtily, not to be taken seriously as company or one’s intellectual equals.
(Disclaimer: I myself am Belgian.)
It’s not as though these issues are mainly located in the background as (well, the racism is, usually): the patriarchal abuse is held up front and center, and the main focus of the book, and this made it too hard for me to give the book the benefit of the doubt. The fact that pretentious religious posturing is presented as a redeeming factor did not help.
36.Monkey.
>35 Petroglyph: Racism deals with, well, race. Everyone in the book was caucasian. But yes, Charlotte seemed to be rather a xenophobe who had a particularly vile hatred of Belgians, which frankly I thought was quite minor in Villette but OMG are you kidding me with this already?!?!? in The Professor, where she had the headmaster guy just like psh *dismissive handwave* literally telling the dude his Flemish workers were simply brute savages. Like every other page was some completely asinine ridiculous crap about the awful ignorant beasts Belgians were and I wanted to throttle her.
Anyway. I feel like you read a little too much into things about Emanuel. He was irritating but I don't think he was so horrible as you make him out here, and it was clear to me that she was going to choose him from the first moment he entered, from the way she talked about him. And while he did want a woman who would obey him (sidenote: that was actually the law, women were pretty much property of their husbands who had no options of their own), he also wanted a woman who was intelligent and strong-willed. While I certainly wouldn't put up with his antics, I don't believe at all they were so abusive as you make out. And, the religion, I dislike it, but as you say, the book is a product of its times, and that was what it was. Both Jane Eyre and Tenant of Wildfell Hall feature strong women ... whose strength stems in large part from their piety and knowing that so long as they are true to god, they shall overcome, whether in this life or the next. I am not religious and I am certainly not a christian of any sort, Catholic or otherwise, so I find clinging to faith rather than simply believing in oneself & one's own morals to be obnoxious and I wish their heroines were simply strong women on their own, without resorting to god, but these stories are not modern, they were written in different times, and I can accept that, if a bit grudgingly. ;)
Anyway. I feel like you read a little too much into things about Emanuel. He was irritating but I don't think he was so horrible as you make him out here, and it was clear to me that she was going to choose him from the first moment he entered, from the way she talked about him. And while he did want a woman who would obey him (sidenote: that was actually the law, women were pretty much property of their husbands who had no options of their own), he also wanted a woman who was intelligent and strong-willed. While I certainly wouldn't put up with his antics, I don't believe at all they were so abusive as you make out. And, the religion, I dislike it, but as you say, the book is a product of its times, and that was what it was. Both Jane Eyre and Tenant of Wildfell Hall feature strong women ... whose strength stems in large part from their piety and knowing that so long as they are true to god, they shall overcome, whether in this life or the next. I am not religious and I am certainly not a christian of any sort, Catholic or otherwise, so I find clinging to faith rather than simply believing in oneself & one's own morals to be obnoxious and I wish their heroines were simply strong women on their own, without resorting to god, but these stories are not modern, they were written in different times, and I can accept that, if a bit grudgingly. ;)
37Petroglyph
>36 .Monkey.:
Perhaps I should have used "xenophobia" or "nationalistic snobbery", though contemporary notions of race and those of Brontë's time do not quite match -- Villette mentions a "Catalonian race", sees clear differences in Celtic and Saxon or English and French physiques, and treats the English as a superior nation by dint of the populace's inborn qualities.
I agree that The professor was worse. In part, I think, because it is shorter, and the xenophobia more condensed than in the semi-regular comments scattered throughout Villette.
"The past is a different country" usually works for me -- I did not react as strongly to Jane Eyre or The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, or the unpleasantness in The Count of Monte Cristo, because, well, different times and attitudes and laws and all that. Even Wuthering Heights didn't get to me, because Heathcliff is much more enigmatic and erratic. This book felt a little different, more actively odious. M. Emanuel's behaviour (and the excuses made for his thuggery) read like Brontë took a list of abusive behaviours (and the excuses made for them) and used them as a blueprint for the main sequence of events. (See for instance Why does he do that? Inside the minds of angry and controlling men, which I leafed through recently.) I also liked Lucy Snowe much more than the others (Not sure about Jane Eyre, haven't read that in over fifteen years), so I guess his behaviour to her felt worse.
Piety is fine with me: what I found distasteful was using piety to shield abusive behaviour, the covering-up of harmful and/or pathological behaviour with the veil of piety, as though a religious motivation instantly excuses the actions committed under it. It was the straw that broke the camel's back: my patience and goodwill had run out.
Perhaps I should have used "xenophobia" or "nationalistic snobbery", though contemporary notions of race and those of Brontë's time do not quite match -- Villette mentions a "Catalonian race", sees clear differences in Celtic and Saxon or English and French physiques, and treats the English as a superior nation by dint of the populace's inborn qualities.
I agree that The professor was worse. In part, I think, because it is shorter, and the xenophobia more condensed than in the semi-regular comments scattered throughout Villette.
"The past is a different country" usually works for me -- I did not react as strongly to Jane Eyre or The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, or the unpleasantness in The Count of Monte Cristo, because, well, different times and attitudes and laws and all that. Even Wuthering Heights didn't get to me, because Heathcliff is much more enigmatic and erratic. This book felt a little different, more actively odious. M. Emanuel's behaviour (and the excuses made for his thuggery) read like Brontë took a list of abusive behaviours (and the excuses made for them) and used them as a blueprint for the main sequence of events. (See for instance Why does he do that? Inside the minds of angry and controlling men, which I leafed through recently.) I also liked Lucy Snowe much more than the others (Not sure about Jane Eyre, haven't read that in over fifteen years), so I guess his behaviour to her felt worse.
Piety is fine with me: what I found distasteful was using piety to shield abusive behaviour, the covering-up of harmful and/or pathological behaviour with the veil of piety, as though a religious motivation instantly excuses the actions committed under it. It was the straw that broke the camel's back: my patience and goodwill had run out.
38Petroglyph
Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
Why did I choose to read this?
I'm reading my way through Austen's bibliography in order of publication. This one is next on the list.
Review (Also here.)
This was fun, especially the beginning and the very end of Northanger Abbey, where Austen indulges in meta-comments, authorial intrusions, direct appeals to the reader, and the most obvious jokes. Most of the rest of this short novel plays out like a regular Jane Austen book, with the occasional reminder that this is -- in part -- a parody.
Jane Austen parodying her own style and genre. Fun!
Why did I choose to read this?
I'm reading my way through Austen's bibliography in order of publication. This one is next on the list.
Review (Also here.)
This was fun, especially the beginning and the very end of Northanger Abbey, where Austen indulges in meta-comments, authorial intrusions, direct appeals to the reader, and the most obvious jokes. Most of the rest of this short novel plays out like a regular Jane Austen book, with the occasional reminder that this is -- in part -- a parody.
Jane Austen parodying her own style and genre. Fun!
39Petroglyph
Late antiquity: a very short introduction by Gillian Clark
Why did I choose to read this?
I know relatively little about the gradual dissolution of the Western Roman Empire and the subsequent establishment of Germanic kingdoms. This book should give me at least a general idea.
Review
A good entry in the Very Short Introductions series: Clark provides a thematically-organized account of the transition of power from the domains formerly ruled by the (Western) Roman Empire to domains ruled by the various Germanic kingdoms. The focus lies on showing how cultural, theological, administrative and political debates taking place under the latter rule were natural continuations of those ongoing under previous rule, as opposed to the apparently superseded conquer-and-start-anew story I was taught in school. The book clarified the period for me, and corrected some misconceptions I had. Job well done, in other words.
One complaint I have is that Clark could have dealt more with the perspective of the incoming Germanic tribes, or the everyday Gallo-Romans, instead of devoting so much attention to theological disputes. But I suspect that the latter may be one of the things that sets this book apart from similar ones, so I won’t hold it against Clark.
Bonus points for including maps! Tracing migrations of people is so much easier with them!
Why did I choose to read this?
I know relatively little about the gradual dissolution of the Western Roman Empire and the subsequent establishment of Germanic kingdoms. This book should give me at least a general idea.
Review
A good entry in the Very Short Introductions series: Clark provides a thematically-organized account of the transition of power from the domains formerly ruled by the (Western) Roman Empire to domains ruled by the various Germanic kingdoms. The focus lies on showing how cultural, theological, administrative and political debates taking place under the latter rule were natural continuations of those ongoing under previous rule, as opposed to the apparently superseded conquer-and-start-anew story I was taught in school. The book clarified the period for me, and corrected some misconceptions I had. Job well done, in other words.
One complaint I have is that Clark could have dealt more with the perspective of the incoming Germanic tribes, or the everyday Gallo-Romans, instead of devoting so much attention to theological disputes. But I suspect that the latter may be one of the things that sets this book apart from similar ones, so I won’t hold it against Clark.
Bonus points for including maps! Tracing migrations of people is so much easier with them!
40Petroglyph
Die Germanen by Herwig Wolfram
Why did I choose to read this?
I know relatively little about the gradual dissolution of the Western Roman Empire and the subsequent establishment of Germanic kingdoms. This book should give me at least a general idea. Also, part of an effort to read more German: every time I visit a German-speaking country I bring back at least one book, which I then leave to clutter up the "to be read next" shelf.
Review
This book briefly lays out the societal and political development of the German tribes between about the 2ndC BCE and the 6thC CE. The focus is on showing their internal diversity and subsequent Romanization before/while they took over large portions of the territories formerly under Roman control. This book, in combination with the Clark one, clarified my mental picture of Late Antiquity and of the tribes across the Rhine. Job well done, in other words.
Wolfram has very little patience with the various misunderstandings and/or ideological mythologies that the various Germanic tribes or their victories have been marshalled to support. It is, therefore, decidedly odd when the book ends with a paean to European unity engendered by the combination of Frankish exceptionalism and persistence in the face of danger, and Anglo-Saxon and Irish missionary zeal.
The book has only one big shortcoming, and that is the lack of maps. I don’t know where the rivers in Germany or the Balkans are (e.g. Drau, Save, Enns), and a grasp of the relative geographic location of various rivers and the Rhine is often essential to understanding the text.
Why did I choose to read this?
I know relatively little about the gradual dissolution of the Western Roman Empire and the subsequent establishment of Germanic kingdoms. This book should give me at least a general idea. Also, part of an effort to read more German: every time I visit a German-speaking country I bring back at least one book, which I then leave to clutter up the "to be read next" shelf.
Review
This book briefly lays out the societal and political development of the German tribes between about the 2ndC BCE and the 6thC CE. The focus is on showing their internal diversity and subsequent Romanization before/while they took over large portions of the territories formerly under Roman control. This book, in combination with the Clark one, clarified my mental picture of Late Antiquity and of the tribes across the Rhine. Job well done, in other words.
Wolfram has very little patience with the various misunderstandings and/or ideological mythologies that the various Germanic tribes or their victories have been marshalled to support. It is, therefore, decidedly odd when the book ends with a paean to European unity engendered by the combination of Frankish exceptionalism and persistence in the face of danger, and Anglo-Saxon and Irish missionary zeal.
The book has only one big shortcoming, and that is the lack of maps. I don’t know where the rivers in Germany or the Balkans are (e.g. Drau, Save, Enns), and a grasp of the relative geographic location of various rivers and the Rhine is often essential to understanding the text.
41Petroglyph
The quest for Corvo: An experiment in biography by A. J. A. Symons
Why did I choose to read this?
I loved the eccentric Catholic fanfic Hadrian the Seventh when I read it last year, and The quest for Corvo is a highly-recommended biography of that book's cantankerous and erratic Mary Sue author, Frederick Rolfe.
Review
This was a blast. Immensely entertaining. Such a page-turner that I enjoyed pacing myself and reading it over the span of several weeks rather than speed-reading through it all at once.
A basic piece of advice for writing non-fiction texts is that they should present the information and the conclusions straight-up; it is a rookie mistake to tell the readers how the author became intrigued by the subject, how they amassed and digested all the information, and how they came to form the conclusions they did. But Symons did write his biography of Frederick Rolfe like that, intentionally so, and the end result is a romp, unputdownable once you’ve fallen victim to Symons’ infectious enthusiasm. One of the best books I’ve read this year.
Symons’ quest starts with him coming across one of Rolfe’s novels (through an eccentric friend), and his initial curiosity about the man rapidly spins out of control. For indeed, Rolfe was a very strange, eccentric man, full of intentionally odd principles, and above all very eager to take offence. That, coupled with his unwavering expectation that an artist (literator, photographer, painter) such as himself ought to be financially supported by various maecenases, caused him to cycle through various kind friends/supporters who he inevitably antagonises and subsequently excoriates. He spent most of his life in abject penury, wearing the same clothes for months (and sometimes years) on end. At times, he survived off cadging four, five meals a week while calligraphying his (largely unpublishable) manuscripts out in the open, in a leaky gondola. To Rolfe’s mind, the cause of his suffering was his friends' perfidy and his publishers' niggardly and uncultured attitudes. The real blame of course lay with Rolfe’s bull-headed refusal to compromise, and his great delight in being seen to take offence, as well as in publicly wallowing in blame-shifting. An impossible character he was, and a fascinating person to learn about.
And the learning process is fascinating, indeed. Initially, Symons only has the novel and a few of Rolfe’s weird letters to go on, but in writing to the various family members, frenemies and acquaintances he receives long letters in reply, brimming with odd anecdotes and conflicting accounts: everyone Symons writes to admits that Rolfe was the weirdest person they knew, and are only too keen to illustrate his behaviour. Many of these letters Symons quotes extensively, or even shares in full, and they are a joy to behold, because Rolfe’s correspondence is always fascinating to read aloud to whoever happens to be around: in non-financial matters, his letters are jewels of eccentricity and weird erudition; about payments and pecuniary benefits (supposedly due to him), Rolfe’s congenital peremptoriness and invidious insults are too cocky and self-absorbed to believe.
By comparing others’ accounts with Rolfe’s carefully misremembered and obnoxiously erudite version(s), Symons develops this biography as a series of intriguing mysteries -- a journey of discovery in which his readers are welcome to join. One correspondent leads Symons on to another, conflicting accounts cry out for a resolution, lacunae in the biography can only be filled by tracking down the right correspondent -- if they are still alive! The end result reads like a bibliophilic Dan Brown mystery (though much more engaging): fast-paced little chapters that each contribute a precisely-placed clue to solve the overarching mystery: how did Rolfe end up the way he did, and what happened to all his unpublished manuscripts?
And as with any regular historical mystery thriller, Symons discovers along the waythat there exist other people like him, the occasional fan or admirer of Rolfe's who has spent part of their life tracking down letters and collecting his works. A loosely ordered secret society, if you will. Because of course there is.
In short: A very intriguing look at the life of a stubbornly smug and obsessively eccentric author from the turn of the century, presented as a shared journey of discovery. One of the best books I read this year.
Why did I choose to read this?
I loved the eccentric Catholic fanfic Hadrian the Seventh when I read it last year, and The quest for Corvo is a highly-recommended biography of that book's cantankerous and erratic Mary Sue author, Frederick Rolfe.
Review
TL;DR: A biography of the impossibly self-important Frederick Rolfe, self-styled baron Corvo, author of the weird Catholic fanfic Hadrian the Seventh. Orignally published in 1934, it's a riveting read, and a truly marvellous collage, postmodern-avant-la-lettre. A feat of infectious enthusiasm.
This was a blast. Immensely entertaining. Such a page-turner that I enjoyed pacing myself and reading it over the span of several weeks rather than speed-reading through it all at once.
A basic piece of advice for writing non-fiction texts is that they should present the information and the conclusions straight-up; it is a rookie mistake to tell the readers how the author became intrigued by the subject, how they amassed and digested all the information, and how they came to form the conclusions they did. But Symons did write his biography of Frederick Rolfe like that, intentionally so, and the end result is a romp, unputdownable once you’ve fallen victim to Symons’ infectious enthusiasm. One of the best books I’ve read this year.
Symons’ quest starts with him coming across one of Rolfe’s novels (through an eccentric friend), and his initial curiosity about the man rapidly spins out of control. For indeed, Rolfe was a very strange, eccentric man, full of intentionally odd principles, and above all very eager to take offence. That, coupled with his unwavering expectation that an artist (literator, photographer, painter) such as himself ought to be financially supported by various maecenases, caused him to cycle through various kind friends/supporters who he inevitably antagonises and subsequently excoriates. He spent most of his life in abject penury, wearing the same clothes for months (and sometimes years) on end. At times, he survived off cadging four, five meals a week while calligraphying his (largely unpublishable) manuscripts out in the open, in a leaky gondola. To Rolfe’s mind, the cause of his suffering was his friends' perfidy and his publishers' niggardly and uncultured attitudes. The real blame of course lay with Rolfe’s bull-headed refusal to compromise, and his great delight in being seen to take offence, as well as in publicly wallowing in blame-shifting. An impossible character he was, and a fascinating person to learn about.
And the learning process is fascinating, indeed. Initially, Symons only has the novel and a few of Rolfe’s weird letters to go on, but in writing to the various family members, frenemies and acquaintances he receives long letters in reply, brimming with odd anecdotes and conflicting accounts: everyone Symons writes to admits that Rolfe was the weirdest person they knew, and are only too keen to illustrate his behaviour. Many of these letters Symons quotes extensively, or even shares in full, and they are a joy to behold, because Rolfe’s correspondence is always fascinating to read aloud to whoever happens to be around: in non-financial matters, his letters are jewels of eccentricity and weird erudition; about payments and pecuniary benefits (supposedly due to him), Rolfe’s congenital peremptoriness and invidious insults are too cocky and self-absorbed to believe.
By comparing others’ accounts with Rolfe’s carefully misremembered and obnoxiously erudite version(s), Symons develops this biography as a series of intriguing mysteries -- a journey of discovery in which his readers are welcome to join. One correspondent leads Symons on to another, conflicting accounts cry out for a resolution, lacunae in the biography can only be filled by tracking down the right correspondent -- if they are still alive! The end result reads like a bibliophilic Dan Brown mystery (though much more engaging): fast-paced little chapters that each contribute a precisely-placed clue to solve the overarching mystery: how did Rolfe end up the way he did, and what happened to all his unpublished manuscripts?
And as with any regular historical mystery thriller, Symons discovers along the way
In short: A very intriguing look at the life of a stubbornly smug and obsessively eccentric author from the turn of the century, presented as a shared journey of discovery. One of the best books I read this year.
42Petroglyph
Whew! That was my TBR challenge for 2016. The final chapters of two books (Die Germanen and The quest for Corvo) I could not complete until the very last day of the year.
I managed to complete 15, am currently reading 5 more (I'll eventually finish those, too), and was sadly unable to get to the 4 remaining works. I'm not happy with my progress, but there it is. I enjoyed most of these books, and though there were few stand-out reads, I'm at least glad I read all the ones I did complete.
This year I was unable to spend as much time reading as I wanted (I read practically nothing non-work related until July). Here's hoping that 2017 will be less hectic. Onwards, Readers!
I managed to complete 15, am currently reading 5 more (I'll eventually finish those, too), and was sadly unable to get to the 4 remaining works. I'm not happy with my progress, but there it is. I enjoyed most of these books, and though there were few stand-out reads, I'm at least glad I read all the ones I did complete.
This year I was unable to spend as much time reading as I wanted (I read practically nothing non-work related until July). Here's hoping that 2017 will be less hectic. Onwards, Readers!
44billiejean
Great finish to the year! Congrats!
