The Penguin English Library Project

After administering a final exam on Monday, my spring semester is nearly over -- there's just some marking to do! Since I won't be teaching over the summer, I decided it would be worthwhile to take on a new reading project. Also, I desperately need to catch up on the bookish goals that were pushed to the backburner while school's been in session. When I saw O post this list of classics from The Penguin English Library, I instantly knew I wanted to make a project of it.

Like Emma Woodhouse, I make a good list but often have trouble following through. However, this list mirrors my general reading tastes while pushing me in some new directions. I think it will urge me to open some titles that I might otherwise neglect but are nevertheless pertinent to my research interests. I'll be working on this alongside my Classics Club project.

Without further ado, here it is...

1. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
2. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
3. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
4. Persuasion by Jane Austen
5. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
6. Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens
7. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carroll
8. Emma by Jane Austen
9. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
10. Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
11. The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson
12. Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
13. Dracula by Bram Stoker
14. The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle
15. Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe
16. North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell
17. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen
18. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain
19. Where Angels Fear to Tread by E.M. Forster
20. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
21. Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
22. Middlemarch by George Eliot
23. David Copperfield by Charles Dickens
24. The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins
25. Mansfield Park by Jane Austen
26. Moby Dick by Herman Melville
27. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte
28. Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift
29. The Murders in the Rue Morgue and Other Tales by Edgar Allan Poe
30. Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens
31. The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
32. Silas Marner by George Eliot
33. Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
34. Bleak House by Charles Dickens
35. The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells
36. The Time Machine by H.G. Wells
37. The Pickwick Papers by Charles Dickens
38. Howard's End by E.M. Forster
39. Tess of the D'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
40. The Five Orange Pips and Other Cases by Arthur Conan Doyle
41. The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
42. Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell
43. Hard Times by Charles Dickens
44. Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy
45. Villette by Charlotte Bronte
46. New Grub Street by George Gissing
47. A Room With a View by E.M. Forster
48. The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells
49. Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens
50. Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens
51. Evelina by Frances Burney
52. Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
53. Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon
54. Shirley by Charlotte Bronte
55. Dubliners by James Joyce
56. The Monk by Matthew Lewis
57. The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells
58. The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy by Laurence Sterne
59. Kim by Rudyard Kipling
60. Daniel Deronda by George Eliot
61. The House of Mirth by Edith Wharton
62. Ivanhoe by Walter Scott
63. Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope
64. Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens
65. Ethan Frome by Edith Wharton
66. Martin Chuzzlewit by Charles Dickens
67. Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray
68. Wives and Daughters Elizabeth Gaskell
69. Joseph Andrews by Henry Fielding
70. The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner by James Hogg
71. Daisy Miller and The Turn of the Screw by Henry James
72. The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens
73. Tom Jones by Henry Fielding
74. Mary Barton by Elizabeth Gaskell
75. The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton
76. The Mill on the Floss by George Eliot
77. Pamela by Samuel Richardson
78. The Wings of the Dove by Henry James
79. The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy
80. The Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy
81. Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad
82. The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler
83. Barnaby Brudge by Charles Dickens
84. The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
85. Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
86. The Warden by Anthony Trollope
87. The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens
88. Washington Square by Henry James
89. The Confidence-Man and Billy Budd, Sailor by Herman Melville
90. Under the Greenwood Tree by Thomas Hardy
91. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad
92. The Small House at Allington by Anthony Trollope
93. Sons and Lovers by D.H. Lawrence
94. The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad
95. Doctor Thorne by Anthony Trollope
96. The Last Chronicle of Barset by Anthony Trollope
97. Framley Parsonage by Anthony Trollope
98. Two on a Tower by Thomas Hardy
99. Melmoth the Wanderer by Charles Maturin
100. Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett

The titles I've already read are presented in bold. With 33 completed I've made a respectable start but have quite a few new titles to dig into as well. Are any favourites of yours on this list?

Essays of Elia: My 'New' Antiquarian Treasure

Since reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, I've been dying to get my hands on this collection of essays by Charles Lamb. This text sets the novel in motion and forges bonds between the characters. 

I fell in love with this nineteenth-century edition as soon as I laid eyes on it at a charming antique shop in Park City. Sadly I was jobless (ahem, broke) at the time, so fortune compelled me to leave it on the shelves. When I spotted it again during the Sundance Film Festival, I snatched it right up! When I saw that the book had waited for me to return, I sentimentally concluded we were literary soul mates. 

I haven't had time to read it yet, but I believe Charles Lamb would be perfect on a leisurely, sunshiny sort of day. As an animal studies fanatic, I'm especially anticipating the infamous 'A Dissertation Upon Roast Pig,' and I'm sure Lamb's other literary gems will also delight me. 

Behold! My new baby!

Floral cover

The book features no discernible year of publication, 

but the inscription dates from 1897:

Presented to Mattie Read by the Twenty-First Ward

Primary Association as a Token of Thanks, Appreciation and a

Memento of Feb. 18 and 19, 1897

Title page

'Mankind...for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw,

clawing or biting it from the living animal, just as they do in Abyssinia to this day.'

Bibliotherapy

My haul

I've been feeling rather rotten lately and -- what's worse! -- feeling sorry for myself because I feel rotten. Lots of feelings, few of them benign. At times like these I do what any self-respecting bibliophile does: I buy books! I don't need them. I won't even read them immediately. But damnit, I need some bibliotherapy*!! 

I took myself to my local Barnes and Noble on Saturday, accompanied by a short list of books from my wish list. None of them were in stock. Not one! With my brother by my side, I lamented about the many woes of being a reader whose tastes are far superior to the general reading public while I marched towards the magazines to pick up the latest issue of Marie Claire. [Editor's note: Snob? Hypocrite? Probably both.]

Luckily I found a lovely anthology of P.G. Wodehouse fiction just before closing time. While I've been enamored with the Blandings stories for several years now (I pay homage to him here), I still haven't read any Jeeves. Luckily for me, this charming edition contains two Jeeves novels and one collection of short stories: Joy in the Morning; Very Good, Jeeves!; and Right Ho, Jeeves. According to the blurb on the back, 'P.G. Wodehouse is the gold standard of English wit.' I agree! Looking forward to digging into this one, and the cover is so cute...  

I also stumbled upon a bargain priced edition of The Professor and the Madman by Simon Winchester. This non-fiction text focuses on James Murray, head of the 1887 committee formed to compile the OED, who is surprised to learn that one of the chief contributors to the project is an imprisoned murderer. Gripping material, indeed.

Needless to say, I left the store (haul in one hand, frappuccino in the other) a happy camper. What is it about buying books that boosts one's serotonin levels? Normally I frown upon retail addictions, but how can one argue against a propensity to buying what will actually provide a valuable experience and, ideally anyway, an increase in knowledge (as opposed to the new top that will be out of style in six months)? I mean, really.

Jane Austen also gave me a large dose of medicinal wit. Ah, Jane! I can always count on you. One cable channel thoughtfully broadcast the BBC Pride and Prejudice all weekend long. Consequently, I spent most of it in bed indulging in the following: overdosing on Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, overdosing on Daniel Vincent Gordh as Darcy in the latest episode of The Lizzie Bennet Diaries (which I've watched more times than I care to admit), or reading Georgette Heyer's The Grand Sophy which features a Darcyesque hero. And you know, between my new haul and the inundation of all things Darcy, I feel infinitely better today than I did on Friday.

 

Bibliotherapy to the rescue! :)

Have you read anything from my haul? Do you have books or adaptations you turn to when feeling down in the dumps? If so, please pass on your recommendations.

*I have shamefully stolen this quaint term from Rachel of BookSnob and Old Fashioned Girls.

A Spring Reading Update

Tuscan Spring 2011

Praise to the gods who urged man, with all his faults, to instate the practice of spring break! I am halfway through my own now, and I'm revelling in the glorious relaxation and enjoyment of spring it has allowed. Hallelujah!

With an entire week at my disposal I've been luxuriating in balmy spring weather during meandering walks with the dogs, sleeping in every morning, visiting with friends, watching old classics (think Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant)...and reading! So far this year I've had little time to read for pleasure, and I've felt the absence keenly. Only now have I had the chance to sit and enjoy a book, and it. is. heaven.

The only literary dilemma I've faced this week is the overwhelming confusion about what book to pick up. So many books are calling to me, and narrowing it down to one at a time has been the most arduous task. Though I'm reading at an idle pace to suit my relaxed disposition, I'm making more progress on my reading goals than I have all year.

I finished Caitlin Moran's How to Be a Woman the other day and thoroughly enjoyed it. Rave reviews from Simon and Claire urged me to pick her up, and I'm pleased I followed their advice. While I certainly didn't agree with all of Moran's views, I more often found myself nodding while reading with a 'Just So!' sort of spirit. In any case, her snarky delivery makes reading a treat, and I'm sorely tempted to pick up Moranthology (apparently a collection of her journalistic pieces) immediately. However, I'm not sure yet another book on my tbr pile is what I need at the moment, so it'll have to wait. More thoughts on this one later.

I deliberated long and hard before selecting Moran's successor. Should I go with a classic? Something that related to my research in order to kill two birds with one stone? In the end, I chose the text that I thought would make me happiest right now: The Grand Sophy. A good Georgette Heyer novel never fails to perk me up, and she matches the spring liveliness I'm experiencing at the moment. Nearly a third of the way through it, I find myself experiencing the little pleasures of Regency London life along with the characters. I'm riding spirited bays through Hyde Park in the afternoon and dressing in that new gown before attending an assembly at Almack's in the evening. It's just the sort of escape I need at the moment.

I'm not sure what's up next on the reading agenda, but I hope to get going with my Classics Spin! selection before the week is out: Maria Edgeworth's Patronage. Regency novels seem to be the order of the day, but I'd also like to read a text that truly reflects the season, like The Secret Garden or The Wind in the Willows. (Both are languishing on the shelves.) Ah, decisions!

What are you reading right now? Anything you'd recommend?

Happy Birthday Elizabeth Barrett Browning!

I'm a few hours late to the game on this, since Elizabeth Barret Browning's birthday occurred yesterday. Yet after a reminder from Oxford World's Classics, I would feel quite remiss not giving her a little shout out:

Happy 207th Birthday, Elizabeth!

The Birthplace: Coxhoe Hall, Durham

One of my dissertation chapters focused on EBB, as I fondly refer to her in my notes. In studying the relationship with her spaniel, Flush, I felt I got to know her a little bit as well -- particularly through the perusal of her letters. Her passion and zeal immiediately won me over. Reading details about her secret courtship with Robert Browning and their plans to run away together felt both like reading a sensational novel and like I was intruding upon the privacy of a lovely couple (and actually, I suppose I was).

With spring break happily dawning before my eyes, I'm hoping to read her long poem Aurora Leigh. Though with my holiday reading list growing like a proverbial weed, I must concede this ambition may never materialize. In the meantime, I shall leave you with one of her poems about Flush, one that's not as widely read. A wonderful canine companion, he comforted her, just as her words provide solace and inspiration to readers two centuries later.

Flush or Faunus

YOU see this dog. It was but yesterday

I mused, forgetful of his presence here, 

Till thoughts on thoughts drew downward tear on tear;

When from the pillow, where wet-cheeked I lay,

A head, as hairy as Faunus, thrust his way

Right sudden against my face; two golden-clear

Large eyes astonished mine; a drooping ear

Did flap me on either cheek, to dry the spray!

I started first, as some Arcadian,

Amazed by goatly god in twilight grove.

But as my bearded vision closelier ran

My tears off, I knew Flush, and rose above

Surprise and sadness; thanking the true Pan,

Who, by low creatures, leads to heights of love.

The last line is my favourite! I'm tempted to make some saccharine analogies about how we are all low creatures and love and art lift us to the great heights Barrett Browning describes...but I'll spare you. Have a happy Thursday!

P.S. This intriguing article discusses the various words attributed to EBB in the OED, abandonment and goatly among them. I guess only a few of them stuck? :)

Mirabeau's The Lifted Curtain

Comte de Mirabeau -- sexy man!

Wow, I'm busy! With a flu worse than anything I've experienced in years, teaching, marking, researching and preparing for my little sister's upcoming wedding, recreational reading finds itself at the bottom of my to-do list. Still, I have been doing some reading, and I wanted to share some thoughts....

As I briefly mentioned in a previous post, my recent research focuses on two areas: representations of animals and transgressive sexualities. Currently I'm trying to find a way to effectively combine them, and it's proving to be an enjoyable challenge. The Lifted Curtain by Honore Gabriel Riqueti, comte de Mirabeau decidedly falls into the latter category. While he's not known to many, Mirabeau is an eighteenth-century French revolutionary, politician...and writer of erotica. 

If his Wikipedia biography can be trusted (doubtful, but let's run with it!), Mirabeau led a colorful life. Disfigurement as the result of smallpox contracted at the age of three only served to earn his father's disdain. He engaged in a plethora of scandalous affairs, was condemned to death and imprisoned, etc., etc. Really, it reads like a novel. Funnily enough he and the Marquis de Sade were acquainted with one another but, despite their similarities, firmly disliked one another. This snippet concerning how he came to be married especially fascinated me:

After several months of failed attempts at being introduced to the heiress, Mirabeau bribed one of the young lady's maids to let him into her residence, where he pretended to have had a sexual encounter with Emilie. To avoid losing face, her father saw that they got married just a couple of days afterwards. 

I think I can safely assume that, even back then, this is not the how-we-met story about which a young girl dreamed.

With these biographical tidbits in mind, much of The Lifted Curtain doesn't surprise me: thin on plot, heavy on sexcapades in which rules and inhibitions merit no consideration. I won't delve into details in case any shy readers stumble upon this, but suffice it to say this novella seemingly promotes a libertinism in which anything goes in the bedroom...or out of it for that matter.

Yet in The Lifted Curtain and other similar texts I've noticed a worrying trend. While this novella smugly claims to promote sexual freedom in a repressive society, sexually liberated women undoubtedly threaten Mirabeau and his contemporaries. At the very least, a palpable air of discomfort permeates the genre. A stock figure emerges time and again: the woman who is too unrestrained, enjoys sex too much and inevitably comes to a bad end.

The character of Rose serves as a manifestation of archetype. Well, she's not a character, as I'm not sure Mirabeau explores any fictional personage with enough depth to warrant the term; so there's not much to say about her. What happens to her intrigues me. Shortly after her introduction in the narrative, the protagonist's father figure divulges the following:

Rose will be the victim of her own passion and fiery temperament. There is no holding her back. Already she is abandoning herself to pleasure with a fury that I have never before seen in a woman. You can bet your last franc that she will pay a heavy penalty for her excesses. 

Strong words. Interestingly enough, the father figure in question exhibits the most taboo behaviour in the narrative. By far. Nevertheless, his actions are unreservedly excused while the author condemns the woman. Sure enough, she soon meets the afore-mentioned inevitable bad end:

Unable to stop herself in her mad drive for pleasure. Rose finally succumbed to it. When she stopped menstruating, she had an abortion, which took a terrible toll on her. She suffered from agonizing fits of dizziness and her sight began to fail. She more resembled a walking wraith than a human being. The cheerful spirited young woman had vanished. Finally, the lingering illness brought her to the grave. 

Bleak indeed.

What's curious to me as a reader is this: we so often write off, no pun inteded, authors like Dickens for his blatant sexism. (And rightfully so! Much as I love him, misogyny was his flaw.) Yet Mirabeau, the Marquis de Sade and others often get a free pass because they're hiding behind this mask of sexual freedom. What they really mean is sexual freedom for men, or sexual liberation for women as it serves men's purposes. In my mind, this doesn't qualify as liberation at all. They are, as the film incarnation of Bridget Jones would say, 'just as bad as the rest of them.' Many have labelled this genre as progressive, but I just don't see it. While Mirabeau cries for revolution and liberty, his gender politics remain archaic.

Have you noticed any similar dichotomies between what authors claim to promote and what their writing actually suggests? I feel like this happens more frequently than we readers notice or acknowledge. But now that it's on my mind I'm trying to think of further instances. Can you offer any examples?

End of Year Book Survey 2012

 

As mentioned in my Classics Club Readathon post, I picked up Anthony Trollope. I didn't get far before having to set it aside for work. Currently I'm investigating nineteenth-century sexuality in literature, so I've been reading some...colorful (for lack of a better word) texts as a result. 

Full confession: I'm starting to feel like a pervert!

Yes, it's all in the name of the research, but reading about a man who essentially sexually abuses the girl he's raised as a daughter yet has no qualms about it (as I've been doing this weekend) does tend to leave a bitter taste in one's mouth. 

And don't even get me started on the looks of inquisitive surprise the librarians give me as they hand over these 'colorful' inter-library loans. Time to cleanse my literary palate.

I thought now would be a good time to reminisce about the wonderful literature I read in 2012. While it's a bit woefully late, here are my responses to the questions posed by Jamie for her annual end of year survey.

Best book you read in 2012?

I Capture the Castle! As soon as I read Dodie Smith's memorable opening line, 'I write this sitting in the kitchen sink,' I was hooked. After devouring it in a matter of hours on New Year's Eve 2011, I wondered how any book could top it. Though I experienced some fantastic new stories throughout the year, no book ever did. Top it, that is. The delightfully quirky characters, the prose that creeps under skin, the charm of the castle in ruins: everything about this book enchanted me. This is an instant favourite I look forward to reading again and again...and again

More after the jump...

A Victorian Celebration: Wrapping Up

Despite what the absence of posts related to this summer's Victorian Celebration might suggest, I did actually read for this event. In fact, I was so preoccupied with my nineteenth-century reading that I opted to stick my nose between the pages rather than sit down to write on my silly little blog. 

The Victorian period is my golden age, my belle epoque. So I truly appreciated Allie giving me an excuse to revel in this beloved era. I've read some fantastic literature, some old and some new (to me). A summary of what I got up to over the past several weeks is just ahead. But first...

 London 1888 -- I adore Victorian photography!

And now we return to our regularly scheduled programming.

Lady Windermere's Fan by Oscar Wilde: This play has more gravitas than The Importance of Being Earnest, but I loved what Wilde had to say about the hypocrisy of polite society in late Victorian England.

Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon: My reading provided me with yet another fascinating Lady. How I would like to be a Lady! But to the point...this nineteenth-century mystery is full of murder, deception and madness. I can't wait to read more from this genre.

Sonnets from the Portuguese by Elizabeth Barrett Browning: In a word, stunning! This collection of poems Barrett Browning wrote for her husband, fellow poet Robert Browning, are passionate and poignant. I read some of the letters this literary couple wrote to one another for my MA research, so I'm somewhat familiar with the details of their courtship and marriage. It was fun tracing biographical elements in these sonnets.

The Professor by Charlotte Bronte: I have now read every Bronte novel. Wahoo! This isn't Charlotte's finest work. I struggled through the first chunk of the novel, but its strong second half made the effort worthwhile. Now that I've finished all the Bronte novels, I'll be moving on to biographies and juvenilia. 

What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew by Daniel Pool: Not yet finished, but I've been reading small doses of this intriguing work of non-fiction here and there. Pool's book elucidates all those little details of nineteenth-century life present in Victorian fiction that, over the years, have become enigmatic to the majority of twenty-first-century readers. Some of the information is a refresher course in what I already know and some sections are enlightening. I'm looking forward to discovering what else this text has in store for me.

Increasing my breadth of reading was a New Year's resolution of mine, so I'm proud of the range I managed --even when sticking within the parameters of the Victorian period. Two novels, one play, one collection of poetry and one work of non-fiction. Success! I'll be sharing more about these texts in future posts.

Although the Victorian event has concluded, I won't be straying too far from it in the immediate future. My dad, sister and I will be reading Bleak House together. The truth: I'm a wee bit nervous about it. I'll also be participating in Adam's Austen in August event. Austen + The Victorians = Fantastic Summer!

What have you been reading? Any tips on how best to approach a beast like Bleak House?

Happy Birthday Emily Brontë!

Emily Brontë, 

as depicted by her brother Branwell

Today is my beloved Emily's 194th birthday! May she be just as loved and venerated for the next 194. On this occasion, the final stanza of her poem 'No Coward Soul Is Mine' comes to mind...

There is not room for Death,

Nor atom that his might could render void:

Since thou art Being and Breath,

And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

According to Charlotte, Emily wrote these words shortly before she died of tuberculosis at the age of thirty. Although Wuthering Heights caused quite the uproar in Victorian society during her lifetime, I wonder if she had any idea that so many years later her words would continue to inspire readers the world over. For through her words, she is immortal.

Today I will be perusing some of my favourite Emily passages, dipping into the iconic biography on this literary family and fancying that Emily's spirit is wandering the moors where she felt most at home.  

 P.S. A reading of 'No Coward Soul Is Mine.'

A Victorian Celebration: Commencement

It's here! It's here! Graciously hosted by Allie, A Victorian Celebration is a two-month reading event focusing on the era that I love best. As I've slowly been recovering from the horrid reading rut, the arrival of the Victorian Celebration couldn't have had better timing. Bring on the Dickens, the Eliot, the Wilde!

There are loads of tidbits I'm hoping to share with you during the next two months: why I adore the Victorians, some fantastic authors that have been largely forgotten by the reading public in recent years, fantastic film adaptations set during Victoria's reign, the cultural legacy of Victorians outside of literacy and more.

I love the passion of Jane Eyre, Charles Dickens's gift for caricature and the brilliant witticisms of the incomparable Oscar Wilde. I can't read too much about repressed sexuality and the griminess of nineteenth-century London. But there's so much more to the Victorians than this small handful of authors and hackneyed stereotypes. The Victorians provide a veritable goldmine of intriguing knowledge: the deeper one digs for treasure, the more gems one finds. I'm excited to share parts of my Victorian journey here -- a journey that I think will last a lifetime.

Meanwhile, I wanted to document some of the texts I'm hoping to dig into for the event. I may not get to all of these, or I may simply change my mind about what I want to read. Nor will I be exclusively reading from this time period for the next two months either. Still, a list will hopefully help me to stay focused when every Victorian book on my shelf calls to me -- they dominate my humble little library and it's easy to become a bit confused when trying to decide on just one. 

Miss Marjoribanks by Margaret Oliphant

Margaret Oliphant is a prime example of a Victorian author who has fallen by the wayside. A prolific writer, she was reportedly a favorite of Queen Victoria. This novel about a young girl who sweeps into her father's house to rule the roost (and, by extension, the community itself) after he mother passes away is a book I've been wanting to read for a while.

Plays by Oscar Wilde

Hail to the master of the epigram! 

Oscar Wilde plays just glow, in my opinion. He somehow convinces me that all of life's difficulties can be resolved in two hours if one would just make the effort. The parties, romance and humor don't hurt either. Having read his two most popular plays, I want to read Lady Windermere's Fan and/or A Woman of No Importance.

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

People tend to characterize Victorian fiction by its lengthy tangents (read, 800-plus pages) on poverty, suffering and death. But the truth is the Victorians fully embraced stories of fantastic adventure, particularly in the later years of the century. I've read (and loved!) such texts by H. Rider Haggard, but I haven't yet experienced the more popular tale of life on the high seas by Haggard's contemporary Robert Louis Stevenson.

Lady Audley's Secret by Mary Elizabeth Braddon

In sensation fiction, deliberately provocative subjects such as adultery, madness, bigamy, murder, etc. receive a melodramatic treatment -- as if the subject matter itself wasn't dramatic enough! Although books in the genre were bestsellers during the Victorian period (especially in the 60s and 70s), critics condemned many of these texts as literary tripe. Only recently have Lady Audley's Secret, novels by Wilkie Collins and others been introduced to the canon.

Short Fiction by Elizabeth Gaskell

Elizabeth Gaskell rocks. She just does. Though they are drastically different, both North and South and Cranford are included among my exclusive list of favorites. But I'm dying to explore the mass of short fiction she left behind. From novellas and short stories to her Gothic Tales, Gaskell produced a vast array of literature beyond her novels.

What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew by Daniel Pool

I'll be perusing these insights on nineteenth-century life as I read my selected works of fiction. Contextualizing the literature by gaining a better understanding of the times always enhances the reading experience for me. 

 I think that's more than enough to get me started on this long-awaited event. Now where to start? That's the tricky part. Which Victorians will you be reading during June and July? How's it going so far?

If you'd like to join the fun, go here for details. Happy Reading!

The Charles Dickens Museum, Vol. II

Precisely two millennia ago, or so it seems, I posted the first of a two-part series chronicling my visit to the Charles Dickens Museum on Doughty Street. Since my Achilles' Heel is procrastination, the concluding post is only now just arriving. Tut, tut.

As someone whose passion for books is, ironically, beyond words, visiting a site of literary significance is such a special time for me. They are my Mecca. Moving about the intimate spaces where beloved authors lived and wrote is a transcendent experience. I often imagine that the ghost of the writer in question lingers behind, looking upon the visitors whose lives he has touched with his words. 

What would Dickens think of the fuss made over him today? Considering he was well known and popular during the Victorian period, part of me thinks he'd be used to the attention. The other part can't help but feel that even Charlie D. would be amazed at the growth and endurance of his authorial celebrity. Would he feel mortified knowing strangers were looking over his commode and other personal belongings? I would!

Here's a glimpse of my time spent exploring Dickens's home on 48 Doughty Street. Located in the lovely Bloomsbury neighborhood in London, the museum warrants a visit from any Dickensian fanatic...

Here I am, in Charlie D's foyer

A Christmas garland festoons the banister

Personal letters line the hall

I believe this one was sent to Dickens's illustrator George Cruikshank

A collection of author photographs

The drawing room was decorated for Christmas, Victorian style

I'm digging the furniture, but what's up with the creepy mask?

I love the Victorian Christmas crackers

Mr and Mrs Fezziwig from A Christmas Carol

Painted by Dickens's daughter Katey, born at this house

Special exhibit on Dickens as an orator

His personal reading copy of Sikes and Nancy

Notes added for emphasis (and when Dickens expects a laugh?)

Oliver! exhibit

Nancy's costume from the musical production

Commode owned by the family

where Dickens presumably sat his royal bottom

The table which saw Dickens's last written words

Priceless!

My favourite item in the giftshop: Charles Dickens Action Figure

Complete with quill pen and removable hat!

Saying farewell...

The view from Doughty Street

Ah, what a fantastic visit. I look forward to stopping by again in the future!

P.S. Vol. I of my Charles Dickens experience.

A Sneak Peek into the Bedrooms of Famous Writers

Victor Hugo's Parisian Bedroom

I came across an intriguing article today which provides a sneak peek into the bedrooms of celebrated writers. How authors lived and chose to decorate their personal space is a topic of great fascination for me. Seeing the places where they lived and wrote truly brings these famous figures to life -- it's a reminder that while they produced extraordinary masterpieces they often lived ordinary lives. I revere certain writers to such an extent that I sometimes forget this simple fact! And while I've personally visited the former homes of some of my beloved authors in the past two years, in my personal experience coming across a well maintained bedroom is something special.

After sifting through the photos I've selected two favourites. I love the dramatic Victorian decor of Victor Hugo's bedroom in his Parisian home. All that red! In fact, as soon I laid eyes on this photo I immediately thought of The Red Room in Jane Eyre where the young Jane is locked away for the night, terrified by the conviction that her uncle's ghost haunts the space. Doesn't that red plush armchair look like a cozy spot to curl up with a book?

On the other hand, Virginia Woolf's boudoir (I just love using that word!) seems to be the most literary. The amply-stocked bookshelves and painting above the mantelpiece make this room terribly inviting. If you're half as obsessed with author homes as I home, you'll get a kick out of these fascinating photos.

Virginia Woolf's Bedroom

P.S. I find it quite comforting that for some of these contemporary writers the bedroom becomes a messy workplace. When I'm in the midst of writing essays under a deadline, all hell breaks loose in my bedroom. Papers are strewn here and there, candy wrappers (I must have sugar when stressed) wedge themselves into every available space, clothes litter the floor as all thoughts of tidiness give way to the pressure of producing a a good piece of writing. In, short, it ain't pretty!

Georgette Heyer; Or, What To Read After Running Out of Jane Austen

You know those days when you feel like you're in the eye of a tornado? The world is spinning around you while you're trying to stay calm in the center, waiting for the storm to die down. This, at any rate, is how I was feeling last week, and more than anything I wanted to momentarily leave my stressful reality behind and escape to a warm, happy place. I yearned to enter to the enticing world of evening balls, muslin dresses trimmed with lace and afternoon drives in a fashionable phaeton. A Regency novel was the order of the day.

My go-to Regency author is, obviously, Jane Austen. I have been metaphorically worshipping the ground she walked on since my stroppy teenage years. I literally worshipped the ground she walked on during a holy pilgrimage to her former home in Chawton. In short, I simply adore her and every novel she wrote. In any case, I love five and like one (ahem, Mansfield Park), which is practically the same thing.

The only problem is that I have read each Jane Austen text multiple times. I can quote full passages at the drop of a hat. And while I will continue to immerse myself in Austenland for the rest of my days, sometimes I crave novelty, the excitement of not knowing what will happen on the next page.

Enter Georgette Heyer.

Georgette Heyer is a British novelist who published from the 1920s until her death in 1974. She wrote prolifically, producing an astounding sixty-plus novels, and is most well known today for her contemporary mysteries and Regency romances. My experiences with the latter have sparked a deep and abiding love for this author.

First of all, I would just like to make it clear that I am picky with a capital P when it comes to historical fiction on this period. In general, I'm not keen on Jane Austen sequels, re-imaginings and what not. In high school I read a Pemberley 'sequel' in which Georgiana unrealistically marries Sir Joshua Reynolds (he was cold in his grave long before Pride and Prejudice made its way to the printers), and its historical inconsistencies rather put me off this sub-genre. I have, with few exceptions, steered clear of fan fiction. Sticking a stray 'betwixt' or 'pray, sir' into an otherwise twenty-first century sentence does not a Regency novel make. I emphatically do not need to read novels about Darcy's infidelity or his secret life as a vampire. I just don't.

But Georgette Heyer is different. For a start, she creates her own characters and thereby conveniently avoids interfering with any reader's mental image of Elizabeth Bennet, Mr Knightley and the lot. In my opinion, she successfully emulates the language of the period. The dialogue never feels forced or artificial, allowing me to sink into the Regency world free from twenty-first-century distractions. Heyer is well known for conducting a copious amount of research on early nineteenth-century England, and it shows. The details she includes on a variety of topics truly bring this beloved era to life. Even with my limited Georgette Heyer experience I've come across descriptions of Regency fashion, social etiquette, horses and carriages, engineering, snuff, furniture, and sporting events. It makes me feel as though Regency England were a tangible place, a destination I could jet off to for a weekend away -- and with these books I can! If only all historical novelists followed the example set forth by Heyer.

Yet all these aspects would be meaningless if they centered around uninteresting characters. Luckily, Georgette Heyer is skilled at conjuring up protagonists who are plucky and charming. Take, for instance, my most recent Heyer read: Frederica. The eponymous heroine, a young girl left to play mother hen to her orphaned siblings, enlists the aid of a distant relative in the hopes of making a good match for her beautiful sister. Lord Alverstoke, the relative is question, is a perpetually bored nobleman who only agrees to help Frederica because he views the situation as a source of potential diversion. It's evident from their first meeting that Frederica and Alverstoke will inevitably fall in love, but the pleasure lies in watching the process unfold. I was immediately drawn in by the pair's witty banter, Frederica's quiet self-assurance as she deftly manages family matters and Alverstoke's insistence on forgetting the names of his nieces.

The fun doesn't stop there. The full cast of characters provide a great deal of literary entertainment. There's Felix, Frederica's youngest sibling, a precocious young boy intent on procuring Alverstoke's accompaniment to every site of engineering significance in London; Jessamy, slightly older than Felix, who feels the need to apologize profusely on his brother's behalf; Charis, the beautiful sister Frederica hopes to see suitably married, who harbours rather melodramatic views on romantic love; Lady Buxted, Alverstoke's sister, who constantly applies to the Marquis for monetary assistance in spite of her independent wealth; and the observant Lady Jevington, Alverstoke's other sister, who is the first to see through her brother's protestations that he has no more than a trifling interest in Frederica's affairs. All of these minor characters make each page of the novel an absolute joy. 

My only complaint with Georgette Heyer novels is the disappointing absence of epilogues. I'm the sort of reader who likes to see characters settled into a comfortable life before a narrative closes. I love that Jane Austen lets us know Georgiana is shocked by the way in which Lizzy talks back to Darcy, and the possibility of a future war is  'all that could dim [Anne Elliot's] sunshine.' Apart from this tiny niggle, however, I always conclude a Heyer text as happy as a clam.

In short, pick up a Georgette Heyer novel the moment you've exhausted your copies of Jane Austen or crave the wonder and finery of Regency England. Frederica and Arabella are great texts with which to begin. Both had me captivated, and both are perfect for a day when you need some internal sunshine. Curling up with Heyer and a cup of tea is a splendid way to pass an evening.

Yet my experiences with Georgette Heyer are quite limited -- I've only read four of her numerous publications. I've made my way through Regency Buck and Devil's Cub (though neither wowed me the way Frederica and Arabella did); I'm dying to pick up more of her novels but am spoiled for choice. Which would you recommend? Do you have a Heyer favourite? Please advise me!

The Woman in White Readalong

I've barely made a dent in my spring reading plans. Life has got in the way, cruelly pushing literary perusal to the back burner. And yet...

I just can't resist joining in The Woman in White Readalong hosted by Reading Rambo. This wildly popular sensation novel is calling me, and I find myself headed towards the proverbial white light. Joining the cyber-discussion of Wilkie Collins's most beloved text will be great fun, and the month-long schedule will still allow me to progress with my spring reading plans. Perfect!

To kick off the event, bloggers are meant to share their preconceptions about The Woman in White and its author. I probably know a bit more about this 1859 novel than many of the participants, because I've started it twice before and [gasp] never finished it. On my second attempt I was approaching the halfway point before jumping ship. Oh, the shame!

I wouldn't wish anybody to attribute my inattention to Collins's writing. In fact, on both occasions I found the The Woman in White to be intriguing and engaging, and on both occasions the multiple distractions of daily life managed to interrupt my experience. This time, however, I'm determined to succeed!

The readalong has come at an opportune time, because Wilkie Collins has been on this reader's mind quite a bit in recent months. The bohemian lifestyle of this benchmark Victorian writer (a great friend of Charles Dickens) has been a fascinating topic of research. I recently posted about how Collins secretly maintained relationships with two women under separate households. Coincidentally, the bigamy plot permeated the sensation genre for which Collins became famous, though I haven't seen any signs of it in his own fiction. Isn't it funny how art imitates life?

Not too long ago I also completed my first Wilkie Collins novel. Heart and Science was a thoroughly enjoyable read, and I'm looking forward to seeing how this lesser-known work compares to the decidedly more famous Woman in White. Contained within a sub-plot of Heart and Science was a compelling depiction of vivisection (experimentation on live animals) -- a practice fiercely debated in the late-Victorian period. From what I've heard, The Woman in White also features representations of animals, a key area of interest for me. Do they anticipate Collins's later fascination with animal welfare? I'm excited to discover more work from this celebrated nineteenth-century writer. 

If you've read The Woman in White, what did you think of it? If you haven't read the novel, but are interested in doing so, consider joining the readalong!

The (Not So) Secret Life of Wilkie Collins

Do you ever root around in the wealth of biographical material about famous writers and come across something that surprises you? Does it ever affect the manner in which you read an author's work?

I confess that when I was searching for information on Wilkie Collins a few years ago I was rather surprised to learn that this popular Victorian novelist was a common law bigamist.  After reading his novel Heart and Science recently, I did a bit more digging. He was in a relationship with Caroline Graves, a widow with a young daughter.

Caroline Graves

They weren't married, but after several years of cohabitation Collins met the proverbial Other Woman. Martha Rudd was more than twenty years his junior, and Wilkie Collins soon installed her in a decidedly less spectacular home near the residence he shared with Graves on Gloucester Place.

Martha Rudd -- stunner

That Collins maintained two households seems rather clandestine and melodramatic -- something one might read in the sensation fiction genre for which he was renowned. Shortly after Wilkie began dividing his time between the two women, Caroline Graves left Collins and married another man. As far as I've been able to tell from my oh-so-minimal research, it's unclear what caused the rift. The fact that the two events so closely coincide with one another suggests Graves was none too happy about it. In any case, she returned to the unconventional relationship she had with Collins after a short period of marriage.

Meanwhile, he fathered three children with Martha Rudd. In order to exude a charade of respectability, however, he went by the last name of Dawson during his time with her, even going so far as to bestow the name upon their children. It was all so secretive in a way that seems classically Victorian. Though Graves and Rudd maintained a firm distance from one another, it seems that the children would go from house to house. 

After much indoctrination education I've become fairly adept at not letting my feelings about an author intefere with my feelings about an author's texts; you know, Death of the Author and all that. At least, I'm getting better at separating the two (see my complicated relationship with Dickens). I must say, though, that this knowledge of Collins's bohemian lifestyle did affect my reading of Heart and Science. It's not so much that I think Collins is a misogynist and therefore don't like his texts. (For the record, I'm betting he was a misogynist; Collins and Dickens were BFFs.) Rather, throughout the novel I consistently searched for subtextual clues that hinted at bigamous relationships -- without any success, I might add. That niggling detail was often present in my mind, interrupting my immersion in the narrative. Does that make sense? 

Now I'm wondering if this literary investigation will continue as I further acquaint myself with fiction by Wilkie Collins. Hmm...In any case, I would be keen to learn more about Wilkie Collins's fascinating life. Perhaps I'll add a biography to the old TBR pile! 

The house on the left is the home Wilkie Collins shared with Caroline Graves

(I just managed to snap a pic driving past in a coach)

Incidentally, Elizabeth Barrett Browning lived on the same street, Gloucester Place

Have you ever been surprised learning certain details about a particular writer's life? Did it affect the way you read/felt about their work?