When I was first researching great female writers, the name Marilynne Robinson came up. Her catalogue is small (she's written a mere 3 books) but all the vibe suggested that those three books were like diamonds in paper form. So, last year I read Home which is a beautifully written, sad story. And then a kind friend bought me a copy of Housekeeping for Christmas. I finally got around to reading it.
There's not a great deal of story in Housekeeping. Primarily we follow the fortunes of two sisters, Ruthie and Lucille, and the story is told from the perspective of Ruthie and it's a story of loss, of transience, and the tenuous links of family. We begin with the death of Ruthie's grandfather, a man she'd never known, who was claimed by the lake in the town of Fingerbone, a town he'd moved to from the flatlands of the Midwest in a search for mountains. Fingerbone, in itself, is a transient town. Transient in the sense that it's subject to the vagaries of nature: fire and flood, the swamping weight of snow and ice. But also in its position on the railway, which attracts people who are only ever passing through.
Ruthie and Lucille's own story begins when their mother, Helen, about who they knew so little, drops them off at her mother's house in Fingerbone then drives her borrowed car into the lake. Ruthie and Lucille are then brought up by their grandmother, then after their grandmother's death by her sisters Nona and Lily who in turn brought in their Aunt, their mother's sister, Sylvie then left them to her. And Sylvie in her own right is transient, transient in body and spirit, an unconventional guardian for two small girls.
It is, quite simply, a beautifully written book. It has a delicacy, like a thin film of ice, and the prose is simply drenched with poetics. At times it feels like you're reading your way through a long, mystical dream, but don't be fooled by that. Housekeeping is rooted by strong themes, themes of family and loss, the links that bind us to a place, to a set of people who may not be our choice but who are our family. Throughout the upbringing of Ruthie and Lucille, their lives have been punctuated by loss and yet each guardian tries, in their own way, to bring a kind of solidity, a fake solidity, to their lives. And each guardian fails, until, surprisingly, Sylvie. It is her very transience, her gossamer-like grip on what is 'normal' that creates a sense of permanence in both children albeit in slightly different ways.
There is wisdom in this book. You have to grasp a bit for it, it isn't easy, and I can see how it could be accused of being a book which is about nothing, because it does have this sense of being thinly stitched together, but to me this was the strength of the book. If you don't like poetically written fiction, then this book is not for you, but for me it was beautiful. At a time in my life when I feel like reality has me in an iron grip, this was exactly the book I needed. Because in its dreamlike prose it reminds us that 'reality' is only what seems normal, and that normality in itself is an image, a thin veil which can be torn aside to reveal something more true underneath. That beneath respectability is at worst violence and at best habit. That what is deemed 'abnormal' is merely different and is threatening only in that it makes us challenge our own habits and find them questionable, that it makes us question the solidity of our own lives, the rocks on which we lean, and find them resting on surface tension alone over the waters of a great lake.
After reading Housekeeping I feel as though I have been steeped in a lake filled with beautiful language ,and a quiet wisdom that is ever so slightly out of my reach. Ghostlike. And stunning. A beautiful, transient read.
Housekeeping receives a stunning 9/10 Biis.
Tuesday, 13 March 2012
Friday, 9 March 2012
The Woman in Black by Susan Hill
Given the hype surrounding the movie, it was fairly inevitable that someone, at some point, was bound to offer me a read of Susan Hill's said-to-be spooky novella, The Woman in Black. So when a friend offered to lend it to me I thought 'hey, why not?' After all I quite like ghostly stories and it's been a while since I read anything genuinely scary, and in advance of watching the movie (we'll wait for DVD) I would prefer to read the book. So I said yes, and she gave me the book and after I'd finished reading something else which I haven't blogged about yet I picked it up and started reading.
Phew! Took me a while to get going there didn't it? And that was my experience with reading The Woman in Black. It's only a short book, a novella really, around 200 pages long. So when, after getting about 50 pages in, I was still waiting for something significant to happen it got me a bit worried. And to be honest, throughout this nicely written gothic-Victorian style (whilst being neither Victorian nor gothic) book not much really did happen. He saw a woman at a funeral. He heard some noises, saw her again, heard some rumours, got a bit stressed. But as I was expecting a spine-chilling ghostly story what I got fell a little, or rather a lot, short. And the ending felt a bit rushed, and a little forced too.
And whilst I write this, I have to admit that it all sounds a bit negative and perhaps, just perhaps, I am being a little unfair. The thing about this story, and the hype that currently surrounds it, is that I had expectations of it. I had heard from reviews elsewhere that this is a scary story. And I had seen from the billboards for the movie, and people who have seen the movie, that this is a scary movie and therefore must be a scary story. And when it wasn't. When it failed to elicit even the slightest rumblings of nervousness from me, I was disappointed.
There is a lot to like about The Woman in Black. It's nicely written for a start, and the characters (perhaps excepting Stella) are well drawn, authentic and believable. The setting is beautifully described, and you really get the sense of the house and its surroundings, the creeping, unexpected fogs and the desolation. The local characters come across well, and in general it feels like an authentically written period book, with a bit of a ghostly overtone. And if you read it with that in mind, it's a decent book. Easy to read and engaging, if a little slow paced.
So forget that it's supposed to be as scary as scary and you'll probably find The Woman in Black a nice read. As for me....
The Woman in Black receives a disappointed 6/10 Biis.
Phew! Took me a while to get going there didn't it? And that was my experience with reading The Woman in Black. It's only a short book, a novella really, around 200 pages long. So when, after getting about 50 pages in, I was still waiting for something significant to happen it got me a bit worried. And to be honest, throughout this nicely written gothic-Victorian style (whilst being neither Victorian nor gothic) book not much really did happen. He saw a woman at a funeral. He heard some noises, saw her again, heard some rumours, got a bit stressed. But as I was expecting a spine-chilling ghostly story what I got fell a little, or rather a lot, short. And the ending felt a bit rushed, and a little forced too.
And whilst I write this, I have to admit that it all sounds a bit negative and perhaps, just perhaps, I am being a little unfair. The thing about this story, and the hype that currently surrounds it, is that I had expectations of it. I had heard from reviews elsewhere that this is a scary story. And I had seen from the billboards for the movie, and people who have seen the movie, that this is a scary movie and therefore must be a scary story. And when it wasn't. When it failed to elicit even the slightest rumblings of nervousness from me, I was disappointed.
There is a lot to like about The Woman in Black. It's nicely written for a start, and the characters (perhaps excepting Stella) are well drawn, authentic and believable. The setting is beautifully described, and you really get the sense of the house and its surroundings, the creeping, unexpected fogs and the desolation. The local characters come across well, and in general it feels like an authentically written period book, with a bit of a ghostly overtone. And if you read it with that in mind, it's a decent book. Easy to read and engaging, if a little slow paced.
So forget that it's supposed to be as scary as scary and you'll probably find The Woman in Black a nice read. As for me....
The Woman in Black receives a disappointed 6/10 Biis.
Sunday, 4 March 2012
Books that are just plain nice
Following on from my last post about The Housekeeper and the Professor it got me thinking about books that are just really nice reads. You know those days where you just want to read something uplifting, something that's not filled with drama or sadness or vampires or violent death, but that carries you along on a rainbow coloured cloud into the warm arms of happiness and leaves you feeling refreshed with a sense of peace and bliss? Those kinds of books. They do exist, though they are as rare as the Kitti's hog-nosed bat. Let me tell you about a few that I have found...
The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Armin
This is the first book I always think of when I think of 'nice' books. The story of four women, at first strangers, who together hire a castle in Italy for a month and over the course of the month are changed, casting off their fears and the troubles that plague their lives. And in the process discovering love, not just of Italy but of each other. After reading it, you feel like you've had a month's holiday yourself.
Siddhartha by Herman Hesse
Siddhartha, as were many of Hesse's books, is heavily influenced by Eastern philosophy and as a result it's definitely zen-like. Following the life of Siddhartha Hesse explores human development; how we go through love, trials, we gain friends, family, knowledge and how the acquisition of knowledge in itself is not enough to bring us peace and enlightenment. How there is more to it than that, but how it is all within our reach. If we are just willing to trust and love and try. A beautiful, profound and inspiring book, Siddhartha is a book to read once a year just to remind yourself that enlightenment, however you see it, is possible.
A Room with a View by E. M. Forster
What is it about Italy? Another story that starts in Italy, this time Florence, and follows a young woman, Lucy, on a path towards love of a young man, George, who 'insults' her by kissing her in a poppy field on a day trip to the countryside outside Florence. Of course the path is not smooth. Lucy's concern for 'appearances' and George's apparent lack of self-control (or perhaps openness) which Lucy's conservative upbringing had not prepared her for. But it all comes good in the end, of course. Another sweet, uplifting book.
The Hawkline Monster: A Gothic Western by Richard Brautigan
I could have picked just about anything by Richard Brautigan barring In Watermelon Sugar which, whilst strange, errs on the depressing side. The Hawkline Monster is an odd story about two criminally minded cowboys hired by Miss Hawkline to hunt down a monster she believes has killed her father. And what is it about that umbrella stand that's so strange? A seriously odd but fun book-child of the 60s summer of love.
The Summer Book by Tove Jansson
There's a Grandmother and her six year old granddaughter, an island, and lots of strange Scandinavian wisdom. Like everything written by Jansson this has a kind of strange bohemian beauty to it. Not much happens, but there's a lot of love and sweetness and a kind of old, profound type of wisdom. Indescribably lovely.
If nobody speaks of remarkable things by Jon McGregor
Okay, there's maybe some drama here and I have to admit this book does make me cry, but there's an ordinary street in an ordinary summer, a lot of love, a lot of self discovery, a bit of tragedy, and a whole load of poetically beautiful writing about traffic lights.
Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel
There's a little tragedy in this (isn't there always!) but mainly it's a beautiful love story told through a series of emotionally charged recipes. If nothing else, it'll make you want to eat!
Mr Palomar by Italo Calvino
I don't think this little book is quite loved enough. A series of stories about the part-time philosopher, Mr Palomar, and his musings and experiences of the world. Not a novel, but a series of interlinked stories which get you thinking about what's good and curious about the world. I love Calvino's mischievousness and his keen eye. A beautiful book to dip into and out of.
What 'nice' books have you encountered?
The Enchanted April by Elizabeth von Armin
This is the first book I always think of when I think of 'nice' books. The story of four women, at first strangers, who together hire a castle in Italy for a month and over the course of the month are changed, casting off their fears and the troubles that plague their lives. And in the process discovering love, not just of Italy but of each other. After reading it, you feel like you've had a month's holiday yourself.
Siddhartha by Herman Hesse
Siddhartha, as were many of Hesse's books, is heavily influenced by Eastern philosophy and as a result it's definitely zen-like. Following the life of Siddhartha Hesse explores human development; how we go through love, trials, we gain friends, family, knowledge and how the acquisition of knowledge in itself is not enough to bring us peace and enlightenment. How there is more to it than that, but how it is all within our reach. If we are just willing to trust and love and try. A beautiful, profound and inspiring book, Siddhartha is a book to read once a year just to remind yourself that enlightenment, however you see it, is possible.
A Room with a View by E. M. Forster
What is it about Italy? Another story that starts in Italy, this time Florence, and follows a young woman, Lucy, on a path towards love of a young man, George, who 'insults' her by kissing her in a poppy field on a day trip to the countryside outside Florence. Of course the path is not smooth. Lucy's concern for 'appearances' and George's apparent lack of self-control (or perhaps openness) which Lucy's conservative upbringing had not prepared her for. But it all comes good in the end, of course. Another sweet, uplifting book.
The Hawkline Monster: A Gothic Western by Richard Brautigan
I could have picked just about anything by Richard Brautigan barring In Watermelon Sugar which, whilst strange, errs on the depressing side. The Hawkline Monster is an odd story about two criminally minded cowboys hired by Miss Hawkline to hunt down a monster she believes has killed her father. And what is it about that umbrella stand that's so strange? A seriously odd but fun book-child of the 60s summer of love.
The Summer Book by Tove Jansson
There's a Grandmother and her six year old granddaughter, an island, and lots of strange Scandinavian wisdom. Like everything written by Jansson this has a kind of strange bohemian beauty to it. Not much happens, but there's a lot of love and sweetness and a kind of old, profound type of wisdom. Indescribably lovely.
If nobody speaks of remarkable things by Jon McGregor
Okay, there's maybe some drama here and I have to admit this book does make me cry, but there's an ordinary street in an ordinary summer, a lot of love, a lot of self discovery, a bit of tragedy, and a whole load of poetically beautiful writing about traffic lights.
Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel
There's a little tragedy in this (isn't there always!) but mainly it's a beautiful love story told through a series of emotionally charged recipes. If nothing else, it'll make you want to eat!
Mr Palomar by Italo Calvino
I don't think this little book is quite loved enough. A series of stories about the part-time philosopher, Mr Palomar, and his musings and experiences of the world. Not a novel, but a series of interlinked stories which get you thinking about what's good and curious about the world. I love Calvino's mischievousness and his keen eye. A beautiful book to dip into and out of.
What 'nice' books have you encountered?
Saturday, 3 March 2012
The Housekeeper and the Professor by Yoko Ogawa
Not a great deal happens in the story of The Housekeeper and the Professor, a short but definitely sweet book by Japanese writer Yoko Ogawa. Now I have a bit of a fondness for Japanese fiction, which you might gather over time, as Japanese fiction tends to speak to my feelings about the world: it's lonely, overcrowded, people are a bit mad and sometimes strange and sinister things happen. Not so, however, in this lovely story of a single mother who is given the job of housekeeping for the former professor of mathematics who, following a car accident, has been left with a memory span of only 80 minutes. Primarily this is a story about relationships and how they grow, in spite of the challenge of the professor's short term memory issues. And there's mathematics in it too, enough and put plainly enough that even I could understand it. And this is the fascination, for me, with this story. Not much happens. The professor never remembers the housekeeper or her son, who he nicknames 'Root' because of his slightly flattened head. Outside of her time with the professor we learn nothing much of the housekeeper's life, not even her name, just a little of the back story about how she ended up a single mother and working as a housekeeper for the agency and how it lead to her working for the professor. But we learn about prime numbers, perfect numbers, Fermat's last theorem, and the general beauty and perfection of pure mathematics and number theory. Oh, and there's a little baseball thrown in.
There's not a great deal to say about this short novel, but I can highly recommend it. If you're looking for a nice, gentle read which opens up the subtle beauty of a subject which confuses many and turns it into something amazing, then give The Housekeeper and the Professor a try.
The Housekeeper and the Professor receives a cleanly 9/10 Biis.
Monday, 27 February 2012
My top 5 favourite books of all time
So it got me to thinking, if I really had to distil my
collection down to the absolute favourites, the books from which I could not
bear to be parted. And I’ve racked my brains, and weighed and measured and
examined the pros and cons and listened to the innermost workings of my heart
and here, with some trepidation, is my list of the top 5 books I couldn’t bear
to live without.
In no particular order (goodness, selection was hard enough.
Ordering? Impossible):
Grendel by John
Gardner
Grendel was recommended to me by a particularly literary
friend. Not being familiar with the Beowulf story, the name was not immediately
known to me but, in the end, it didn’t need to be. Grendel is a lushly written
re-imagining of the Beowulf story, told from the perspective of the monster which
Beowulf kills to cement his hero status. Here we find the ‘villain’ coming to
terms with his role, his ugliness, his hatedness, his realisation of the power
of words in spinning a role for us all. That in order for there to be heroes,
there must first be villains. I wouldn’t like to give away too much about this
one, but I think it’s close to the most perfect book ever written. Beautiful
and diamond sharp. Poetic. Magical.
The Magic Toyshop by
Angela Carter
I discovered the work of Angela Carter by accident. I was
studying English Literature at Sixth Form College and one day we had a trainee
teacher and she got us to study an extract of a story about a female vampire.
It was gothic and atmospheric. Dense and richly written. A few weeks later I
tracked it down in a short story collection by Carter and there followed a life-long
love affair with the faded decadence of Angela Carter’s writing. And in
particular The Magic Toyshop. Perhaps I was just the right age to pick up this short,
coming of age story of the pampered Melanie, brought to poverty by the death of
her parents and sent to live with an unknown uncle, the sinister Philip, and
his Magic Toyshop. And Philip’s wife, Aunt Maggie and Francie and the dirty,
degraded, sullen and somehow most marvellous of all, Finn.
As with all of Carter’s work, there’s a sinister undertone,
an enveloping sensuousness, almost like a discovered velvet chair, dust laden,
languishing past its prime in a second hand shop. Beauty beneath the degradation.
A stunning tale of a girl’s growing up, first love and, perhaps, a first connection
with the realities, pain and joy, of human life.
Lost Paradise by Cees
Nooteboom
Another chance find, and another real beauty. Aside from the
prologue and epilogue (which to this day I still don’t quite understand) this
is a shot of ecstatic self-discovery told through two disparate but linked
tales. The first tale follows a German-Brazilian girl who, prone to fits of
black moods, drives one day into a rough part of town and ends up being gang
raped. Following the attack she and a friend decide to go to Australia, a place
they had both longed to visit, and whilst she is there she has an affair with
an aboriginal man, becomes an angel and discovers how to live with herself in
peace.
The second tale is that of a man, a journalist who writes
book reviews, who is suffering from a mid-life slump. His girlfriend sends him
to a private sanatorium to recover himself and, whilst there, he revisits in
his mind his own trip to Australia and the source of his discontentment.
The first time I read Lost Paradise I found myself in a
state of near ecstasy that lasted three days. Then I read it again. And again.
A sparsely written but amazingly effective little book that will stay with me
for all time.
Cloud Atlas by David
Mitchell
Or did I mean The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet? Or
Ghostwritten? Or Number9Dream? Oh, with Mr Mitchell it’s so hard to choose but
if limited to one, to only one, it would have to be this, the sweeping, time
travelling, interlinked story Cloud Atlas. With a dizzying range of styles and
a skill which is almost inhuman and therefore cruel, Cloud Atlas is the book
that convinces me, always, that I’m never going to be a writer. Because who can
measure up to that? It’s an historical drama, a detective thriller, science
fiction, futuristic dystopia, post apocalyptic western and gosh-darned clever
all the way through. Whatever you like to read, this book has got it.
The Dark is Rising
Sequence by Susan Cooper
Is it cheating to choose 5 books as one item? Oh well,
consider me a cheat then. I first read Greenwitch as a teenager and then, in no
particular order, The Grey King (still my favourite, if I had to pick one), The
Dark is Rising, Under Sea Under Stone, Silver on the Tree. It’s a story for
young adults, but great for adult readers nonetheless. Drawing on Arthurian
legend and British folklore (or primarily English and Welsh anyway) it also
carries all the hallmarks of a good fantasy novel and a classic childhood
adventure story. There’s mystery, magic, lots of darkness, sinister forces,
heroic children, adventure and running like a current through it all this timeless
wisdom that makes it more than a mere child’s book. I re-read The Dark is
Rising a couple of Christmases ago and resolved to read it ever year. Don’t be
put off by that dreadful movie adaptation (The Seeker – honestly, I nearly
cried), it doesn’t come close to doing anything resembling ‘justice’ (though
shooting whoever made it might...only kidding). A great, entertaining read for
readers of all ages.Sunday, 19 February 2012
The Tale of Genji
Back in the 11th Century, at the same time the English were just about getting over the Battle of Hastings, a Japanese lady was writing a book which has been called (though this is subject to debate) the first ever novel. And that novel was called The Tale of Genji.
Weighing in at a massive 1169 pages long, this is not a book for the faint hearted. But to my surprise, despite its length, it's actually quite an easy read.
First thing to consider before you decide to read The Tale of Genji is which translation you want to read. There are merits and demerits for each of the translations in terms of accuracy, but as a non-Japanese speaker (well I'm working on it, but ancient Japanese is probably as difficult to decipher to a modern day Japanese speaker, as Anglo Saxon would be for a modern day English speaker) my primary concern was around how the writing flowed and how easy it was for me to read. So that would be my advice, always, when you have a number of translations to select from: read an extract from each of the translations and pick the one that best works for you. There are three main translations of Genji, being (in chronological order) the Arthur Waley translation, Edward Seidensticker and Royall Tyler. In terms of accuracy I believe the Tyler translation is said to be the most accurate, Waley's the most beautiful and Seidensticker's a bit somewhere in between the two. Just looking at a single passage, you can see the difference:
Waley translation:
'Genji felt very disconsolate. It had begun to rain; a cold wind blew across the hill, carrying with it the sound of a waterfall--audible till then as a gentle intermittent plashing, but now a mighty roar; and with it, somnolently rising and falling, mingled the monotonous chanting of the scriptures. Even the most unimpressionable nature would have been plunged into melancholy by such surroundings. How much the more so Prince Genji, as he lay sleepless on his bed, continually planning and counter-planning.'
Seidensticker translation:
'Genji was not feeling well. A shower passed on a chilly mountain wind, and the sound of the waterfall was higher. Intermittently came a rather sleepy voice, solemn and somehow ominous, reading a sacred text. The most insensitive of men would have been aroused by the scene. Genji was unable to sleep.'
Tyler's version:
'Genji felt quite unwell, and besides, it was now raining a little, a cold mountain wind had set in to blow, and the pool beneath the waterfall had risen until the roar was louder than before. The eerie swelling and dying of somnolent voices chanting the scriptures could hardly fail in such a setting to move the most casual visitor. No wonder Genji, who had so much to ponder, could not sleep.'
Now, for me after considering all the texts the Seidensticker translation worked best, but that's just my choice. If you want to read Genji, I'd suggest you have a read of all three versions and pick the one that works best for you.
Once you've decided on which version to read it's time to get reading! So, a little about the story. Genji, of the story's title, is the favoured son of the Emperor by his favourite lady (though not the Empress). Because Genji is born to one of the Emperor's lesser ladies which generates much jealousy, and because he is so handsome, the Emperor decides to make him a commoner minamoto rather than according him princely status. On account of the extreme jealously towards his mother, she falls out of favour in court (though not with the Emperor) and the effect of the jealously eventually brings about her death.
The Emperor is disconsolate until he discovers the beautiful Fujitsubo who rivals Genji's mother in beauty. As Genji grows older, he falls in love with Fujitsubo and as a result of an unfortunate encounter (unknown to the Emperor) he fathers a son by Fujitsubo. The child is brought up as Genji's brother and later becomes Emperor.
The story follows the 'shining Genji' through his romantic exploits, his pursual of ladies of rare and singular beauty. And through these exploits we learn more about Japanese courtly culture in this time period. And it is a story told beautifully, with seductions carried out through poetry, with distinction being measured by familiarity with the classic Chinese poetry and the delicacy of the writer's calligraphy. Refinement is measured by the length of their sleeves, the careful selection of their dress, the quality of their gifts.
One of the things that comes through the story is the slightly unhappy treatment of the ladies. For example, Genji, being obsessed with Fujitsubo, finds a young girl who is related to her (her father is Fujitsubo's brother). The girl, being underage, is effectively kidnapped by Genji and taken into his house. She becomes, after a time, his principal lady, his Murasaki (namesake of the writer I think) who is in all respects the perfect lady, distinguished, beautiful beyond compare, delicate of mind and deed, patient in spite of Genji's many infidelities. Aside from this kidnap of a minor, the violation of a lady's honour (a 'gentleman' forcing himself upon her) results in dishonour for the woman but not, it seems, for the man. If Murasaki Shikibu wants us to see how women are mistreated this comes through quite effectively in the novel.
Genji is certainly a novel of two halves. In the first part we see how the shining Genji goes through his life, his trials and tribulations, his affairs, his great successes. It is a shining time, and whilst it is not without difficulties there is little criticism of the behaviour and character of Genji and his cohorts. However after Genji dies (yes dies!) half way through the book we follow the lives of Genji's son Kaoru (who is not his son but the son of Cho no Chujo's son Kashiwagi following an affair between him and the Third Princess who was Genji's wife - complicated much?) and Prince Niu who is Genji's grandson. There's a certain darkening to the second half, the exploits are not so forgivable or laudable, their poetry not so refined, their mastery of the arts (music, dancing) not so complete. Their behaviour results in the possible suicide of a lady who is almost literally torn apart by their 'affections'. It is a dark time and all that is good and valued, all that was shining has become tarnished.
And this is one of the most interesting things about The Tale of Genji, how it tells us that whilst the specifics, the details may have changed, some things are eternal. The feeling that we are living in a declining age is a feeling which spans back through the centuries, back to the early writings of an 11th Century Japanese lady, writing the first novel. A reminder, perhaps, that whilst things may change, human nature stays the same.
I could have gone on reading Genji forever. It is a sad, beautiful, exciting, passionate and enlightening story. Not without its flaws; it takes time to get going (the first few chapters are a bit meh) and there are bits in the middle that feel kind of wrong and disjointed, but at its core it is a love story and the object of love is Genji.
The Tale of Genji receives an historic 9/10 Biis.
Weighing in at a massive 1169 pages long, this is not a book for the faint hearted. But to my surprise, despite its length, it's actually quite an easy read.
First thing to consider before you decide to read The Tale of Genji is which translation you want to read. There are merits and demerits for each of the translations in terms of accuracy, but as a non-Japanese speaker (well I'm working on it, but ancient Japanese is probably as difficult to decipher to a modern day Japanese speaker, as Anglo Saxon would be for a modern day English speaker) my primary concern was around how the writing flowed and how easy it was for me to read. So that would be my advice, always, when you have a number of translations to select from: read an extract from each of the translations and pick the one that best works for you. There are three main translations of Genji, being (in chronological order) the Arthur Waley translation, Edward Seidensticker and Royall Tyler. In terms of accuracy I believe the Tyler translation is said to be the most accurate, Waley's the most beautiful and Seidensticker's a bit somewhere in between the two. Just looking at a single passage, you can see the difference:
Waley translation:
'Genji felt very disconsolate. It had begun to rain; a cold wind blew across the hill, carrying with it the sound of a waterfall--audible till then as a gentle intermittent plashing, but now a mighty roar; and with it, somnolently rising and falling, mingled the monotonous chanting of the scriptures. Even the most unimpressionable nature would have been plunged into melancholy by such surroundings. How much the more so Prince Genji, as he lay sleepless on his bed, continually planning and counter-planning.'
Seidensticker translation:
'Genji was not feeling well. A shower passed on a chilly mountain wind, and the sound of the waterfall was higher. Intermittently came a rather sleepy voice, solemn and somehow ominous, reading a sacred text. The most insensitive of men would have been aroused by the scene. Genji was unable to sleep.'
Tyler's version:
'Genji felt quite unwell, and besides, it was now raining a little, a cold mountain wind had set in to blow, and the pool beneath the waterfall had risen until the roar was louder than before. The eerie swelling and dying of somnolent voices chanting the scriptures could hardly fail in such a setting to move the most casual visitor. No wonder Genji, who had so much to ponder, could not sleep.'
Now, for me after considering all the texts the Seidensticker translation worked best, but that's just my choice. If you want to read Genji, I'd suggest you have a read of all three versions and pick the one that works best for you.
Once you've decided on which version to read it's time to get reading! So, a little about the story. Genji, of the story's title, is the favoured son of the Emperor by his favourite lady (though not the Empress). Because Genji is born to one of the Emperor's lesser ladies which generates much jealousy, and because he is so handsome, the Emperor decides to make him a commoner minamoto rather than according him princely status. On account of the extreme jealously towards his mother, she falls out of favour in court (though not with the Emperor) and the effect of the jealously eventually brings about her death.
The Emperor is disconsolate until he discovers the beautiful Fujitsubo who rivals Genji's mother in beauty. As Genji grows older, he falls in love with Fujitsubo and as a result of an unfortunate encounter (unknown to the Emperor) he fathers a son by Fujitsubo. The child is brought up as Genji's brother and later becomes Emperor.
The story follows the 'shining Genji' through his romantic exploits, his pursual of ladies of rare and singular beauty. And through these exploits we learn more about Japanese courtly culture in this time period. And it is a story told beautifully, with seductions carried out through poetry, with distinction being measured by familiarity with the classic Chinese poetry and the delicacy of the writer's calligraphy. Refinement is measured by the length of their sleeves, the careful selection of their dress, the quality of their gifts.
One of the things that comes through the story is the slightly unhappy treatment of the ladies. For example, Genji, being obsessed with Fujitsubo, finds a young girl who is related to her (her father is Fujitsubo's brother). The girl, being underage, is effectively kidnapped by Genji and taken into his house. She becomes, after a time, his principal lady, his Murasaki (namesake of the writer I think) who is in all respects the perfect lady, distinguished, beautiful beyond compare, delicate of mind and deed, patient in spite of Genji's many infidelities. Aside from this kidnap of a minor, the violation of a lady's honour (a 'gentleman' forcing himself upon her) results in dishonour for the woman but not, it seems, for the man. If Murasaki Shikibu wants us to see how women are mistreated this comes through quite effectively in the novel.
Genji is certainly a novel of two halves. In the first part we see how the shining Genji goes through his life, his trials and tribulations, his affairs, his great successes. It is a shining time, and whilst it is not without difficulties there is little criticism of the behaviour and character of Genji and his cohorts. However after Genji dies (yes dies!) half way through the book we follow the lives of Genji's son Kaoru (who is not his son but the son of Cho no Chujo's son Kashiwagi following an affair between him and the Third Princess who was Genji's wife - complicated much?) and Prince Niu who is Genji's grandson. There's a certain darkening to the second half, the exploits are not so forgivable or laudable, their poetry not so refined, their mastery of the arts (music, dancing) not so complete. Their behaviour results in the possible suicide of a lady who is almost literally torn apart by their 'affections'. It is a dark time and all that is good and valued, all that was shining has become tarnished.
And this is one of the most interesting things about The Tale of Genji, how it tells us that whilst the specifics, the details may have changed, some things are eternal. The feeling that we are living in a declining age is a feeling which spans back through the centuries, back to the early writings of an 11th Century Japanese lady, writing the first novel. A reminder, perhaps, that whilst things may change, human nature stays the same.
I could have gone on reading Genji forever. It is a sad, beautiful, exciting, passionate and enlightening story. Not without its flaws; it takes time to get going (the first few chapters are a bit meh) and there are bits in the middle that feel kind of wrong and disjointed, but at its core it is a love story and the object of love is Genji.
The Tale of Genji receives an historic 9/10 Biis.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates
I'm not American and I didn't grow up in the 60s so the story of Mary Jo Kopechne and her accident with then US Senator Ted Kennedy, and all the controversy that surrounded it. So I don't know if I was missing something or not, not knowing the history on which this story was (loosely) related. But on finishing the book, and reading the history afterwards, I don't think I lost out in any way and, perhaps, untainted by expectation or opinion, it was actually beneficial.
So after that long-winded introduction which tells you nothing, let me tell you a little about Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates.
The story traces the death of Kelly Kelleher, a young journalist/teacher/political activist who meets The Senator (unnamed throughout) at a Fourth of July party, sparks up an attraction with him, and leaves the party with him. The Senator has been drinking, and they're driving to the ferry terminal when the Senator takes a wrong turn. Down a dirt road they spin off on a turn, the car pitches into the water. He gets out, she doesn't.
Using starkly poetic prose Oates explores those key events: Kelly's first meeting with the Senator, her decision to go with him, the accident, her death. In repetitious detail and circular timeframes she goes over and over these events. Kelly's motivation, her fears, her feelings, her disappointment, her vulnerability. The Senator's attractiveness. The opportunity. The dark road, the black water. Over and over, in a short novel with short chapters, with repetition, we go over and over the points that led her to here, to her death. There's a real strength in Oates use of language, in the poetic devices she employs to tease out the terrible realisation, that we're watching (reading) a girl's death. That this is a real girl, with real feelings. That she expected to be saved. That in the end, she believed he would save her when in fact he let her down, he let her die in the black water.
And the prose is the real strength of this novel, that while Oates labours the point it doesn't feel laboured, it feels delicate, vulnerable. And you feel like you're right there with Kelly, experiencing her last moments. A painful read, especially in light of the true events which inspired them. She is at once beautiful, innocent and tragic 'You know you're someone's little girl, oh yes' and yet a sharp political activist with keen views and a determination to make a difference 'There is no such thing as 'my' generation, Senator. We're divided by race, class, education, politics - even sexual self-definition. The only thing that links us is our - separateness'.
And in the end it is the separateness that counts. He survives. He survives by using her face as a stepping stone to push himself to safety, while she dies slowly, revolving around the circumstances that led her to her death, sucking on a tiny, shrinking pocket of air.
A short but affecting novel. My first Oates. The first of many.
Black Water receives a slippery 9 out of 10 Biis.
So after that long-winded introduction which tells you nothing, let me tell you a little about Black Water by Joyce Carol Oates.
The story traces the death of Kelly Kelleher, a young journalist/teacher/political activist who meets The Senator (unnamed throughout) at a Fourth of July party, sparks up an attraction with him, and leaves the party with him. The Senator has been drinking, and they're driving to the ferry terminal when the Senator takes a wrong turn. Down a dirt road they spin off on a turn, the car pitches into the water. He gets out, she doesn't.
Using starkly poetic prose Oates explores those key events: Kelly's first meeting with the Senator, her decision to go with him, the accident, her death. In repetitious detail and circular timeframes she goes over and over these events. Kelly's motivation, her fears, her feelings, her disappointment, her vulnerability. The Senator's attractiveness. The opportunity. The dark road, the black water. Over and over, in a short novel with short chapters, with repetition, we go over and over the points that led her to here, to her death. There's a real strength in Oates use of language, in the poetic devices she employs to tease out the terrible realisation, that we're watching (reading) a girl's death. That this is a real girl, with real feelings. That she expected to be saved. That in the end, she believed he would save her when in fact he let her down, he let her die in the black water.
And the prose is the real strength of this novel, that while Oates labours the point it doesn't feel laboured, it feels delicate, vulnerable. And you feel like you're right there with Kelly, experiencing her last moments. A painful read, especially in light of the true events which inspired them. She is at once beautiful, innocent and tragic 'You know you're someone's little girl, oh yes' and yet a sharp political activist with keen views and a determination to make a difference 'There is no such thing as 'my' generation, Senator. We're divided by race, class, education, politics - even sexual self-definition. The only thing that links us is our - separateness'.
And in the end it is the separateness that counts. He survives. He survives by using her face as a stepping stone to push himself to safety, while she dies slowly, revolving around the circumstances that led her to her death, sucking on a tiny, shrinking pocket of air.
A short but affecting novel. My first Oates. The first of many.
Black Water receives a slippery 9 out of 10 Biis.
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