The Pursuit of Love.

   "Louisa said to me, her eyes as big as saucers: 'He rushes into her  room before tea and lives with her.' Louisa always describes the act of love as living with. 'Before tea, Fanny, can you imagine it?'"

I have meant to read The Pursuit of Love for so very long. Ever since I read The Mitford Girls by Mary S. Lovell which kept me hooked on the antics of Nancy, Pamela, Diana, Unity, Decca and Debo for the entirety of the Christmas break. The whole family, quite frankly, rock my socks.  I'm still toying with the idea of writing my dissertation on the novels of Nancy Mitford and Jane Austen, but we will see. I am glad to report that this novel was entirely heavenly. Uncle Matthew (thinly masquerading as Mitford's father Lord Redesdale) is a joy: 'This violent, uncontrolled man, like his children, knew no middle course, he either loved or he hated, and generally, it must be said, he hated.' Probably my favourite character in the book to be honest. Although I am glad that I only met this particular tyrant in the pages of a book; I fear I would have been denounced as a 'sewer' and roundly loathed. The sanity of the narrator, Fanny, perfectly acts as a conduit for the madness of the Radlett family and our heroine Linda. Being a terribly awkward being myself, I could not help but marvel at the carefree, self-assured confidence of Linda. Unfortunately I felt the ending was a little rushed. Or perhaps I was more disappointed with the unexpectedly sad conclusion from an otherwise sparkling read. Certainly more bittter-sweet than I had anticipated, but no less enjoyable. 

Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction

This is a must read for any Janeite. What I loved most about this book was how it places Austen squarely in the midst of her radical female contemporaries and predecessors, and it gives Jane back her mantle of 'feminist'. Although by today's standards the feminism involved seems rather tame and out-dated, it is there nonetheless. It also debunks a lot of the 'good Aunt Jane' myths which were created by relatives in the Victorian age, or at least provides an alternative viewpoint. Most importantly it's a nice reminder that we actually know very little about her life, and so excepting conclusions like 'Jane hated Bath' (a theory which is based on the evidence of three letters) is rather rash and unhelpful. The lack of letters from this period has long been attributed to their contents being of an intimate, romantic nature; hence their destruction. However, Kirkham suggests that Jane's period in Bath was a lot more socially and intellectually active than we have been led to believe, for it is 'the one period Austen spent continuously in an urban environment, in contact with a society and culture close to the metropolitan'.  There's a good chance she saw many plays, wrote about her opinions on these plays and notable figures she may have met and just generally broadened her literary horizons, yet in Edward Austen-Leigh's 'Memoir' this time is Bath is merely talked of as a time when she 'went a good deal in society, in a quiet way, chiefly with ladies'. As Kirkham remarks, this is a 'masterly dismissal of five vital years in the author's life in such a way as to inhibit further interest in them'.

'It will not do to approach the female authors of this period and divide them into genuine feminists versus the rest, for at this period to become an author was, in itself, a feminist act.' p.33.

Anyway, theories abound and I for one find Kirkham's suggestions very persuasive. The rest of the book is full of interesting insights, and I came away with a different view of Jane than when I began reading. Even if that is only to be slightly more skeptical of Austen myths which have almost become accepted as fact. 

The Fry Chronicles

'The Fry Chronicles' covers Stephen Fry's Cambridge University years where he met the likes of Hugh Laurie and Emma Thompson and goes on to describe his first tentative steps into the world of show-business. I have to admit now that I am big fan of Stephen Fry. I watch QI religiously and wrote an essay on his US travels and his book 'Stephen Fry in America' at University. In short, I adore the man. No doubt I was expecting great things and I can honestly say I was not disappointed; it has everything that you could wish for in an autobiography; warmth, humour, sadness and the brilliancy of a life rendered with honesty. 

'Incuriosity is the oddest and most foolish failing there is.' p.87

Also I actually found the book to be unexpectedly inspirational. Reading about over-achievers like Mr Fry always makes me want to get up off my arse and do something with my life. When he describes Cambridge for instance, it made me wish that I had the intelligence and means to go to Oxbridge. I know it's only a place and I'm getting a perfectly good degree in Winchester but...oh, to feel a part of all that history! To walk the same halls as Wilde and Forster and Holtby and too many other artists and writers to name. It feels as if it really must be something. I loved reading about his student life the most I think, it reminded me to enjoy my own student days whilst I have the chance. I only have one year left, and I want to squeeze every last ounce of happiness out but the real world comes for me. It is truly a marvelous book, and the vocabulary is breathtaking so read it with a dictionary close at hand... In short, I adored this book because it is probably the closest I will ever get to sitting down and having a good 'ol chinwag with Stephen Fry. 

Cider With Rosie

'Cider with Rosie' was, for me, one of the most evocative books I have ever read. The book is about Laurie Lee's youth in a rural Gloucestershire village after the First World War. Lee recounts a bygone age, where the rural classes were still at the mercy of the seasons and of local superstitions. It is a book of homemade wines, languid summers and rural poverty. You are entirely drawn into the novel from the start by the incredibly insular surroundings of the cramped cottage and the Cotswold valley in which the village sits. 

'Summer, June Summer,with the green back on earth and the whole world unlocked and seething- like winter, it came suddenly and one knew it in bed, almost before waking up; with cuckoos and pigeons hollowing the woods since daylight and the chirping of tits in the pear-blossom.' 

The novel is an unrestrained feast for the senses but it is not this alone which charmed me. I live in Worcestershire, a county in Britain which neighbours Gloucestershire and so, inevitably, there was much in the 'Cider with Rosie' which resonated with me. Being awoken my birdsong from May til August, apple-green spring and unrelenting July sunshine where, it seemed, absolutely nothing seemed to happen but summer. It was not only an ode to the countryside though; there was so much of life, death, youth and age to be found too. A vivid recollection of a way of life largely unknown to us now. 

The Irreconcilable Faces of Jane Austen.

‘Two portraits of Jane Austen are reproduced as the frontispiece to this book. The top one, drawn by Cassandra when both were still young, is the only authentic portrait known. It shows a young woman with penetrating dark eyes, sitting with arms rather aggressively crossed and staring boldly ahead. The mouth is caustic, and there is no more than the suspicion of a smile; the curls are slightly absurd. The subject is plainly attired and sits on what appears to be a simple, country-made, ladder-back chair. The lower portrait is the one commissioned for the Memoir, and executed by Mr Andrews of Maidenhead, on the basis of Cassandra’s unacceptable sketch and the advice of the now elderly relations, who told him what their recollection of the appearance of the author was, as they saw her more than half a century earlier. Mr Andrew’s Jane Austen is altogether more decorous than Cassandra’s. The face is no longer slightly alarming, the cap and curls are prettier, the pose is more ladylike and the chair would belong comfortably in a Victorian dining room. The dress is right for the turn of the century, but this is a Victorian lady, dressed up in the fashion of another age, who could not have read Mary Wollstonecraft or sympathised with some of her ideas, although the young woman of Cassandra’s sketch looks as though she might.’

-Margaret Kirkham, Jane Austen, Feminism and Fiction (1997)

I’ve always found it difficult to reconcile the Memoir portrait with the witty, sardonic authorial voice of her writing. It’s a shame that the latter portrait is the most widely reproduced and recognised likeness of Jane. I for one much prefer Cassandra’s original portrait. The folded arms and almost impatient look are somehow more appealing than it’s wide-eyed Victorian counterpart. 

I Step Once More Into the Fray...

So, I was just perusing the bookshelves in a local Oxfam charity shop (nothing new there) when I  spotted a notice asking for a 'book worm' to volunteer to sort and price books! Well how could I walk past a notice like that? During term time at University I volunteer at an Oxfam, but mainly sorting donations and working the till so I never have the opportunity to get my hands on very many books. I'm still job-hunting for a paid vacancy in a shop or something, but this is too good an opportunity to miss! I'll be gaining experience, meeting new people and spending all day around second-hand books. Utter, utter bliss. The only cause for concern is that I may end up buying more books than I'm selling...but even so it's for a good cause so, roll on Monday and my first day!

Jasmine x

The Diary of a Nobody

This is such a fun little read! It was originally published as a serial in Punch magazine in 1892 and despite it's short length it is a masterpiece of comic brevity. Precisely nothing out of the ordinary happens to Mr. Charles Pooter, its the turn of phrase which he uses which had me chuckling to myself. Mr Pooter is so absurdly banal as to call him a characterisation of genius worthy of Dickens himself. I'll leave you with a particularly hilarious extract from the text to give a flavour of the style. Whether we like it or not, we are all a little Pooter. 

“Gowing began his usual sniffing, so, anticipating him, I said: ‘You’re not going to complain of the smell of paint again?’ He said: ‘No, not this time; but I’ll tell you what, I distinctly smell dry rot.’ I don’t often make jokes, but I replied: ‘You’re talking a lot of DRY ROT yourself.’ I could not help roaring at this, and Carrie said her sides quite ached with laughter. I never was so immensely tickled by anything I had ever said before. I actually woke up twice during the night, and laughed till the bed shook.”

A Moveable Feast

I have a confession to make. A Moveable Feast is my first ever foray into the realms of Ernest Hemingway. I know, I know, he is a literary legend and I am a poor excuse for a student of literature for not being familiar with his work. The only excuse I can make is that I'm British, and the only books we are exposed to are almost exclusively from English writers, which I do not dispute is a travesty. 

"all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil"

Having no prior conceptions about Hemingway (other than his fleeting incarnation in Midnight in Paris) I really wasn't sure what to expect. The first thing that struck me was the writing style: stripped back, bare, raw and honest. Unimaginable skill must have gone into every sentence. It is just so easy to get lost in little literary flourishes and lose the impact of authorial intention along the way. Once I got grips with Hemingway's style I was lost in the ancient cobbled streets of Paris, with senses alive to the hubbub of a busy Cafe. I hung on every one of Hemingway's words, and I couldn't believe how descriptive the prose was despite the dearth of adjectives. If you aren't sold on the astonishing quality of the prose alone, then the presence of Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and Gertrude Stein should convince any lover of modern literature to take up this worthy little volume. Upon reading, do prepare to die to see 1920s Paris through the eyes of Hemingway. 

Like a Glutton at a Feast

I've been reading like a glutton at a feast this week. My 'to read' pile has been steadily building over the last few months and now that I am free I've been devouring all in sight. So, stand-by for some reviews and views on my latest literary escapades. 

Jasmine x

Books, Glorious Books!

My eternal desire for book buying has, once again, been satisified for the moment. I think it was the ‘3 books for £1’ which broke me… Anyway, here’s my somewhat eclectic haul this week:

• Dylan Thomas Collected Poems 1934-1952.
• Flowers on the Grass by Monica Dickens.
• The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford. (the only one that strictly speaking I needed to buy…)
• The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham.
• The Princess and the Politicians: Sex, Intrigue and Diplomacy in Regency England, by John Charmley. (a cheeky bit of history for good measure, and who can resist such a title?!)

New Books!

 I live for second-hand book shopping. Whenever I feel the slightest bit down I head straight for the charity shops. Oxfam are particularly good for old and interesting books, including this lovely hardback copy of Brideshead Revisited (which is also beautifully illustrated). To be honest, getting first pick of the donated books is one of the perks of volunteering there;) I’ve also picked up Lark Rise to Candleford, a Penguin book on Victorian Literature and a volume of Jane Austen’s letters! Thoroughly satisfying:)

Review: Up in the Air by Walter Kirn

I must admit, this was one of the rare occasions when I watched the film before reading the book. I needn't have worried because the adaptation is almost unrecognisable from the original. Still, it is an excellent film in its own right though (Clooney and Kendrick: the dream team). I found the novel to be incredibly readable on the whole. Admittedly, some of the business jargon and Airworld terminology went over my head and slowed the narrative down a bit. And Ryan Bingham isn't the most likeable or relatable character I've ever come across. However, Ryan's life choice to try and live commitment free in Airworld made for a refreshing read. And, if you want to go that deep, it threw up some interesting perspectives on the modern interpretation of the 'American Dream'

Just a note to say...

I've settled on a new blog name. So instead of the (lets face it) rather poor 'Books and Tea and Bumblebees', we have 'Poets Love Bees' which I find infinitely more enjoyable. I've been reading a lot of poetry lately and poets really do seem to love bees. Just the other day I picked up Carol Ann Duffy's collection of poems called 'The Bees', which has a gorgeous cover and many poems on her fascination with the insects! I guess I found it interesting, knowing that Sylvia Plath found beekeeping therapeutic too. One of my favourites, Keats's 'To Autumn', talks about bees too. When you stop and think about it, they are a most satisfyingly industrious creature. Anyway, so that is the intelligible ramblings of my mind which facilitated the change.

On an unrelated note, I am quite ashamed of my lack of posts when I started out so eager to write and share when I made this blog! Semester two is hurtling to a close now and so for the next couple of weeks I should have ample opportunity for blogging. I'm going to set myself some new challenges, which hopefully can keep my depression and anxiety at bay:

• Learning to play guitar. 
• Honing my cooking skills. (I have both Vintage Tea Party cookbooks which are just divine but I have yet to attempt any of their creations!)
• Catching up on my goal to read 100 books this year. (only 10 so far...eep!)
• Crafting again. I lament how little time there is to be creative at University, whereas when I'm at home I'm forever sewing or knitting something.
• And, if the Great British weather decides to buck it's ideas up deliver our Spring, then perhaps a spot of gardening too!

Jasmine x

First book post.

I would quite like to keep a record of books that I am currently enjoying. This can be difficult as I am desperately impatient. I can be half-way through 5 books at any one time but here goes. I had a lot of time to kill at Uni today so -armed with my trusty Kindle- I sat down and read Charles Dickens' short ghost story The Signal-Man. This was a great little story about a railway signal-man, who repeatedly saw the spectre of a man before something awful happened on the railway line...chilling stuff!

Other than this I dipped into a bit Jane Austen's Lady Susan too. I'd forgotten how gloriously manipulative the eponymous heroine really is. For so short a piece she is an incredibly lively character: I would have loved to see her equal in a longer work.

What I'm most excited about though is that I've finally got round to starting Gone With the Wind. The gorgeous pictures of Vivien Leigh as Scarlett O'Hara have been drawing me to the story for a couple of years now, and I've decided that 2013 shall be the year for it.

I mean what a face! Naturally, the reading of the novel must always precede the adaptation when possible so true to form I am three chapters in and loving it so far. Margaret Mitchell's style of prose is so vivid and colourful, especially when describing the red dust state of Georgia. My copy of the novel is dear to me as it has the most charming inscription on the inside cover.

It says: 'If this book should dare to roam, box its ears and send it home'. Second hand books are a passion of mine, and I am pretty proud of my collection which I have been working on for a while now, but I just adore the characters and the history's that you get with them!

 

Anyway, I can't say I think much of Scarlett at the moment, but what I can gather from diehard fans is that it's all part of the charm of the novel. We would soon get bored if we immediately adored every literary character that ever sauntered into fruition.