Category: Reviews
The Best Tales of Hoffmann
The Best Tales of Hoffmann by E.T.A. Hoffmann, 1/5
I found these rambling tales to be deeply boring and written in an off-putting, affected style. The first story, “The Golden Flower Pot,” (vaunted by the editor as Hoffmann’s best work) absolutely reeks of opium, full as it is of confusing dream sequences, hallucinations, inconsistent use of supernatural elements, and such oddities as a salamander exiled from “Fairyland Atlantis” to earth, in the form of an old man with daughters disguised as talking snakes. All that, but somehow, still boring and pointless.
Each successive story disenchanted me anew and it was toilsome work to get through the entire book. The only story I didn’t actively loathe was “Tobias Martin, Master Cooper, and His Men,” which is a sweet little tale whose lack of any real payoff or point is forgivable, given that it was inspired simply by a painting.
[Why I read it: the author’s name caught my eye as I browsed through books in the thrift store because, as a child, I had played a piano transcription of part of an opera called The Tales of Hoffmann, and I recognised his name from the song description.]
Twelfth Night
Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare, 5/5
This lighthearted and unrelentingly witty play is similar to As You Like It and A Midsummer’s Night Dream, but is my favourite of the three. While I find it distracting to see the modern version of the text side-by-side with the original, in this case, it really helped me to understand a lot of humour that would otherwise have gone right over my head.
[Why I read it: part of the aforementioned long-term mission to read everything by Shakespeare. I picked this copy up from the thriftstore.]
Tristram Shandy & A Sentimental Journey
The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman and A Sentimental Journey Through France and Italy by Laurence Sterne, 2/5
With its unconventionally rambling narrative and unsubtle innuendos, I am not surprised that this book created quite a stir in the 1700s. However, stripped of its shock value by modern times, Tristram Shandy seems to me little more than the idle fantasies of a bored and not especially talented hobby writer. There are a few quality passages (especially those involving the Widow Wadman) but overall I get the distinct feeling that Sterne just wrote whatever drivel came into his head and, if he had lived in modern times, would probably have been too busy re-watching old episodes of Lost to write at all.
[Why I read it: I’ve been meaning to read it for years, since first seeing it mentioned in C.S. Lewis’s Surprised by Joy:
For eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably. Of course not all books are suitable for mealtime reading. It would be a kind of blasphemy to read poetry at table. What one wants is a gossipy, formless book which can be opened anywhere. The ones I learned so to use at Bookham were Boswell, and a translation of Herodetus, and Lang’s History of English Literature. Tristram Shandy, Elia and the Anatomy of Melancholy are all good for the same purpose (142).
Also, many actors I like are in the movie version of the book, so I recently watched it, which led to my customary feelings of obligation to read the book (and feelings of guilt for not having read the book first).]
Knots and Crosses
Knots and Crosses: An Inspector Rebus Novel by Ian Rankin, 2/5
This has about the same depth, complexity and uniqueness as the plot of an average episode of any old crime TV show. The story unfolds in a way that leaves the reader as clueless throughout as the main character seems to be and the ending feels rushed, with no real payoff. The most interesting part of the book was multiple appearances of the unusual word “outwith,” which is Scottish for “outside” or “beyond.”
[Why I read it: I enjoyed the first season of Rebus (a TV show based on Rankin’s literary character) but the show did a complete cast reboot for the second season and I didn’t like the new actors (or the new writers and director, for that matter) at all. While reading reviews, looking for some commiseration, I was surprised that several people liked the new series because they felt it was truer to the books’ portrayal of the character. Realising I was one of those annoying people who have an opinion on the movie but have never even read the book, I hastened to remedy the situation and was punished for my sins with the first novel, which so failed to inspire me to read any more books in the series that I can’t even imagine how it inspired a TV show.]
The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses
The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses by C.S. Lewis, 5/5
I half-expected C.S. Lewis’ intellectual style to be unsuited to the short-speech format, but was only slightly surprised to find that he is as brilliant a writer of sermons as a writer of books. Of the nine essays in this collection, I found “The Weight of Glory” to be the most challenging and “Is Theology Poetry?” the most encouraging, both addressing, to some extent, struggles I am currently experiencing.
My deepening distaste for humanity in general and aversion to interaction with humanity in particular made some parts of “The Weight of Glory” difficult to read and almost impossible to believe (though I have fewer reasons to doubt Lewis’ assertions than to trust them).
It may be possible for each to think too much of his own potential glory hereafter; it is hardly possible for him to think too often or too deeply about that of his neighbour. The load, or weight, or burden of my neighbour’s glory should be laid on my back, a load so heavy that only humility can carry it, and the backs of the proud will be broken. It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you say [saw?] it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations – these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit – immortal horrors or everlasting splendours (18).”
Luckily, Lewis can comfort as well as he convicts and I found the following excerpt (greatly weakened by the lack of supporting context) to be a welcome antidote to the noxious mélange of malaise and meaninglessness to which I have been lately putting up an admittedly feeble resistance:
If, on the other hand, I swallow the scientific cosmology as a whole, then not only can I not fit in Christianity, but I cannot even fit in science. If minds are wholly dependent on brains, and brains on biochemistry, and biochemistry (in the long run) on the meaningless flux of the atoms, I cannot understand how the thought of those minds should have any more significance than the sound of the wind in the trees. And this is to me the final test. This is how I distinguish dreaming and waking. When I am awake I can, in some degree, account for and study my dream. The dragon that pursued me last night can be fitted into my waking world. I know that there are such things as dreams; I know that I had eaten an indigestible dinner; I know that a man of my reading might be expected to dream of dragons. But while in the nightmare I could not have fitted in my waking experience. The waking world is judged more real because it can thus contain the dreaming world; the dreaming world is judged less real because it cannot contain the waking one. For the same reason I am certain that in passing from the scientific points of view to the theological, I have passed from dream to waking. Christian theology can fit in science, art, morality, and the sub-Christian religions. The scientific point of view cannot fit in any of these things, not even science itself. I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else (91).”
[Why I read it: it was given me as a birthday present and I am always eager to read anything nonfiction by C.S. Lewis.]
Forever Rumpole
Forever Rumpole: The Best of the Rumpole Stories by John Mortimer, 3/5
Rumpole, an irreverent, outspoken and devastatingly sarcastic barrister, specialising in criminal law, is the scourge of judges but the delight of juries (who he entertains) and the criminal classes (who he generally gets acquitted). The character is appealing, but I felt that the stories were lacking in complexity and substance. Also, it’s challenging to respect a character who is portrayed as having the reputation, amongst criminals, of a guaranteed procurer of “not guilty” verdicts. I’d rather read a story about the defence of an innocent, decent person than the defence of someone who’s only a petty thief and con-man and thus would never have committed the murder in question…
[Why I read it: I’ve been meaning to watch the TV show but just got around to the book first, thinking it sounded like fun.]
The Universe in a Nutshell
The Universe in a Nutshell by Stephen Hawking, 4/5
This book’s strengths and weaknesses balance very well with those of Hawking’s older work, A Brief History of Time, making this an excellent companion to the latter. Where A Brief History is old and short on illustrations, The Universe in a Nutshell is updated (2001) and illustrated in a style that can only be described as luxurious. Additional topics covered include a chapter on the future of biological and technological innovation, as well as a chapter on p-branes.
Despite these improvements, the layout of the new book feels uncomfortably disjointed for the subject matter – the meaty parts of the text are interrupted by large pictures, captions and info boxes. I actually prefer the drier, straightforward presentation of A Brief History. Additionally, I feel that many parts of this book are not as clearly communicated and I missed the tone of charming humility and open-mindedness that was evident in such abundance in the older version.
The illustrator’s website is definitely worth a look.
[Why I read it: I was looking for a more modern Hawking book with which to follow the aged A Brief History of Time.]
Kant and the Platypus
Kant and the Platypus: Essays on Language and Cognition by Umberto Eco, trans. from the Italian by Alastair McEwen, 1/5
I have had to quit books before. In fact, of the 185 books I’ve read over the last 26.5 months, I’ve quit four. This, however, is the first one I’ve had to abandon for the sole reason that it is simply too hard for me to understand. Not only did I fail to understand the concepts, I couldn’t even understand the words used to describe the concepts. My usual method of relying on context to understand the odd piece of unfamiliar vocabulary was useless in the face of incomprehensible context. Eco spouts Latin (all of which McEwen leaves untranslated) like he’s suffering from some strange, academic form of Tourette’s, while throwing around words like “infundibular” and “columbarium” with the airy abandon of someone who owns stock in dictionary.com. I made it to page 69. Oh, the disgrace…and the irony – that I should find a book on language and cognition to be unreadable.
[Why I [tried to] read it: saw it on an online list of must-read philosophy books, found the title intriguing and mistook the author for Italo Calvino.]
Killing Floor
Killing Floor by Lee Child, 3/5
This has an entertaining and well-structured, though by no means unique, plot. The writing style is unintentionally hilarious, with short, macho sentences and strangely frequent occurrences of the word “graunch” (ok, maybe three times doesn’t count as “frequent,” but it definitely is strange).
Another trademark is the use of numerous minute observations and descriptions, which have no plot significance and, combined with Child’s limited and repetitious vocabulary, lead to some strange effects. One of these is “The Sucky Rubber Door Seals.” Having initially described how the police station’s “plate-glass doors…sucked against rubber seals” and “sucked shut” (7), Child proceeds to use this exact description with a frequency that can only be described as weird. For example, on page 50, the “big plate-glass door of the station house…sucked against the rubber seal.” Page 131: “…the big glass door sucked open.” Page 150: “the station house door sucked open.” Page 246: “I heard the glass door suck open.” Page 449: “Pushed open the heavy glass door against its stiff rubber seal.” Weird. I’d have to say that the doors aren’t the only thing about the book that sucks… Still it’s a fun read and, for a first novel, even impressive.
[Why I read it: I heard good things about the series from my dad and, though I hated the movie, I thought the Jack Reacher character had potential to amuse.]
Heroes of the Dawn
Heroes of the Dawn: Stories of Fionn and the Fianna by Violet Russell, 5/5
Given the prominent “School Edition” on the cover, the large text inside and the lack of any sort of author biography, I fully expected this to be a childish retelling of Irish legends, popularised for an American audience. I was wrong. The stories are beautifully and simply told by Violet Russell, née North, wife of Irish Nationalist and writer George “AE” Russell (whose Wikipedia article is well worth a read). There is no higher qualification needed for a recorder of myths than to be able to write, without pretension, what can be found in the beginning of the dedication “to Brian and Diarmuid”:
When you were small, and could not read for yourselves, and the long winter twilights were wearisome to you – sitting by the fire while the shadows played with each other over the room I told you these stories of ancient days, when magic and mystery and the folk of the other world were part of every one’s belief.
It is because you cared for them that I have re-written some of those about Fionn and his warriors, thinking that other children might wish – as you did – to know something about the old gods so often mentioned in the legends, and about Fionn and the Fianna Eireann.
The art by Beatrice Elvery is, even in this stripped-down, black-and-white, school version of the book, exceptional. My battered copy is missing the frontispiece (and the last page, irritatingly), but I scanned in the rest of the images since a convenient collection doesn’t seem to exist elsewhere on the internet.
A little research revealed quite a bit about the book’s author and illustrator…if only I could find out something about the book’s previous owner, who scrawled name and address several times amongst the pages. Plunket Stewart of Barrack Street No. 12, I’m thinking of you!
[Why I read it: obeying my compulsion to check the contents of vintage books that have no title printed on the spine, I found this in a Missouri antique store. I’m always on the look-out for lesser-known mythologies (basically anything that’s not Greek or Roman).]
OmniRambles 