Review: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Published: 2006, Borders Classics (Originally 1868 and 1869)

Genre: Classic Literature

Format: Paperback

Source: Purchased

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I want to do something splendid...something heroic or wonderful that won't be forgotten after I'm dead. I don't know what, but I'm on the watch for it and mean to astonish you all someday.

Sisters Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy March are trying to make the most of their current situation. Their father is fighting for the Union in the Civil War, leaving them at home with their mother, affectionately referred to as Marmee. Their wartime lives have required a lot of sacrifices, including their first Christmas without the promise of presents. The sisters are resilient, however, full of love and creativity, and make the most of those difficult years and the many changes they experience as they grow from young teenagers into women.

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Review: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde
Published: 1994, Public Domain Books (Originally 1890)
Genre: Classic
Source: Personal ebook
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The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. 

First a funny story: I actually downloaded the free ebook of The Picture of Dorian Gray back when I first got my Kindle in May of 2011. I got to 40% and then just stopped reading it. As this is a free book that was presumably put together by volunteers, there are a few errors and formatting issues with the ebook. That, along with the fact that it took me months to get used to reading full books on my Kindle, made me put down the story temporarily. But since it was selected as my work book club pick for June, I was able to return to Dorian Gray's story. And what a story it is.

Dorian Gray is rich, young, handsome, and an incredibly naive young man. He befriends artist Basil Hallward and spends many months acting as his muse. During one of their sessions, Dorian encounters Basil's friend Lord Henry, who is everything that Basil and Dorian himself are not. Lord Henry is worldly, cynical, and charismatic. His honest words allow Dorian to reconsider his values in life, especially the importance of beauty within society. 

After meeting Lord Henry and seeing Basil's latest masterpiece, a picture of Dorian himself, Dorian laments the fact that while he'll eventually become old, his portrait will remain youthful and perfect forever. And through those words Dorian makes an unconscious bargain: over the years he is able to retain his youth and good looks while his portrait ages and displays all the imperfections of his soul. 

At its heart, The Picture of Dorian Gray is nothing less than an in-depth study of the driving forces behind our decisions: morality vs. immortality, youth vs. maturity, intelligence vs. beauty. Due to the Faustian bargain he makes, Dorian finds himself physically distanced from the repercussions of a hedonistic and amoral lifestyle. Each and every decision he makes do not affect him, but instead affect the portrait of himself he keeps hidden away in an upstairs room in his house. How do people act once all blame and culpability is removed from their actions? And, the bigger question, do people really act much differently even when their actions do affect them? Dorian can actually witness the consequences of his actions through the ever-changing portrait, but because it is the portrait changing rather than himself, he does nothing to change his life.

In many ways, Dorian truly deserves his curse. Although I found it strange that all Dorian had to do to enact the curse was to wish out loud that he did not age (not a truly Faustian bargain in my opinion, since Dorian did not consciously make any agreement), once he finds himself cursed it's like he loses all sense of goodness. When Dorian first discovers the changes in his portrait, he's driven by grief and understandably isn't ready to do anything different with his life. But this goes on for over eighteen years. The closest he gets to trying to be a better person (as far as the readers know) is when he admits to Lord Henry that he'll break off a dalliance with a young country girl now rather than delaying it any longer. The few attempts that Dorian makes to better himself are half-hearted at best, especially when he realizes that the little effort he makes doesn't seem to change much in the grand scheme of things.

And yet, Dorian is not quite the villain of this tale. The reason his portrait first begins to change is due to an act of selfishness and a bit of cruelty, but it's not due to anything completely horrible. His decision to embrace a hedonistic lifestyle is at least partially due to the fact that he comes to believe in an inner darkness, and that it's inevitable. None of the characters in this tale are without flaws, and it seems very possible that Wilde was actually criticizing the entire British upper class through this novel. Dorian, along with other characters, acts irresponsibly, cruelly, and superficially. Not all of his actions are condoned by others, and yet presumably his affluence and general standing prevent him and others like him from becoming complete social pariahs.

The focus of this novel is on an actual picture, and so Wilde does spend a fair amount of time contemplating the role that art has within our lives. In fact, these ruminations make up some of the strongest parts in the novel. To what extent is art something created for the viewer to enjoy, and to what degree is it a reflection of the artist? Should art be viewed purely for aesthetic purposes or can it also be a form of education? Wilde addresses conflicting sides of this debate, at one point noting that "all art is useless" and at another praising "art for art's sake." It's definitely thought-provoking and worthy of greater discussion.

Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray reminds me why I love to read classics, particularly eighteenth- and nineteenth-century classics: the language. Beautifully poetic, and rife with poignant truths and witty observations about life and humanity. Not only is The Picture of Dorian Gray well worth its classic status, but it is an incredibly accessible work of literature. Although certain terms and concepts are a bit obsolete in our time, the story itself remains pretty relevant. Dorian is the perfect anti-hero, and his tragic story is something that should be experienced at least once by every reader. Both classic lovers and those more reluctant to read classics should give this book a try.

Rating: 4 stars 

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Review: Native Son by Richard Wright

Native Son by Richard Wright
Published: 2005, Harper Perennial Modern Classics (Originally 1940)
Genre: Adult Fiction
Source: Paperback gifted by boyfriend
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I am fairly certain that nothing I write can truly do justice to this raw and emotionally wrenching book, but I shall try. I received Native Son as a gift from my boyfriend. Since I've always been a much bigger reader than he, he wanted me to read something that he enjoyed so that we could discuss it. Now a few years later I've finally gotten around to actually reading it. Sorry for taking so long! Seriously. I wish I hadn't waited so long to read this powerful, moving book on the racial inequalities that continued to resonate in the first half of the twentieth century. 

Native Son tells the story of Bigger Thomas and how his discontent with his life precipitated a downward spiral into infamy. Twenty-year-old Bigger lives in a tiny apartment in an all-black suburb of Chicago with his mother, brother, and sister. His family barely manages to get by, so it falls upon Bigger as the oldest child and man of the household to take a job as the chauffeur for a powerful white family. Besides having no desire to work, Bigger struggles to make sense of his job. Although the Dalton family is well-meaning, taking on young African American men as help whenever possible, giving them a job, a place to stay, money, and education for a better future, this is not how Bigger or most African American men expect to be treated by white people. Mary Dalton and her Communist boyfriend Jan Erlone's gestures of friendship and advocacy contribute to Bigger's looming sense of unease. When tragedy strikes, unexpected and unconventional and horrible, Bigger reverts back to basic, more primal instincts. For from his view, it's him against the white people, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure his survival. 

Native Son has an incredibly dramatic opening that works well to foreshadow the rest of the novel's events. Bigger's family wakes up to finally see the rat that's been hiding in their apartment for the past few days. As the oldest son, it is Bigger who is responsible for getting rid of the rat, which he does by smashing it with a frying pan. Violence is the only method that Bigger can determine will free his family from the threat of the rat, and, as the story continues, readers see that violence has become a tragic necessity in Bigger's life. Instead of being able to trust others for help or use his words to express his feelings, again and again Bigger finds himself reverting to violent tactics. The novel is quite graphic in  many scenes, and those scenes work to show the influence that pure, physical violence has over Bigger's life. 

Bigger lashes out precisely because it's one of the few things he can do. He can either accept his impoverished and uneducated lifestyle - with no real chance to keep himself or those he loves from suffering - while the white people continue to live in naive bliss or he can disrupt the naive bliss of his oppressors. As much as the Daltons would like to believe that they're better than most white people in their relationship with blacks, that's simply not the case. The Daltons may give the occasional young black male the opportunity to better his life, but slightly altering a person's economic situation cannot amount to much when socially that person is still viewed as inferior. Although the Daltons and their like are unable to see it, there really is no middle ground for Bigger. Short of a drastic change of opinion, nothing can really stop the cycle of oppression. Wright illustrates this through the fallout related to Bigger's crime and subsequent chase. Innocent workers are being turned out on the streets simply because they happen to have the same skin color as Bigger.

It can be difficult for me to enjoy a novel without feeling any sort of connection or empathy with the protagonist. Bigger is not a likable character by any means. He's cruel, crude, petty, and abrasive. Although this in no way excuses his behavior, much of Bigger's actions are indicative of his strong feelings of oppression. Many times throughout the novel he implies and outright states that he feels forced into corners, and that the only way for him to gain some control over his life is to lash out. The novel is divided into three sections: Fear, Flight, and Fate, and those perfectly mirror the journey that Bigger undergoes, both mentally and physically. Native Son is ultimately not about Bigger, however. Not truly. It's about so much more. About race relations and the continued lack of inequality. About fear. About trying to establish meaning in a life where everything seems meaningless and futile. About despair. 

Even with such a difficult protagonist, Wright brings up important issues that need to be discussed. While I in no way disagree with the blame heaped upon Bigger during his hearing, his lawyer Max's speech is one of the most empowering speeches I have read. A person may be more than simply the sum of his parts, but that doesn't mean that those individual parts cease to exist; instead they contribute to a fuller, more complex human. For, after all, how much can we really distance a person from his upbringing and circumstances? 

I highly recommend that each person reads this book at least once. While not the easiest read in the world, it is an important one. As I cannot portray Bigger's plight and the (fictional) ramifications it held for an entire race of people nearly as eloquently as Richard Wright does, I thought it best to end my review with some of the novel's more powerful quotes. 

"Confidence could only come again now through action so violent that it would make him forget. These were the rhythms of his life: indifference and violence; periods of abstract brooding and periods of intense desire; moments of silence and moments of anger--like water ebbing and flowing from the tug of a far-away, invisible force. Being this way was a need of his as deep as eating. He was like a strange plant blooming in the day and wilting at night; but the sun that made it bloom and the cold darkness that made it wilt were never seen. It was his own sun and darkness, a private and personal sun and darkness."

"Had he raped her? Yes, he had raped her. Every time he felt as he had felt that night, he raped. But rape was not what one did to women. Rape was what one felt when one's back was against a wall and one had to strike out, whether one wanted to or not, to keep the pack from killing one. He committed rape every time he looked into a white face. He was a long, taut piece of rubber which a thousand white hands had stretched to the snapping point, and when he snapped it was rape. But it was rape when he cried out in hate deep in his heart as he felt the strain of living day by day. That, too, was rape."

"It was too stark, not redeemed, not made real with the reality that was the warm blood of life. He felt that there was something missing, some road which, if he had once found it, would have led him to a sure and quiet knowledge. But why think of that now? A chance for that was gone forever. He had  committed murder twice and had created a new world for himself."

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Review: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien  
Published: 1973, Ballantine Books (Originally 1937) Genre: Children's Fantasy  
Source: Personal book  
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Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.

I first read The Hobbit back in sixth grade. I was pretty proud of myself that I not only read a book like this, but that I actually enjoyed doing so (And I realize that Tolkien intended for the audience to be children, but honestly, have you read it? It doesn't read like a children's book, or not like any children's book we are familiar with nowadays.). I read it again for my eighth grade English class (which happened to coincide with the release of the 2002 film version of The Two Towers. I may have read it one final time amid The Lord of the Rings craze I found myself a happy participant in, but it's safe to say it's been close to ten years since I've read The Hobbit. So of course a rereading was essential before heading to the movies this Friday to check out The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.

Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit: a small, human-like creature that lives under hills and enjoys the simple comforts of life. Bilbo doesn't think his needs are any different from any other hobbit until he's presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity: thirteen dwarves are in need of a thief's assistance on a journey to the Lonely Mountain to regain the treasure that the dragon Smaug has stolen from their ancestors. Their traveling companion, the wizard Gandalf, suggests Bilbo as a potential ally, despite the fact that Bilbo has never gone on any adventures and believes that he wants nothing more out of his life than what he already has. Nevertheless, Bilbo is eventually persuaded and the group faces many perils and wonders as they travel to the Lonely Mountain and a confrontation with Smaug.

I was actually pleasantly surprised at Bilbo's characterization within The Hobbit. My knowledge of The Lord of the Rings far eclipses that of The Hobbit. And The Lord of the Rings is all about bigger messages, themes, and the journey itself. Yes, Tolkien does give Frodo and Aragorn in particular traces of characterization, but the trilogy is ultimately bigger than any one character. The Hobbit, too, has larger themes and messages, but I found the story to ultimately focus on Bilbo and his character's development over the course of the novel. Relatable characters are one of the main aspects I turn towards in any novel, so I was glad to be able to create some sense of understanding with Bilbo.

It was a bit jarring, however, at how light-hearted the majority of the book seems. Characters are singing left and right, all difficulties are surmountable, and no one suffers permanent physical or mental damage. A huge part of The Lord of the Rings questions the presence of hope in this world that has seen so much darkness and despair. How can the characters continue to beat the odds? How can they really believe they have a chance at defeating this seemingly all-powerful enemy? Much, much darker than The Hobbit, which made adjusting to The Hobbit's tone a little more difficult, even with the knowledge that Tolkien had different audiences in mind for these works.

Through Middle-earth, J.R.R. Tolkien has created one of the most fleshed-out and fully-realized worlds ever to grace the fantasy literary genre. Perhaps my statement is biased a little by the fact that I've seen the film versions of The Lord of the Rings more times than I can count, but I do remember seeing the first film and then reading the first book and realizing how incredibly faithful the film was to its literary predecessor. There's just something so wonderful about the world that Tolkien has created, from the extensive histories to whole races and cultures and languages. That's the mark of phenomenal worldbuilding. And, really, what fantasies don't need at least some worldbuilding? Tolkien raised the bar on fantasy worldbuilding for sure. It was wonderful experience to reread The Hobbit and focus on the roots of the world that would be the focus of Tolkien's literary career.

I could get critical here about certain aspects of the book – like the lack of any female character, the weak characterization of the dwarves, or the inconsistencies between the world of The Hobbit and that of The Lord of the Rings – but I don't see the point. Not that The Hobbit isn't worthy of examination on its own merits, but I do think that the fantasy literary market owes a great debt to Tolkien and his works. Story inconsistencies aside, no one is better at worldbuilding than Tolkien. The Hobbit is a book that I will need to read again every once in a while; it deserves to be savored with a wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

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Review: I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

Published: 1998, St. Martin's Press (Originally 1948)

Genre: (Young) Adult Fiction

Source: Library book

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My imagination longs to dash ahead and plan developments; but I have noticed that when things happen in one's imaginings, they never happen in one's life, so I am curbing myself.

While I love reading young adult fiction, fantasies, historical fiction, and many other genres of more recent books, I also love classical literature. Jane Austen is one of my favorite authors, I like the Bronte sisters, and I have a deep respect for Charles Dickens' works. I do not intend to stop reading current popular books, but there are thousands of classics out there that I also haven't read. Reading I Capture the Castle reminded me of how good it can be to read something a little older, a story that isn't reflecting back on an older time from a modern perspective, but one that is about life and the time period as the author knew it. It definitely will become a goal of mine to read more older, classical books interspersed with modern, popular reads.

I Capture the Castle can best be described as an epistolary novel, told through the journal entries of Cassandra Mortmain (although chapter numbers replace traditional date headings). Cassandra lives in an old castle with her family in the countryside of 1930s England. From the outside, their lives may sound romantic, but a closer look reveals many difficulties. Her father wrote an incredibly successful experimental novel but has been unable to write one since and has not taken a job, leaving the family horribly destitute. Because of their financial situation and the physical location of the castle, the Mortmain family is rather isolated. While no one is very happy with their situation, the father has made it clear that he is unwilling (and unable) to try to do anything to better the family, leaving Cassandra, her older sister Rose, her brother Thomas, her stepmother Topaz, and Stephen, the son of their housekeeper, to search for solutions.

I loved the simplicity of this book, which I suppose is reflective of the entire time period. The problems the Mortmain family encounters are not necessarily black and white, but they always do seem to clearly articulate their problems and work towards solutions. I write basically everything on the computer nowadays, which certainly is convenient for someone like me — who tends to constantly revise as I write. But there's something so genuine and organic about Cassandra recording the events of her life through journal entries. Or taking a bath of boiled water in the kitchen. Or learning to entertain oneself through books, music, dinner parties that involve dancing, and the like. I know that I couldn't live without the modern conveniences of today, but I do like being able to experience what things would have been like in ages past through books. And the image of a crumbling castle holding such a vibrant but destitute family really stuck with me.

Cassandra is a wonderful protagonist. She perfectly balances the line between the innocence of youth and the weighed-down burdens of adulthood. It was simply fascinating to read Cassandra relate the details of her unconventional existence to her readers. Despite dealing with a lack of finances, friendship, or much knowledge of the world, Cassandra retains a strong sense of optimism. I Capture the Castle is definitely a bildungsroman, or a coming of age tale, which I also love. When she first meets Simon Cotton near the beginning of the novel, he refers to her as a child. The same cannot be said for the Cassandra who writes the final entry. It was a delight to watch Cassandra mature as she struggles with the common teenage issues of first love, sibling rivalry, finding a sense of self, in addition to some not-so-common ones.

Against the oft-dreary background of the crumbling castle is a vibrant cast of secondary characters. There's Topaz, the model-artist who left London to marry Cassandra's father, Rose, the older sister who just wants a few nice things in her life and the life of her family, Thomas, the younger brother whose school acts as a means of escape from repetitive castle life, and Stephen, the son of the Mortmain's late housekeeper who remains with the family and harbors amorous feelings for Cassandra. I also enjoyed reading about Simon and Neil Cotton, the American heirs of the estate who really do propel the novel forward. They provided an interesting dichotemy with the Mortmain family: American vs British, wealthy vs poor, and also a different example of family bonds. While the majority of the characters are incredibly likable, I found myself experiencing degrees of disgust and disapproval towards the father. I understand that his life was tough — his wife died, he was temporarily incarcerated, he feels as though he has lost all literary inspiration. None very good. I get that. But, in the immortal words of Robert Frost, Mortmain ignores one of the basic tenets of life: "it goes on." He's content to let his family live in poverty while he wastes his time reading crime novels from the village library. I don't think that there's a better example of a neglectful father.

The romantic portion of the plot is reminiscent of Jane Austen's stories, and many more I've read from eighteenth- and nineteenth-century British novels. The romance is fraught with dilemmas and misunderstanding. In some ways, one could describe the romance in the story as a love pentagon, but it really is a number of frustrated young adults trying to use love and relationships to solve their problems. I really enjoyed how Rose and Simon's relationship starts out in such a traditional fashion, but then Smith twists it into something completely unexpected. There were aspects of the romance that felt contrived to me as a twenty-first century reader, but they all made perfect sense to me within the context of the story itself.

Ultimately the story is not about any of the adults; it's about Cassandra and the younger generation. It's about their trials and tribulations as they seek ways to turn their lives around. The overall message of the novel is a bit nostalgic, but there's a sense of hopeful yearning for a better future, one that's just beyond reach. I definitely recommend this book for young adult and adult readers alike.

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