The Red Shooter Hat

see? i identify with this. 

I don't know why, but when I read a classic book I usually seem to get hold of it by the wrong end. I don't go to misinterpret or to catch a different meaning than everyone else, but somehow I do. When I read, I let the story carry me. I let go of analysis until I have finished the book. Its effect on me usually remains to be seen until the final pages are gone. I don't know how to analyze as I go. And even if I did, I think I would get caught in the current of the story and forget to. When I was younger I used to grow frustrated that I couldn't foresee the solution of a mystery when my brother, bless his soul, could guess in three pages who had done it and how, and possibly in which room. Then I grew older, and it frustrated me (and still frustrates me) that I seem to interpret books differently than the official analysis. Take, Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee. That book made critics throw back their heads and howl with pain as Lee allegedly ripped the character of Atticus as we know him, to shreds. When I read the book I was disappointed in Atticus, yet Lee had built her characters and story-world well enough that the shift in conviction didn't exactly ruin Atticus for me. It made him even more real...because he has a (very large) flaw that one didn't see in To Kill a Mockingbird but that one could believe given his age and times. There is an argument to be made for the idea that Harper Lee didn't intend the version of Atticus seen in Go Set a Watchman to be the Atticus the world knew because, after all, she published TKAM and Atticus mightn't yet have been in his final form in its prequel. There is that argument (I spent some time this weekend arguing the point with the aforementioned brother) and that is a topic for another post. But the fact remains that I didn't react the way the majority of the public reacted to Go Set A Watchman.

Likewise, upon strength of recommendation from a friend, I dived into J.D. Salinger's work this week. He is best known, I believe, for The Catcher in The Rye. I've read that and am now halfway through Franny & Zooey. Since I entered Catcher not knowing anything about it, really, except that it was generally regarded as something People Should Read, I had no preconceived notions about what it would or would not be. My initial reaction was that Salinger is a darn good wordsmith. The best way I can describe the way his writing effects me is that it feels like soda bubbles up one's nose. It's unexpected and fresh and totally different than most anything else I've ever read. My second reaction was that I, too, could write like Salinger if I replaced all my adjectives with swearing. My third reaction was that Catcher's main character, Holden Caulfield, was a boy who'd grown up too fast. His morals are questionable at every turn, but his heart is gold. I know that sounds like an anomaly. Perhaps it is. But what I saw in the character was a boy who has rushed headlong into the world and its many pleasures and yet finds himself confused by the hollow chaos and unsure how to handle how he feels about it. He is kind-hearted. He is smart. He is empty. He is generous. He has known tragedy and he has known happiness, in some small way. The kid's winded, that's for sure. He's going to kill himself presently if he doesn't get a grip, but I had a soft spot for Holden Caulfield.

Thus ran my mind as I closed The Catcher in The Rye and totted the name on my List of Books Read in 2016. Later on I looked up the book online to see what the GP (General Populace) thought of it and found that, apparently, I took away the wrong takeaway from the novel. It is reputed to be a manifesto of teen rebellion; the most censored book of the baby boomers' era; the mental ramblings of an obsessed kid; an inspiration for several shooters, including John Lennon's killer. And I swear to you most earnestly, I can't figure out why on my own. Once I looked up a couple articles, of course, I saw what they meant...if you're an over-thinker and like to overthink things. I mean, if you want to think hard enough about a grape, I guess you can decide it's a raisin and you wouldn't be wrong. You'd just be scrutinizing it past the point of good sense. Or maybe my difficulty is that I don't scrutinize much at all. I'm perfectly happy, if it's a good story, to take the story at face value. I like discussing deep things and ulterior motives and various interpretations, but I'm what Shakespeare would call a "pleasant-spirited lady" and I don't like assigning sketchy backstory to people helter-skelter. I'm more than willing to believe you are what you appear to be, until you give me a reason to think otherwise. I mean, take Holden Caulfield. Yeah, he's an emotionally unstable person given to hyperbole, but you don't exactly go around asking people if they're mad, do you? My problem is that characters become very real to me and I treat them, subconsciously, as if they were real acquaintances. I can imagine my friendship with Holden Caulfield going this way:

Me: "Hello, I'm Rachel."

H.C.: "What're you *%#% introducing yourself to me for?"

Me: "Oh, I thought you looked lonely. It's a little cold out here. Want to step inside?"

H.C. looks at me and shrugs.

Me: "Let's go."

We step inside, camera shifts, H.C. shudders some rain off his coat.

Me: "That's a dashing hat. Very red."

H.C.: "Why the &$#@$@ does everyone comment on my hat? Isn't a fella allowed to wear a $%#$3 hat every once in a while if he wants to?"

Me: "Well, it's a very nice hat."

H.C. begrudgingly: "Gee, thanks."

I'd come away thinking that H.C. was a bit of a crab, had a great many peculiarities, but was probably a fairly nice person on the whole. I wouldn't sit there and psychoanalyze him and start getting a pathological fear of people who wear red deerstalker hats and try not to go home so they won't get into trouble with their parents for flunking out of yet another school. I mean, don't get me wrong: Holden Caulfield has problems. But I think I'm the one about to develop a paranoia of letting madmen go undetected. The really disturbing part is when, like with the quote above, I identify with the supposedly nut-so character in question.

I hate the fact that I don't pick up on subtle cues in literature. I'm not a great one for symbolism. I like people to say what they mean but I don't mind if it has two or three meanings. I like complexity. But I'm also not going to assume that when you put a character in a red hat he bought in New York City, that he needs a psychiatrist. I mean, give a man a sartorial break. At any rate, this is why I don't do book reviews on my blog; I always seem to come away with quite a different impression than the author intended and I'm not sure what that says about me. So now I want to open up a discussion and ask you: are you one of the dedicated G.P. that foresee the psychological conclusion of a character like Holden Caulfield or are you more like me: a woman a bit shy to clap the shackles of a sanitarium on a person who hasn't proved himself in any concrete way to be a total loony? 

Twenty-Fourteen: A Behemoth Year

"The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year's resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective."

-G.K. Chesterton 

TWENTY-FOURTEEN

It's been a monumental year for me as a writer. So huge I wonder if I'll ever have another quite as big. See, this time last year, I was still entirely unpublished with a cover design in hand and an email into Createspace. By Valentine's Day, I had released my first novel, Fly Away Home. In January, I received word that I was a finalist in the Five Glass Slippers contest and saw my first novella published in June. The rest of the summer was spent finalizing cover design for my first mystery and second full-length novel, Anon, Sir, Anon. Throughout the early fall I put that novel through my trusty editor, Rachelle Rea, and the first Vivi & Farnham mystery debuted to quiet applause on the Fifth of November. In early December I finished the first draft of my children's novel, Cottleston Pie, and sent the first three chapters to beta-readers before polishing them up. By the time you read this, I will (hopefully) have sent Cottleston Pie to its first publisher to be looked upon with a savage eye. And we mustn't forget the twelve-day wonder, John Out-the-Window, which astounded me by coming out to nearly 18,000 words  (each letter being written the day it was posted) and being acclaimed by some people as one of their favorite things I had ever written. In all seriousness, you are the best group of readers I know. The fact that you spent time every day in the hugely busy holiday season to drop by The Inkpen Authoress (some of you several times a day) and read something that was unpolished and unedited surprises and delights me. Thus, the year in writing. As for the year in reading? Well, I keep a list taped to my Wall of Inspiration. The wall currently looks like this:

Please forgive the overflowing trash can and busy-looking desk. We can't all be tidy.

It was not an exceptional reading year as far as numbers go. I was far too busy juggling the strange new world of Nanny vs. Novelist and trying to keep up with my family in the spare times. But if I did not read many books, the quality was high and delightful. From Plenilune to The Grand Sophy; from Eric Metaxas' giant and heart-wrenching biography on Dietrich Bonhoeffer to a Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon; from The Man Who Was Thursday to Stephen Lawhead's Hood trilogy, it was a year of growth for me as a reader. The complete list is as follows, and my favorite titles are emboldened:

Outcasts by Jill Williamson
The Red House Mystery by A.A. Milne
Hood by Stephen Lawhead
Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton
Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand
Forget-Me-Nots by Amber Stokes
Scarlet by Stephen Lawhead
On Distant Shores by Sarah Sundin
Once on a Time by A.A. Milne
The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer
Duty by Rachel Rossano
Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas
Violets Are Blue by Elizabeth Rose
Tuck by Stephen Lawhead
Regency Buck by Georgette Heyer
Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling
Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon
Only a Novel by Amy Dashwood
Plenilune by Jennifer Freitag
P.G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters edited by Sophie Ratcliffe
The Mrs. Meade Mysteries Vol. I by Elisabeth G. Foley
The Explicit Gospel by Matt Chandler
Leave it to Psmith by P.G. Wodehouse
Aunts Aren't Gentlemen by P.G. Wodehouse
Villette by Charlotte Bronte
The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton
Corral Nocturne by Elisabeth G. Foley
Have His Carcase by Dorothy Sayers
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Anne Shafer
The Book Thief by Markus Zusack
Murder Must Advertise by Dororthy Sayers

As you can see, I was able to fit in quite a few indie novels, which was a lovely switch-up. The reason I do not have Five Glass Slippers on the list is because I still have not read one of the five stories and didn't feel I justified in listing it until I had. Before 2015 begins, I hope to be able to add The Hobbit into the list. It was one of my Christmas Break goals. Phew. Twenty-Fourteen sits heavy on the shoulders. Let's see what lies ahead in the twelve-month to come!

Cyber Monday and Christmas Gifts

I know some of you were probably thrown for a loop and shocked and possibly appalled last post to see that I had departed entirely from my classic tone, taken my tongue entirely out of my cheek, and sat down to something serious. My half-hearted apologies. You see, I can be sober when I've a mind to. But today is not a day for sobriety. I wish I had had time to remind you this morning, but I will tell you now:

Anon, Sir, Anon is 25% off in Kindle form today! Just follow the link, find the title on the list (and check out the other authors) and get your copy today. A big thank you to those who bought their paperback copy on Black Friday! You made the sale a success!

Five Glass Slippers has not gone off the market either, I will remind you. In fact, I received the terribly exciting news last week that Rooglewood Press has commissioned an audiobook company to record the entire book...I received the first chapter audio file of The Windy Side of Care and let me just say: it is so good. Imagine Alis' voice being read by an actress with a wonderful British accent...you are going to want this one. And I am especially pleased because a friend had just inquired as to whether any of my stories were in audiobook form and I had had to tell him "no." I'll have to update that information. My publisher tells me that the collection ought to be available in that format in early December! And if you buy your readable copy of the collection today, you can take advantage of Amazon's 30%-off Cyber Monday sale!

And just when you thought you had run out of my books to buy, might I remind you that Fly Away Home is still an option. In fact, I have sold more than a couple copies in the last two days, which is a lovely thing.

Christmas is coming. CHRISTMAS IS COMING. Outside of my family (which numbers twelve people, including my new sister-in-law), I have at least twenty other people for whom I will be creating or buying gifts. Let the games begin and may the odds ever be in my favor. Christmasing, to some extent, requires moneys and while I am not at all begging, I will remind you that when you purchase books from myself and other independent authors, you are likely directly affecting our gift-giving abilities. Just a reminder, because in this age of Big Companies, people don't think so much of local efforts. Beyond that, who doesn't like to receive a book on Christmas morning that they have probably never heard of? If you have a friend or family member who is difficult to surprise, they might think they know what book that is, but unless they've read all the back pages of Amazon or stumbled upon The Inkpen Authoress, they probably won't. And for once, you'll win. You win, I win, we all win.

"I believe Christmas has done me good and will do me good and so I say God bless it!"

And so forth. Do you remember the custom-made, tea-stained stationary I sold last year? I'm taking orders again because, let's face it, it's Christmas and letter-writers have "nice stationery" on their list and you don't feel like spending six dollars for a pack of blatantly pink hedgehog stationery at Target which just anybody could get and which doesn't have enough room for three sentences apiece anyway. Each "packet" of my hand-drawn designs contains 10 sheets of 8 1/2 x 11 stationery and will cost you $8.00, which includes shipping. You may follow that link and order any of the designs already stated, or we can chat about a new design custom made for you or a family member who loves to write letters. If you would like to purchase a packet of stationery, feel free to direct an email to theinkpenauthoress(at)gmail(dot)com and we can go from there.

FA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA-LA!

"A good brawling-book"

Do you know what I like best about reading some books?

I like reading a book and getting smacked across the face and feeling my intellect's blood take one under the jaw and stagger back a few paces. I like being thrashed by another woman's writing or ground under the heel of the prose of an uncommon man.

I don't usually read new books for comfort.

I know that sounds odd, but when I read a book for coziness's sake, it is bound to be a book whose topography is as well-known to me as the lay of light across my front yard.

When I read for reading's sake, I want to be left reeling.

The odd thing about being a writer and a reader simultaneously is that my approach to those seeming twins are at completely opposite poles. I believe that many of you assume that because I write light, “cat's paw prose” as Jenny Freitag has called it, I read nothing but A.A. Milne and P.G. Wodehouse. While those authors are certainly kin to my heart, my reading tastes stray far from my own territory. In fact, I love reading books written in styles I cannot possibly emulate. I like admiring something from afar and giving it a two-fingered salute with my heart in the gesture.

The truth is, I hate twaddle. I cannot tell you the number of times I have picked up a book and been disgusted a few chapters in by the sheer idiocy of the writing. This is literature? This is what passes the slush pile and captures an agent's fancy and eventually crosses a publisher's desk and is finally thrown at several editors for several months before going to print? This rattle-trap affair with a big publisher's name tacked to the spine has actually been turned out to the public with a runny nose, missing half its buttons and wearing its shoes backward? If I was interested in reading half the stuff published, I am certain I would begin first in files from my earliest writing. Surely I could find something more to the cheap taste in my own early work?

To be forthright, the one reason that I have not gone on board with one of those “Advance Reader For Zondervan” programs is because I have a horror of being thrown a terrible book and feeling obliged to read and review it. In the words of the irrepressible Sweet Brown:

“Ain't nobody got time fo' dat.”

I have a limited amount of free-time for reading and I like to know that my brain is striding forward in a pair of tall-boots, striving to conquer areas of the world it has not yet subdued. I enjoy attacking subjects of which I know little, authors of whom I've read nothing, and novels that make me feel equal parts worm-small and Plenilune-strong. I graduated from high-school several years ago and opted not to to attend college and instead focus on improving my writing and continuing to independently educate myself as I did all the way up. I took on the responsibility of continuing my education. No college professors are going to be cramming Nietzsche and Tolstoy down my throat. No one is forcing me to read anything. Because of that I refuse to spend the coinage of my time on books I will forget about in a week.

But while standards are a precious thing, I am conscious of making an effort not to become a snob. It would be easy for me to become snobbish because I really do have good taste. I don't say that to be a hoighty-toighty miss, but as a fact. I was raised on real literature, my tastes run toward real literature, and I feel that by now I have a sort of gauge engrained in my mind that is constantly holding up one book and comparing it to another. Suzannah Rowntree, blogger at VintageNovels, contacted me about reviewing Fly Away Home during a home-educated authors week on the blog. I laughed at one line in her email:

I [will] read your book and write an honest review. I want to help out fellow home educators here, so I won't be trying to be picky, but, fair warning: I will be holding your book to the same standards I apply to Jane Austen, CS Lewis, or Robert Louis Stevenson, which include technical excellence and discerning worldview.

That stipulation does not bother me because that is the standard to which I hold whatever I read. That means that modern classics, indie-published novels, even old classics … whatever I read is tossed up against my idea of a good book and I hope desperately to find something that sends me reeling. So this year I have branched out a little, accepted a couple of novels for review, and purposely slipped some indie-published fiction into my reading stack. Some titles have surprised me with their depth or charm, others have disappointed me with their failure to come up to my standards. And then, of course, we have unarguably great books that I hold fiercely to my chest and cuddle, daring the world to present more like them. To illustrate this adventurous reading stack, I've given you my 2014 So Far list:

Outcasts by Jill Williamson

The Red House Mystery by A.A. Milne

Hood by Stephen Lawhead

Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton

Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmund Rostand

Forget-Me-Nots by Amber Stokes

Scarlet by Stephen Lawhead

On Distant Shores by Sarah Sundin

Once on a Time by A.A. Milne

The Grand Sophy by Georgette Heyer

Duty by Rachel Rossano

Dietrich Bonhoeffer by Eric Metaxas

Violets are Blue by Elizabeth Rose

Tuck by Stephen Lawhead

Regency Buck by Georgette Heyer

Captains Courageous by Rudyard Kipling

Steal Like an Artist by Austin Kleon

Only a Novel by Amy Dashwood

Plenilune by Jennifer Freitag

I am blessed. I have been roundly kicked in the gut by many of these titles, the most recent of which is Plenilune. Please don't attack me for having got Advance Reading for that one. I swear she offered it herself and I didn't even beg. All I am going to say is this: the world had better brace itself; the De la Mares are coming. Sheeh, but they're coming.

… wow … don't really know what else to say. Plenilune is still clogging my mind. It was that, really, that sent a blow crashing to my temple that is still causing my ears to ring almost a full twenty-four hours after I finished it. Faith, but I love a good brawling-book. <3

In a nutshell...

On Goodreads, and over on my all-purpose blog, I have compiled a complete list of the books I've read (at least this far) in 2012. If you want to see the whole shebang, just click on the link. Otherwise, stick here and I'm covering the highlights of the year. :)

1.) I was introduced to Rosemary Sutcliff via The Eagle of the Ninth and found a temporary extension of Jenny while Jenny's other books are waiting to be published. ;) I continued my fascination with Sutcliff over The Silver Branch and The Lantern Bearers. Such great historical fiction! I loved those books, though I'm not much interested in "ancient" history. And that's saying something.

2.) I worked my way through Les Miserables which was an ENORMOUS book, then followed it up almost immediately by working through Henryk Sienkeiwicz's With Fire and Sword which was also an ENORMOUS book.

3.) I re-read Jane Eyre and discovered previously untouched depths of humor and satire in its pages. Who would have thought it? Jane Eyre? Comedic? Well it is.

4.) I read 3 out of 4 books in Megan Whalen Turner's The Thief series and was by turns maddened, confused, delighted, and amused before getting whiplash on the intricate plot turns at the end of each book.

5.) I wrote my first "fan-letter" to an author.

6.) I read Kathryn Stockett's The Help and realized the bar for debut novels has been suddenly raised higher. Very much higher.

7.) I read A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken and realized the depths of my own heart are so much deeper than I'd noticed before.

8.) I found Wodehouse. End of story.

9.) I read Daphne du Marier's Rebecca and was upset for a week.

10.) I had the great and noble privilege of reading 5 hitherto unpublished books written by a number of my friends including Mirriam Neal, Rachelle Rea, and Julia Erickson.

What was your year of reading, in a nutshell? :)

(Oh! In other news, Miss Dashwood's caption won by a single vote in the caption contest! Hurrah to her! May the odds ever be in your favor, my friend.)

Of Procrastination and Readables.

I am procrastinating today. Of course that is to be expected after having been entirely away from my writing for so long. (A WHOLE WEEK) It was a wonderful week, but I find my brain rather foggy and it will only think nonsense, so I thought I'd work on Cottleston Pie, but it doesn't want to write nonsense--only think it--so here I am realizing I had better write a blog post to clear off that wonderfully vanity-and-warm-fuzzy-inducing post my sister-ish-in-law-ish person wrote for me in a grand dose of Trespassing.

What a nice surprise to come home to.

I think I will indulge in reading today. Just to get my brain back into the feel of forming words. I know if I tried to write it'd be rubbish today, (having read a lot of posts I'd missed on Go Teen Writers, reading Jenny's convention-posts on Scribblings, and generally stuffing my head full of How It Oughter Be Done.) so I'll just let myself off this once and read something.

This brings to me the question, "what am I reading?". Here's the latest:

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Never sorry I bought this for my birthday earlier this summer, though I already owned a ratty copy. My third time through it, I believe, and just as good now as it ever was.

Freddy Goes to Florida by Walter R. Brooks

I am reading this as a love-gift to Abigail. Because honestly, I'd never have thought to pick it up. But Abigail--being the wonderful sister-ish person she is--decided I needed a break from classics and taking my writing seriously, and sent me off on an improbable winter "migration" with a bunch of daft farm-animals. I've laughed. Truly.

A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken

An autobiographical book by Sheldon Vanauken about his relationship with his wife, their friendship with C.S. Lewis, their conversion to Christianity, and a bum-bum-bum-bummmmmmm which hasn't come up yet. This book has made me laugh, touched me, and will doubtless make me cry by the end. It reminds me of Jenny, somehow, and one of the reasons I like it best is because it deals with C.S. Lewis...and any book with him inside it is automatically that much better. I love true books.

The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I picked this book up for two reasons: 1) The plot intrigued me, 2) I'd been looking for a modern novel to read and enjoy, and I'd heard this one was better than most. Boy were they right. An entire review is forthcoming, but know that if you are of the age of 16 and older, I highly highly recommend it. It does have a couple issues such as language, but over all I think it was an instant classic.

In other news, I've got quite a queue of books lined up waiting to be read and/or re-read, including the Mark of the Lion series, Kidnapped, and a lurking, long-time feeling that I want to read again my beloved Chronicles of Narnia--a feeling likely stemming from reading A Severe Mercy.

What are you reading? How is your Have Read List for 2012 shaping up?

Organization is the key...?

Well, I did as I said I would and put together a post about my book projects. :) For once I was not thinking about writing books--only about organizing and sorting them. Here are the basics:

^ My shabby little fake-wood shelf before... (wasn't it depressing?)

...and after. :) Looks much more respectable, doesn't it?

I organized the shelves in my own little way. From the bottom up there are...miscellaneous books/Sarah's school books. Next shelf: Beloveds. Middle Shelf: Classics. After that: Antique Books. Top Shelf: Lamplighter/overflow classics. :)

My falling-apart copy of The Fellowship of The Ring--that's dedication you know; reading a book in that state.

I had forgotten I had bought a reprint Sears Roebuck's Catalog from 1902. :) It's the most marvelous thing for price-checking when writing a book set in that era....funny illustrations too. :)

Long underwear... haha!

My personal antique copies of books. :) There is nothing that delights me more than reading old books that I know were read and loved and cherished even before I bought them. :) I've got Anne of Green Gables, Anne of Windy Poplars, Little Women, Under the Lilacs, two of The Waverly Novels, Strawberry Girl, Hans Brinker, A Garland for Girls, Gulliver's Travels, a quote book, Moby Dick, and A Man Called Peter. :)

and my dear A.A. Milne books. :) I love the bumble-bee print covers. :)

My most cherished Literary Collection: 8 Dickens novels I bought with some graduation money. :)

This is actually Sarah's book--all of the letters Beatrix Potter wrote to little children--so sweet!

Detail of one page...

You want to know where I christen all my characters?

Yep. I admit it. Many of them have un-illustrious births in the Everything Baby Names Book. :D

My little book-loving statue. :)

This is the Antique Shelf after adding Sarah's books--some Thornton W. Burgess books, Eight Cousins, Jo's Boys, and others. :)

I hope you enjoyed seeing a little of my literary collection. :) After the sorting of the shelves I got rid of the books I never have liked. *feels slightly guilty.* ;) That means all these books left on the shelf (or nearly all of them) are tried and true and well-loved. I plan to expand my collection as I grow older, but for now it's probably just as well that I don't have any more books. As it was, Sarah is innocent of all charges of Book-Hoarder. Most of the titles on this bookcase are mine. :P Actually, I have a refurbishing project to do on a little cupboard that I hope to turn into a bookcase--I'll let you know how it goes! :)

Soup or Salad? A Boxing Match between Hugo and Dickens. :)

I have only about 500 pages of Les Miserables left, which means I am just about 2/3 of the way through that elephantine book. It has been an Olympian task, I will admit, reading this 1463-page giant! I am not finished, of course, but I have found it to be a great stimulant to my mind. It demands me to think.

Think? The nerve!

I am reading the un-abridged version and I will admit that I know why they abridge the book. You see, Victor Hugo, in my opinion, did not decide whether he was writing a book of essays or a novel. Indeed, if you summed up all his dissertations on Waterloo, Napoleon, Convents, Bishops, the Parisian gamin, young love, beauty, guilt, prison, poverty, and everything else, you would find that bit far heavier in page-weight than the actual plot.
This, of course, got me to thinking--if Les Miserables was intended to be a social commentary (as I can only assume it was) what possessed Victor Hugo to write a novel? Okay. Let me first explain myself. I am a Dickens-girl. Every one of Charles Dickens' books are loaded with political, social, and occasionally spiritual commentaries and parallels. They can only be classified as Social Commentaries. So what is the difference between Victor Hugo and Charles Dickens?

Hugo--what a comely old bird!

Dickens--hair brilliantly askew. ;)

The difference is this:
                Victor Hugo made a salad, Charles Dickens made a brew.
               Victor chopped his words up coarsely, Charles stirred and stirred his stew.
               Flavors sep'rate, flavors mingled; both a mighty turn of phrase,
                But the stew will go down quicker--Hugo puts me in a daze.

Ahem. Forgive the lapse into poetry. :P That little ditty is the definition of these two authors in my opinion. Victor Hugo, while an amazing author, bewilders me with his constant division. He carries the plot for a few pages, then casts it aside while he lectures. You almost begin to wonder if his characters serve only as lackeys to carry his social-dissertations. I like his lectures. I like his plot. But in my opinion, he did rather a careless, clumsy job of mingling the two.

Charles Dickens, on the other hand, took his social ideas, his morals, his lectures, and mixed them into his plot and characters so seamlessly that, to speak childishly, "You can't find the pill amongst the jam." I have seldom felt the weariness in reading Dickens that I feel in finding myself at the brink of yet another 30-page ramble through a random history with Victor Hugo for an overly-zealous guide.
Now, please understand that I am not hacking on Les Miserables--I am actually enjoying the book and I will do a review once I am finished. I am merely commenting on Victor Hugo's style and the way he executed all the brilliant things kerbobbling around his mind.

I think it's a case of two men, one who loved his country best, the other his people. Victor Hugo's beloved is France--the country--and though he loves the people, his patriotism outshines his plot. Charles Dickens loved his people--social commentary comes through because he cared about what was happening to his countrymen and wished to set things right. Both men have noble motives--both are fabulous authors.

I suppose you just have to decide on a given day whether you'd rather have a salad or a bowl of soup. :)

It has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!

It is so hard to believe that tomorrow is Christmas Day. It seems to me that each year I live flies by on swifter, wilder wings--I can scarce make myself realize that it has been a whole year since this time last year. December took me by storm and for quite some time I was labouring under the delusion that it was early December when we were already in the "teens". Oops. :)

There is much discussion among some circles of Christian society over whether we ought to celebrate Christmas during this time of year because it used to be a Pagan holiday. My answer to this predicament comes entirely from the mouth of Ebenezer Scrooge's nephew in A Christmas Carol:

"There are many things from which I might have derived good by which I have not profited, I dare say," returned the nephew, "Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas-time, when it has come round-apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that-as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!"

I do not worship my Christmas tree, nor do I celebrate the Winter Solstice. I am not leaving out cookies for Santa Clause, nor am I doing anything else questionable. At Christmas time, as all through the year (though in not so grand a degree) I celebrate the birth of my King, and I do think such an event is worthy of an entire month of celebration which--did we not use December--mightn't be carved out so easily elsewhere in the year.
I was out shopping with my older brother yesterday and found it amusing to wish everyone a "Merry Christmas" as I saw them, regardless of whether I knew them or not. The reactions were rather funny at times, as everyone sort of jumped and looked after me as much as to say, "What's she so happy about?"
It is true--I have an uncommon reason to be happy, and so have you. Because of the birth of a tiny baby--one who was born into obscurity, lived at odds with his society, died the most disgraceful death the Romans could conjure up--I have eternal life. That's something to smile about, be you white, black, young old, American, or something-else. In this best and most perfect "Merry Christmas", we have and escort into the Way Everlasting. It's a beautiful Christmas gift.

"And it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, "God bless us, Every One!"

It's About Time! :)

Sorry I've been so tardy in posting recently! I have been leading a decidedly un-literary life for the past couple of days. ;) Barring the reading of Barnaby Rudge in spare moments! :P Actually, I have been housecleaning, and reading for school, and attending documentary premiers, and percussion recitals, and plucking pin-feathers out of 130+ turkeys...eclectic mix, isn't it? :D
I also just joined an online writing critique group...Christian Young Adult Writers, and I'm so excited! I get to post my first chapter for critique on Monday! Of course, there is the creeping, uneasy feeling at times of what my poor little story will look like all crossed back and forth with comments. ;) But thankfully, all my reading of the Anne books and Little Women have not come back void, I am prepared to "sacrifice the best descriptions" if need be! :)

"A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him." ~Sidney Greenburg

I am trying to do some construction on this blog and get it looking much more refined! Less like a stark clinic and more like a cozy library in an Austen novel! :) So bear with any homeliness in the meantime! :) So Christmas is coming up pretty soon! I was wondering, what is your personal favorite Christmas story or book, besides the One and Only Christmas story that really counts (Jesus' birth! :) ? Leave a comment and tell me! :) ~Rachel