Wives and Daughters (Elizabeth Gaskell)

I do not enjoy Gaskell. I find her quite, quite dull. I was going to add the disclaimer that this opinion has been formed from having read only two of her novels, but upon discovering that she only ever wrote six I feel that a blanket statement is suitable considering I have in fact read a third of her oeuvre.

We had to study North and South at high school. I remember that English class well. We had an entirely useless substitute teacher for most of the year. She set us 50 questions to answer on North and South. My friend and I, deciding that the task cut into far too much lying in the sun time, decided to submit the project as a joint effort. And neither of us finished our halves. The teacher laughed softly when we wove a fictitious tale of forgetfulness and camaraderie and we thought no more of it. It was only on the last day of term that she announced in high dudgeon that anyone who had not completed the assignment would receive an 'E' for the semester. Unlike in Harry Potter, this is not indicative of 'Exceeds Expectations'. An 'E' meant 'you go to a school where we do not award fail grades, but, be not comforted, we are not amused'.

So, obviously, I feel great discontent whenever I think about North and South. It was not sufficiently gripping to hold my attention and I have long written it off as a plodding tome that extols the idiocies of the upper class and the inadequacies of the lower class with no hint of hope for either.

But this post is not about North and South. Nay! It is about Wives and Daughters.

I shall be brief in my criticism because the book itself was brief. I borrowed it from the library and did not realise I had taken the "In Half the Time" version. Supposedly, these editions cut out unnecessary minor characters and plot lines which have no influence over the ending. Considering Gaskell died before finishing the book I feel that this approach is slightly cavalier. John Smith who was cut out in chapter three could well have been meant to turn up in the final chapter and save the day!

Not that the day needed saving. That would suggest that the book was in any way interesting. And it was not. It was duller than David Cameron's dishwater. It was also silly and insipid. I don't understand why Gaskell is so often compared to Austen. Even the emptiest of Austen's novels (Emma... vomit) could steamroller over Gaskell's works. I shudder to think what the novel is like if this is the interesting, important cut of the work. Cynthia was the only sympathetic and mildly intelligent character and she promised to marry Mr Preston if he'd loan her twenty pounds.

A classic best left on the shelf I feel. Behind a locked glass cabinet. With a warning sign- "Open at risk of death from supreme boredom".

Rating: 4/10.

Lady Chatterley's Lover (D.H. Lawrence)

I challenge anyone to not pick up Lady Chatterley's Lover after learning that Penguin Books were prosecuted in 1960 under the Obscene Publications Act for releasing the book. I am glad to see that novels can no longer be banned under the Act (ridiculous) and am quite eager to read other titles that were previously hauled into court by the braying conservatives. Inside Linda Lovelace and Lord Horror have been added to my list!

I was going to start off this post with a brief rehash of Sons and Lovers and then swoop saucily into a review of Lady Chatterley's Lover. Sardonic eyebrow cocked, I would note wittily that Lawrence's earlier title had hinted at his grasp of the relationship between sexuality and creativity but further life experiences (and partners) must have educated him further, as the latter novel clearly demonstrates. Then, with a sigh, I realised I had not read Sons and Lovers (I saw the TV series) and could not say this with any authority. Perhaps more importantly, I also realised I cannot cock my eyebrow, sardonically or otherwise and thus I decided to angle the review in a different direction.

This book shocked me several times. I can understand why critics claimed it was just a series of lewd sexual encounters held together by a shaky plot line. I DO NOT HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THIS. If the plot line were any more complicated or emotionally involving the book wouldn't achieve one of its main purposes: to put promiscuity on a pedestal. The shocks came not from this but rather from the swearing and sexual descriptions which seemed far too graphic for lovers in the early 20th century. Surely they were only indulging in this sort of carry-on in uncomfortable silences with yards of starched muslin petticoats hampering their every move?

Lady Constance Chatterley needs a lover because her husband has come home from the war paralysed from the waist down. He doesn't much mind if she takes a lover, as he would quite like a son to look after the small copse on their property that has been there for hundreds of years. He worries what will happen to the trees if they do not have an heir. He is, to be honest, not the most exciting of characters. Connie takes a few lovers but the lover of the title is Mellors, the new gamekeeper on their property.

I had a bit of trouble feeling attracted to Mellors. He has a ginger moustache. He seems to have the same expression on his face for most of the book and that is an amalgam of terrified and watchful. He is not very strong and he wheezes when he pushes Connie's husband around in a bathchair.

Well, I can hear you saying, as long as Connie's happy, that's all that matters. That would be all well and good, apart from the fact that I shudder every time I remember the moustache.

What follows is a torrid love affair and some of the most insightful prose I have ever read. Lawrence is a master of dialogue... never straying into the trap of using it for plot momentum. His descriptive text is evocative but sparse, focusing on the thoughts the landscape generates rather than the landscape itself. The characters themselves are not overly glamorous or worldly which adds a charm to the novel it might otherwise have lacked.

In conclusion, a thoroughly satisfying read. Even if you don't want to read it, I recommend picking up a copy purely for the cover. Has there ever been a more hilarious Penguin Classics jacket?

Rating: 8/10.

Of Cheese and E. Bronte

First off let's get the preliminaries out of the way, this is an Emily Bronte-free zone. Or, to be more exact, this is a Heathcliff-free zone. Cathy we take issue with as well, but we hold a much larger chunter with Mr. H.

It is almost, almost the same issue I have with those ridiculous people out there in the virtual world who find Severus Snape compelling/sexy/misunderstood, (Les Francais, bien sur.) Except that Snape redeems himself somewhat, (ack, hope I'm not ruining some tortoise's Harry Potter experience here. Really though, slow and steady will only leave you disappointed), and Heathcliff NEVER DOES. He is the most hideous, selfish reprobate, without any of the gorgeous maverick connotations that often come with the latter term.

I think perhaps some of my hatred of Heathcliff (and Cathy) is an extension of my dislike of the layout of the novel. Wuthering Heights is no structural masterpiece. Cathy's early death means that the reader never actually gets a chance to emotionally invest in her relationship with Heathcliff. (And Emily, Heathcliff talking to her ghost and planning to exhume her do not count as relationship progression.)

Of course, we then come to Bronte's complete inability to think of names for her characters. Seriously, she came up with 'Heathcliff' and then had a complete and utter mental block and had to use the same names of the original characters in part 1 for all the other characters in part 2. I know the importance of lineage and family in the story, but when I can't work out if one of the Lintons is courting his sister or his cousin or his niece it's VERY disconcerting.

Hailed as one of the best love stories of the period and in fact IN THE WHOLE HISTORY OF LITERATURE if you listen to certain misguided fools, I put forward another argument. This is melodramatic drivel. Twilight and Romeo and Juliet at least attempt to toe the line of decency, although they do overstep it on occasion. The line is not even VISIBLE to Wuthering Heights.

If you're going to do cheese, do it well. Make a minimum of one of the characters in the relationship likeable, relatable or at least believable. Make the sexual tension appealing rather than abhorrent. I do not want to read about greasy-haired leers from the corner or fever-soaked hallucinations that lead to death rather than a romp in the bedroom.

The best part of this novel is at the beginning, with two very choice quotes from Mr Lockwood's narration.. the first being when "Mr. Heathcliff and his man climbed the cellar steps with vexatious phlegm"... hah. The second is when he asks Mrs Heathcliff if her favourite animals are what he assumes to be a pile of sleeping cats on a cushion. "Unluckily, it was a heap of dead rabbits."

Seriously, stop there. That's all you need to read. The rest is just AWFUL.

Rating: 4/10

January Classic: Jane Eyre

So I've always felt vaguely guilty about never having read any of the Brontes. I never had to do them at school, and then it just never happened. A friend recently lent me The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde, and I thought she was going to slap me when I revealed that I'd not actually read Jane Eyre itself. Hurried promises were made (and kept!) to read it IMMEDIATELY which I did, and I have to say I am in love. I am head over heels, and not just with the snarky, sexy Mr Rochester, but with the whole book.
Just in case you're like me and managed to make it through your life thus far without ever picking up Charlotte Bronte's masterpiece: the book tells the story of Jane Eyre (no, really?) through her childhood in the care of a cold and unfeeling aunt and her time at the harsh Lowood school, before she is employed as governess at Thornfield Manor, home of the mysterious and brooding Mr Rochester. Seriously, Darcy's got nothing on him. Jane and Rochester fall in love, but since this happens halfway through a pretty thick book, you can assume that you don't get the happy ending right away. The scandal! The drama! The intrigue! The insane sexual tension! Fantastic!

I am astounded at how involved I was in reading Jane Eyre - I am told my face was hilarious to watch when certain dramatic revelations took place. I cared so much about the characters and so much about what happened to them. This was a huge (and refreshing) change from many of the contemporary authors I read, where I am interested in what happens to characters, but in a detached kind of way. Charlotte Bronte makes you feel what Jane feels, when she is heartbroken, you are heartbroken, and when she is happy, you are ridiculously excited. If you've not read Jane Eyre I can only judge, if following this you do not go and pick it up immediately. 9/10