Diary of a Lit Nerd is on Sabbatical

      To the two or three people who read my blog, sorry that I have not posted in awhile.The past few weeks have been crazy as I have been preparing for college and spending time with my friends, and I have had very little time to read, much less blog.

     I'm sorry to say that The Great Shakespearean Challenge and my other literary ramblings will be put on hold for the next month or so. In a week I will be beginning my freshman year of college, and thus spare time for blogging will be scarce.

     BUT! Never fear, I am still determined to make my way through the entirety of my ginormous Shakespeare book, and once I find time to do so, I WILL be blogging about it. Thanks so much to all of you who have been reading my blog, I truly appreciate it, and please check back in later this fall for more Diary of a Lit Nerd!

Charles Frazier's "Nightwoods"

     As eager as I was to read Nightwoods by Charles Frazier, I was also a little nervous. The only other book I've read by Charles Frazier is his first novel, Cold Mountain. And for anyone whose read my first few awkward blog posts, you know that Cold Mountain is one of my absolute favorite books. Ever. Right up there with Jane Eyre.

     So for about two seconds I was kind of nervous that I wouldn't like Nightwoods because it wouldn't be half as good as Cold Mountain because hardly any book is as good as Cold Mountain.

     Those two seconds were a very short, very foolish two seconds.

     Charles Frazier is amazing. A brilliant wordsmith. Seriously. Frazier could write directions on how to open a soup can and it would sound like poetry.

     Like Cold Mountain, Nightwoods is a historical novel. Taking place in the 1960s, the novel tells the story of Luce, a young woman content to live alone in an abandoned lodge just outside her small hometown. But Luce's life of peaceful solitude is interrupted when her murdered sister's troubled children are dropped at her doorstep.

     Nightwoods is a relatively short book--only 259 pages. It's short but it's searing. The plot moves fast (but not too fast, it's swift and unpredictable like a river flowing through the mountains, slowing at all the right points and sweeping you away at all the right points). By the time I was halfway through, the book was all but glued to my hands. Plot twists keep the reader on her toes, break the reader's heart and leave the reader re-reading certain sentences over and over. But unlike some suspense/thriller/mystery type books, the plot twists are believable. They surprise the reader, but don't leave you wading through a confusing, contorted plot.

     The novel takes place in small town North Carolina at the foot of the Appalachian Mountains (Frazier really likes his mountains) and, like Cold Mountain, setting plays a pivotal role in the novel, described and emphasized and developed as if the woods and mountains were a living, breathing character. To Luce, nature certainly is a character. Before the children come, she spends her days studying the environment, watching the seasons change and learning about the animals and plants that inhabit her environment. She finds companionship in the natural world.

     Frazier's love and attention to setting is one of the many things that (I think) sets him apart from other authors. And it's not just the sweeping vistas and sunsets that he describes so poetically that you can practically see the mountains rising up out of the paper, but it's also Frazier's attention to detail. It's the little things. Like how Nightwoods is divided into three parts, and these three parts correspond with the changing seasons. Leaves are turning red and gold at the end of part one and are falling off the trees at the end of part two. For Frazier, it seems that setting isn't just a sloppily painted 2-D background that hangs behind the main action of the plot. No, the setting, the seasons, they are the building blocks of the plot. Yes, the novel is character driven, and the North Carolina topography and weather are as big a player as Luce when it comes to driving the plot.

     Nature seems to be a recurring theme--a motif, if you will--throughout all of his books. (Okay, I've only read two of his three books, but two out of three is pretty decent odds, right?) Frazier's love of nature is one of the principal reasons I was so enchanted by Cold Mountain. But Frazier does not limit his lovely imagery to the natural world in Nightwoods. He puts the same love thoughtfulness into his descriptions of Luce's hometown. An especially beautiful image that kept coming up was the effect lights have on a windshield streaked with water. Frazier also seems drawn to neon lights, a nice artificial juxtaposition to the natural world he loves so much. Lights in general are a poignant motif in his descriptions of the town. (Perhaps symbolic of something controlled and constant, unlike the ever-changing seasons, artificial light is something that humans can control...but I digress)

     Just to clarify, this book isn't just wonderful imagery and descriptions of nature. Trust me, there's a plot. A wonderful plot with lovable and fascinating characters. And like Cold Mountain, a beautiful yet understated love story. Another clarification: as much as I keep comparing Nightwoods to Cold Mountain, the two novels are very different. They share the same lyrical, literary voice (obviously, they share the same author), and many of the themes are the same (themes of natural cycles, love, survival, redemption) but they are not at all the same novel.

     Nightwoods is very much a story about family. About parenting and domestic abuse and familial duties. What does it mean to be a mother, sister, aunt, daughter? What does it mean to love your family? To not love them?

     But enough about plot. I don't want to spoil anything for you. Like all good stories, it's better the less you know before you even open the book.

     In short--read Nightwoods. It's gritty yet lyrical, searing yet sweet (Frazier is a master of incongruous juxtapositions). Whether or not it's better than Cold Mountain, well, that one's up in the air.

The Great Shakespearean Challenge Day 168

     175 out of 1194 pages read.

     And now, for some more on Titus Andronicus.

     As I mentioned in my previous post, I had a few issues with the characters in Titus. My biggest complaint was Aaron, the big bully who is evil for seemingly no reason at all. But I also take issue with Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters in the play.

     There are only two women in Titus Andronicus. The first female character we meet is Tamora, Queen of the Goths. (The "Goths," by the way, are a catchall term for the Germanic tribes that roamed Europe circa the time of the Roman Empire. The Romans considered them barbarians, and Shakespeare characterizes them as such in this play). But anyway. Tamora. We meet her in Act I Scene I when Titus brings her in as a prisoner after he returns from defeating the Goths. Titus kills her oldest son as a sacrifice for the gods (who's the barbarian now?) and Tamora proceeds to seduce Saturninus, who takes her as his bride and makes her Empress of Rome.

     Our other lovely lady is Lavinia, Titus's only daughter. Lavinia is the definition of passivity. She is beautiful and virtuous and basically every male character who isn't related to her wants to marry her.

     And she is also super annoying.

     Lavinia has absolutely zero say in anything that happens to her. At the beginning of the play Titus offers Saturninus Lavinia's hand in marriage. How does Lavinia feel about this? Who knows. She is neither happy nor upset about the arrangement. She's just like "Sure, Dad, whatever you say. I'll marry whoever you want me to."

     It's Bassianus, Saturninus's brother, who has a problem with Saturninus marrying Lavinia. After it is decided that Saturninus will marry Lavinia, Bassianus steps in and spouts off my favorite line: "Lord Titus, by your leave, this maid is mine."

     Note the word "mine." Apparently Bassianus owns her. But I'm being unfair. What he means is "Hey, dude I was already engaged to this chick, so you can't marry her off to my brother."

     "What?!" the reader exclaims, "what?! But if Lavinia were engaged to Bassianus, then why didn't she freak out when her father handed her over to Saturninus?'"

     That's a very good question, dear reader. A question I asked myself while reading Titus. A possible answer would be that Lavinia does not love Bassianus as much as he loves her. Maybe she'd rather marry Saturninus. I mean, really, wouldn't you want to be Empress of Rome? Okay, sure, but when Bassianus exclaims, "This wench is mine!" what does Lavinia do?

     Absolutely nothing.

     She's just like, "Oh, sure, I guess I'll marry him now." Except, she doesn't even say that. She says nothing at all. She's almost unrealistically passive. The reader never knows what Lavinia wants. Even though Lavinia may live in a patriarchal society where she has little control in who she marries, wouldn't she at least say, "Hey, Dad, this is cool and all but I'm already engaged." So, when Lavinia gets her tongue cut out, she almost doesn't lose anything. Perhaps this is a bit harsh, but she hardly used her tongue.

     Oh, wait. That's a lie. Lavinia gets a bit sassy in Act II Scene III.

     In Act II, Scene III Lavinia and Bassianus come across Tamora and Aaron scheming and canoodling in the woods. Bassianus and Lavinia insult Tamora. The only time Lavinia speaks out is to insult Tamora, the only other female character. So let's discuss Tamora a bit further.

     Tamora and her lover, Aaron the Moor, are the play's antagonists. Like Aaron, Tamora is portrayed as nearly heartless. Her only moment of pity is when she pleads Titus to save her oldest son's life. Other than that, she is the antithesis of Lavinia. Whereas Lavinia is passive and chaste, Tamora cheats on Saturninus, she encourages her sons to rape and maim Lavinia, and she orders her illegitimate son to be killed.

     In other words, the only moment where Lavinia speaks out is in Act II Scene III, and the only reason she speaks out is to first insult an unwomanly woman and then to plead for mercy from that same woman when Chiron and Demetrius start dragging her into the woods.

     It should be noted that after this scene, the next time we see Lavinia, she has no tongue and no hands.

     What exactly is Shakespeare trying to say? He gives us the two extremes of female archetypes: the passive damsel in distress and the cruel evil queen. Both of them suffer. Lavinia does not deserve her lot, and Tamora...she perhaps can be viewed as a tragic hero of sorts. The more I consider her actions and reactions, the more parallels I draw between her and Titus. How much different is she from her enemy? Both kill their own children and both kill each others children. Both hit disturbing lows: Tamora's role in Lavinia's rape and Titus's use of cannibalism as revenge.

     So is Tamora really any worse than Titus? Maybe. Maybe not. Unlike Aaron, she has reason to be evil. She has motive to destroy the Adronicus family. Is it justified? Well, we could easily ask if Titus's reasoning for killing Tamora's son is justified.

     This is all very confusing. As much as I've been complaining about Titus Adronicus, I am completely fascinated by it. But that's enough about Titus for now.

The Great Shakespearean Challenge Day 162

     165 out of 1194 pages read.

     Two days ago I finished Titus Andronicus and I still don't know what to make of this play. Titus Andronicus is considered Shakespeare's bloodiest play--an epithet which I see no reason to argue with. The play is violent, gruesome, and at times disturbing. Yet, for whatever reason, I was completely sucked into the plot. I read nearly the entire play in one sitting. Partly because I was tired and had nothing better to do with my time, but mainly because I just couldn't put the book down.

     Despite the play's addictive quality, I'm torn as to whether I like this play or not. The reason for my uncertainty is not so much the dismembered limbs, cannibalism, etc., but the characters. I mean, sure, Titus is great. He's your archetypal tragic hero; a great guy whose hubris (aka pride) causes him to make a really crappy decision (or a few, like killing Tamora's son, making Saturninus emperor, offering Saturninus Lavinia's hand in marriage, and killing his own son), and the rest of the play he struggles to right his wrongs (in the form of seeking revenge) as his life falls pieces.

     But what's up with this Aaron guy?

    He's a fairly heartless fellow. Tamora is evil too, but at least she sort of has reason to be evil; Titus defeated her people and killed her oldest son. So yeah, I can see where she might be a bit angry. But what about Aaron? He seems to be evil just because he thinks its fun. Aaron is the one who suggests that Chiron and Demetrius should violently rape Lavinia in the woods, when originally they were just going to woo her away from her husband. And then, later, he tricks Titus into cutting off his hand.

     "Hey, Titus," Aaron says, "Saturninus said that if you chop off your hand and give it to him, he won't kill your sons. Isn't that nice of him?" Little does Titus know, Saturninus made no such proposition. Oh, but Aaron does return Titus's sons to him...well, he gives Titus their heads, which happen to be unattached from their bodies. (Did I mention this play was super violent? No wonder we never read it in school...)

     But WHY? What are Aaron's motives? Is he mad because Tamora, his lover, marries Saturninus? Is he angry at Titus because he killed Tamora's son? Aaron is just a character I couldn't understand...couldn't quite believe. If there is anything I can't stand, it is a character that is 100% good or 100% evil which is why tragic heroes and Byronic heroes are my favorite character archetypes and why I don't like superhero movies (seriously, don't get me started on Superman...I can't stand that guy).

     Though, to be fair, Aaron proves not to be totally heartless. When Tamora gives birth to a son who is obviously Aaron's and not Saturninus's, Tamora orders the child to be killed, but Aaron refuses to do it. He runs off with his son, and willingly lets Lucius capture him on the condition that Lucius makes sure the baby is cared for. However, we can't forget that Aaron kills the nurse so no one finds out that the kid is his, tries to switch out his baby for another baby, and oh yeah, there's this conversation:

 

     "Yeah, of course I'm sorry--sorry I didn't do more evil things! Mwahaha!"

     Um, what?

     Okay, so the hopeless optimist within me hopes that maybe, just maybe, this is all talk. That Aaron is just trying to sound tough and intimidating. But he did murder and wreak havoc upon the other characters for seemingly no reason at all. So I just don't even know. Aaron baffles me.

     I've done it again; I've rambled on for much longer than I planned. Aaron wasn't the only character in this tragedy that irritated me; Shakespeare's treatment of the female characters in this play also irked me, but alas, I'm afraid we'll have to discuss Tamora and Lavinia at a latter date.

     So stay tuned, coming up on Diary of a Lit Nerd I will have more thoughts on Titus Andronicus as well as more rambling about Charlotte Bronte. The next Shakespeare play I'll be diving into is The Comedy of Errors (finally! a comedy!) and I'm also reading Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen (get ready for an Austen/Bronte showdown).

     Thanks for reading! :)

Téa Obreht's "The Tiger's Wife"

     Plot twist: I do actually read books published in the past century! In fact, the book I just finished up today came out in 2011. That's only two years ago!

     But in all seriousness, Téa Obreht's novel, "The Tiger's Wife" is absolutely fantastic.

     It is hard to describe the novel's plot because the novel is really several stories woven together into one lovely narrative. On the most basic level it is the story of Natalia, a young doctor, telling the story of her grandfather. But this explanation is too basic to do the novel any justice.

     In regards to time frame the novel jumps from the present to the past back to the present and then even farther into the past...basically it's all over the place. Confusing as this sounds, the book was very easy to follow along with. I think one reason why the story is so coherent, despite it's jumps in time and story, is that the entire book is told in first person from Natalia's point of view. Natalia is even our narrator when she tells the reader of the Tiger's Wife, even though the story took place before Natalia was born. That Natalia is consistently in the story adds to the sense of unity between the different plotlines. She is the thread that weaves all the pieces together.

     Part of the reason for the varying plots, and also one of the reasons that I love this novel, is that Obreht fleshes out nearly every character. And by flesh out, I mean tell you what the character was like when he or she was a kid and thus, the reader understands every character's motives. Because of this, the reader finds him or herself liking all the characters at one point or another, even the ones that are seemingly unlikeable.

     Another reason why I found this book so compelling is the lovely struggle between reality and folklore. The novel takes place in a fictional unspecified Balkan country. Many of the characters are extremely superstitious whereas others, like Natalia's grandfather, value science and logic over old wives' tales. This struggle adds a fantasy-like facet to the novel, and the reader is never quite sure what is real and what is myth. I think another reason why this novel is told from first person point of view is that it reinforces the Balkan tradition of storytelling, and how myth and reality are nearly inseparable to the point that the reader is never sure of how things actually happened. Thus, the novel appeals to the reader's imagination without coming across as unbelievable, and the ambiguity prompts interesting questions.

     I would try to better explain the plot of this book, but it's the type of novel that is most magical when you know very little going in, and simply are able to watch the plot unfold.

     All in all, I would highly, highly recommend this book. It takes a chapter or two to really get into it, but reading the entire book is most definitely worth your time. Téa Obreht's The Tiger's Wife is like a carefully woven quilt, where, if you look closely, the stitches may look incongruous and haphazard, but when you step back, the big picture is beautiful.

    

The Great Shakespearean Challenge Day 158

      138 out of 1194 pages read

     King Richard III picks up where King Henry VI Part Three leaves off. King Edward IV, who ascends the throne at the end of Henry VI, is now older, very ill, and trying to maintain peace between two disputing factions of his court. Little does he know, his brother Richard is plotting to take the throne.

     Richard III was a nice change of pace after three plays of Henry VI. Whereas Henry VI is a weak king, overwhelmed by power, naïve, and easily pushed around, Richard is a man completely possessed by his desire for power. He is willing to do anything to become king including (but not limited to) killing his brother, killing his two young nephews, killing his wife...well, killing just about everyone. A sharp contrast to the pious Henry VI, who tries to defeat his adversaries with words rather than violence.

     And, while being a pushover is not an effective way to rule a kingdom, neither is killing the majority of your family. Richard becomes consumed by his greed for power and his insecurity that everyone is conspiring against him (which, by the end of the play, everyone is pretty much fed up with the guy). For awhile things start looking good for Richard and the reader thinks that maybe he will be able to hold onto the throne, however, his sins quite literally come back to haunt him when, the night before the end battle that will decide if Richard or the Earl of Richmond will become king, Richard is visited by the ghosts of those he killed. The ghosts curse him and, the next morning, King Richard is defeated.
    


This is White Tower, which is where
Edward V and Richard were supposedly
murdered. It is now nicknamed (no doubt
for the benefit of tourists) "Bloody Tower."

     King Richard III was, obviously, an actual English king, but how accurate is this play as a historical record? Was Richard really as evil and greedy as Shakespeare portrays him? The mystery that baffles historians the most is the murder of Edward IV's young sons, Edward V and Richard. According to the play, Richard III ordered Sir James Tyrrel to murder Edward and Richard. Richard III had already started rumors of Edward V's illegitimacy, as well as the illegitimacy of Edward IV, but, if you want to be king, killing the heir to the throne is much more effective than spreading rumors about him. With Edward V and his brother out of the way, Richard III was the next logical heir.

     But was Richard III really that desperate to become king? Desperate enough to kill his two young nephews and numerous other family members? Or was Richard III simply painted a villain by the Earl of Richmond, who would defeat Richard III and ascend the throne as King Henry VII? Richard III certainly was not the only man to have motive to kill the two young princes. Here is an interesting article for anyone wanting more information on the real-life mystery.

      If we're being honest, historians will probably never figure out who actually killed Edward V and Richard. Regardless, Shakespeare's Richard III still represents a powerful example of literature's effect on history. If in fact Richard III was innocent, the play represents how easy it was for the ruling monarch to bend history. After all, Elizabeth I was queen when Shakespeare was writing plays, and, being the granddaughter of Henry VII, she would not have appreciated anyone praising her grandfather's enemy. Thus, it makes sense that Shakespeare portrays Richard III as a nearly compassionless villain, rather than a misunderstood tragic hero (Richard III does kind of start to feel bad after he is cursed by the ghosts of those he killed, but during the end battle, he still fights ruthlessly for his right to be king, thus the recognition of his sins does not seem to be fully realized). Had Shakespeare said good things about Richard III, we would probably study Shakespeare as "that writer guy who made the queen angry and ended up with his head on a pike" and we would be deprived of Hamlet, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Romeo and Juliet, etc., and we would live a very sad, very meaningless existence.

      But I digress.

     Point is, King Richard III gives us an interesting look into the life of 16th and 17th century royalty. Whether Richard III himself was that bloody or not is inconsequential because someone killed those two princes, someone was desperate enough for power to kill two young boys. So perhaps we should look at Richard III the character not as Richard III the actual king, but rather, as an archetype for power-hungry nobles, a symbol for the underlying greed and deceit in every monarch's court. After all, it's not like Richard III was the only guy willing to kill family members for the throne. Stuff like this happened way before his time, and will continue to happen with Henry VII's descendants. Just wait until we get to King Henry VIII.

     Well, after four plays of bloody English history, I will now move onto a bloody Roman tragedy as I dive into Titus Andronicus. Yay! Or as the Romans say--Euge!

Charlotte Bronte's "Villette"

     You may have guessed this already, but Charlotte Bronte is one of my favorite authors. Possibly my favorite author ever, but don't hold me to that. I don't like picking favorites.

     Just a few days ago, I finished Villette, which is Bronte's last and most autobiographical novel. And, of course, while reading Villette, I couldn't help but to make comparisons to Jane Eyre.

     In many ways, Jane Eyre and Villette are very similar. Both are about young women who are more or less on their own and who find themselves questioning their roles in society. Both Jane and Lucy Snowe (Villette's protagonist) achieve independence through education. Jane becomes a governess; Lucy becomes a teacher and ultimately ***SPOILER ALERT*** Lucy opens a school of her own. Both protagonists fall in love with Byronic men whose mysterious pasts make it difficult for our protagonists to marry them.

     Jane and Lucy are not completely similar, however. Lucy I think is a more (for lack of better word) controlled version of Jane. What I mean is that both young women are passionate, but Lucy is much better at controlling her emotions. In fact she is so good at controlling her emotions that every character has a different opinion of her. Graham, Paulina, Paulina's father, and Mrs. Bretton think Lucy is solemn and perhaps a little dull, as well as a loyal and kind friend. Ginerva Fanshawe thinks Lucy to be grumpy and crotchety. And the eccentric M. Paul Emanuel's first impression of Lucy is that she is strange, passionate, and a little vain. For the most part, Lucy is very reserved, but when sufficiently provoked, she erupts into a fury of passion.

     Jane Eyre, on the other hand, is less reserved. This is especially true at the beginning of the novel when Jane is a young girl not afraid to state her opinions and to talk back if she feels she has been wronged. As Jane grows older, she does better control her passions, but there is still a poignant difference between Jane and Lucy's attitudes. And I think that main difference is that Jane is more confident than Lucy.

     Of course, one of the main themes of Jane Eyre is Jane's uncertainty of her position in society. She is a woman in a patriarchal society; she is a governess, her place is above that of a servant, but she is scorned by Mr. Rochester's equals; and she struggles to balance her feelings for Mr. Rochester and her duty to God. Yet despite this, throughout the book Jane seems to know who Jane is. Her personality is consistent and Jane always stays true to herself which is why, in the end, she able to find that balance between passion and duty. Jane Eyre may not know where she belongs in society, she may feel alienated and out-of-place, but she is certain of herself.

     Unlike Jane, I think Lucy Snowe is uncertain of herself. She has recently lost her family and finds herself in a country that speaks a language which she hardly knows. A Protestant in a country of Catholics, Lucy finds herself questioning her religion in a very different way than Jane Eyre. Jane is in a situation where she needs to decide whether she is willing to sacrifice her values and religious duties so that she can be with Rochester. But she never wavers in her actual religious beliefs. Lucy, however, finds herself comparing and contrasting Protestantism and Catholicism. She feels alienated because her religious beliefs, and she questions which religion is superior. For the most part, Lucy is fairly stalwart in her preference of Protestantism, however, at one point in the novel she does seek comfort in a Catholic church and pours her heart out in a confessional.

     But more importantly, there is the differences in how all the other characters view Lucy. Villette is told in first person from Lucy's point of view, but she is fairly reserved in the thoughts she divulges to the reader. Thus we, the readers, as we try to discover Lucy's personality by reading between the lines, find great interest in what the other characters think of her. And while Lucy does not necessarily change herself for different people, the reader does see that different sides of Lucy come out when she is dealing with different people. And, as we read between the lines, we see that because Lucy is so out-of-place in this new country, because different people bring out different sides of her, both the reader and the Lucy are aware of a certain degree of insecurity in the narrator.

     Lucy Snowe is a young woman who is unsure of who she is; feelings which no doubt stem from her lack of family (I think it is very notable, and not at all an accident, that the reader knows absolutely nothing about Lucy's family and of their fate), from her alienation as a foreigner, and from the differing opinions her friends hold of her. She appears, to the reader, rootless.

     The rootlessness and uncertainty of Lucy Snowe's character should be no surprise to any reader who knows a little bit about Charlotte Bronte's life. At the time Villette was written, Bronte had lost all of her siblings to tuberculosis and was questioning her place in society as she found herself in the literary spotlight and facing the harsh criticisms of Jane Eyre and Shirley. The back of my copy of Villette dubs the novel, "Charlotte Bronte's last and most autobiographical novel," an epithet which I find very believable, having read The Life of Charlotte Bronte by Elizabeth Gaskell.

     Lucy Snowe's experiences in the fictional country of  Lambassecour are based off of Charlotte and her sister Emily's experiences at a girl's school in Brussels. Charlotte and Emily had attended a school in Brussels, and to help pay their tuition, they taught a music class. Charlotte allegedly developed feelings for the school's headmaster, M. Heger, a pious Catholic Frenchman with a wife. Thus, we see the inspiration for M. Paul as well as Lucy's battle with unrequited love. Furthermore, because of her awkward position in society as a controversial female writer, Bronte no doubt many a time questioned who she was as she tried to separate the Charlotte Bronte from Currer Bell.

      Oh geez, I was hoping to also compare M. Paul's character to Mr. Rochester as well as go into more detail about the autobiographical facet of the novel but this post is already super long. I haven't even told you of what I thought of the book overall! I guess this will have to be a multi-post extravaganza. So stay tuned for more on Villette! And for those of you following my Great Shakespearean Challenge, look forward to a post on Richard III, coming soon!

The Great Shakespearean Challenge Day 140

 

     103 out of 1194 pages read

     Last week I was privileged enough to go to London, England for a week with my family. Needless to say, it was pretty much one of the best trips ever. And part of what made the trip so amazing was that I got to visit to this place:

 

     If you are unable to identify the above building, then we cannot be friends.

     Just kidding.

 

     Except not really.

 

     For those of you who have just been demoted to acquaintance status, you are looking at a photo of Shakespeare's Globe Theater. No, unfortunately it is not Shakespeare's original Globe Theater, but, the theater is as close and as accurate to the original Globe as any theater ever will be. It's an incredible building.

 

    And as if seeing the theater itself wasn't amazing enough, I was also able to talk my parents into getting the three of us tickets to see A Midsummer Night's Dream.

     We waited until the last minute to get our tickets (my mom was worried about the weather), so we had a limited choice in seats but luckily we were able to get three seats next to each other. It was either that or standing room only, which my old and feeble parents  (just kidding, love you Mom and Dad) refused to do. As it was, they weren't completely sold on the idea on seeing a play at the Globe, so standing for three hours while watching said play was completely out of the question.

    The Globe is an open theater, which is why my mom was so concerned about the rain. However, what we did not know, and what was a pleasant surprise, is that the bench seats (literally, the seats are wooden benches) are, in fact, covered. As for the 700 or so people in the standing area, they are completely exposed to the elements. The stage, of course, is covered by an overhang.

     Even though it was a little chilly on the day we went, everyone is sitting so close together that the seats were actually very cozy. That, and the theater is well-insulated from the wind. Also, as I mentioned before, the seats are literally backless wooden benches. But before entering the theater, there is a little kiosk where pampered ticketholders can rent blankets, seat cushions, and seat backs. My parents and I rented seat cushions (they were one pound a piece) and, needless to say, doing so was a very good investment of three pounds.

     The show started at 2:00 but they started letting people in at 1:30. At about fifteen minutes or so before the show started, a small group of musicians in 16th century garb came onto the stage and played some tunes on Shakespearean-era instruments. Not only was this entertainment for the audience, but it also created a Shakespearean ambience. Aside from the fact that everyone around us was wearing brightly colored rain slickers and most were on their phones, it was easy to believe we were actually in Elizabethan England, waiting to watch A Midsummer Night's Dream, directed by Shakespeare himself.

    The show itself was absolutely fabulous. The actors were incredible and the show was well choreographed. As often is done in productions of A Midsummer Night's Dream, the actors who played Oberon and Titania were the same actors who played Theseus and Hippolyta. This is, of course, done to reinforce the parallels between these two couples as well as to reinforce parallels between the dreamy fairy world and the normal human world.

    Bottom's little troupe of misfit actors tap-danced their way on and off the stage in clog-like shoes, a wonderfully humorous addition that reinforced their silly dialogue. There was an especially funny moment in the second half of the play where Bottom and Peter Quince have a little dance-off (clog-off?). The clogs were especially ingenious because you could always hear Bottom and his friends before they came onto the stage. This was especially clever for the scenes when they went through the crowd in the standing section to get onto the stage.

     Seeing this play was a reminder that plays are, in truth, not meant to be read. They're meant to be seen. To be honest, I never realized just how funny A Midsummer Night's Dream is until I saw that play. I read the play in my sophomore English class. We read the play out loud as a class and watched the movie version of it, but not even the movie conveyed Shakespeare's wit half as well as the play. Obviously, when reading the play, you understand the humor, but you don't fully appreciate it. As for the movie, whoever directed the film didn't fully see the humor either because the actors all read their lines with a seriousness fitting for Romeo and Juliet.

     In short, seeing this play taught me that Shakespeare's plays cannot be fully appreciated unless they're performed in front of a live audience. It's the way the actors interact with the audience and the random things that are going on in the background of the stage that truly bring to life Shakespeare's brilliance.

     The clogs are, of course, a perfect example of the actors interacting with the audience and bringing to life Shakespeare's genius. It was the little things that brought everything together. Like when Demetrius, after Puck doused him in love potion, did a backflip when he saw Helena. Or when Oberon was climbing up the columns and swinging from ropes while the young lovers were arguing and chasing each other through the woods. So many little things that cannot even be explained or appreciated in stage directions made this production hilariously entertaining. Even my parents, who were unsure about seeing the play, were laughing along with me.

     The production was (dare I say it?) perfect. Even with the occasional airplane flying over the theater, the phone that went off, and the sudden downpour of rain three-fourths of the way through the play.

   It was amazing.

    

*Blogger is being a buttface right now (please excuse my language) and is not letting me make my pictures smaller. Sooo I did want to put up more pictures but Blogger isn't really letting me. Hopefully I'll be able to add them up later.

The Great Gatsby, the Movie

     Okay, one more post about film adaptions of books, and then I promise I'll resume blogging about actual books.

     The Great Gatsby hit theaters with a whirlwind of pomp and fancy advertisements. With vibrant trailers and a star-studded cast, the movie was sold as an exciting summer blockbuster, and not so much as a film adaption of an American classic.

     I remember watching TV with my mom when an ad for The Great Gatsby came on. This was before the movie was in theaters, and I commented that I wanted to see it when it came out.

     "It looks very...stylish," my mom said, saying the last word with a tone of harsh skepticism.

     And she was right. The movie was very stylish. The graphics were fantastic, the party scenes were glittery and colorful, and the wardrobe was amazing. And really, whats more stylish than Leonardo DiCaprio in a dapper 1920s style suit?

     But unlike Anna Karenina, in which the stylishness and beauty of the film took away from the integrity of the story, I think the stylishness and pomp surrounding The Great Gatsby actually, in an almost ironic way, reinforces some of the themes of F. Scott Fitzgerald's novel.

     I mean really, if you think about it, Gatsby would love this movie. Everything about Gatsby is stylish. His extravagant parties, his mansion, his canary yellow car. The movie's star-studded cast, the visual effects, the fact that the movie can be seen in 3-D, and the ridiculous amount of advertising, would all be right up Gatsby's alley. So whether this was purposeful or not, the movie itself seems to symbolize everything Fitzgerald was trying to say about the 1920s, the superficiality, the flashiness, the preoccupation with everything new and colorful and stylish.

     So overall, I thought this movie was very successful. The cast was absolutely wonderful, Daisy's dresses were to die for, the plot moved at a decent speed, and the visuals were stunning (please note, however, that I did not see Gatsby in 3-D).

     But, as much as I liked the movie, it still was not perfect.

    The first issue I had was the music.

     WHAT WAS UP WITH ALL THE RAPPING?

     Okay, okay. I understand. They needed party music, right? They needed something edgy, music that would capture the corruption and flashiness of the 1920s. And sure, rapping is perfect for that, right? But it's completely unrealistic!

     If we traveled back in time to the 1920s and asked someone what he thought of "rap music," he  would furrow his brow and say, "Wrap music? How do you wrap music around things?"

     It didn't exist back then!

     What's wrong with jazzy flapper music?  The lyrics of the rap songs were very fitting for the movie, but it just seemed so incongruous with what was taking place on the screen. There was a blaring disconnect between the music and the movie itself that was at times very distracting.

     But enough about the music.

     Overall, I thought the actors did a wonderful job portraying their characters. However, I did feel that Tom Buchanan and Jordan Baker's characters were not quite rounded out enough. As my friend pointed out, Tom wasn't unlikeable enough. In the book, he was painted as a slightly cruel misogynist, but that did not come across very well in the movie. The scene where he slaps Myrtle, for instance, was too dramatized. It made it seem as if that act of violence was out of character for Tom, rather than something that happened frequently.

     As for Jordan, there was an important scene in the front half of the novel where Nick and Jordan were talking while out driving, and Jordan is characterized as being as reckless and superficial as Daisy and Tom eventually prove to be. In the grand scheme of things, it isn't that most important moment in the book, but it did give an important insight into Jordan's character. This scene was missing from the movie, and I think that because it was missing, Jordan's character was not fully fleshed out, and her purpose in the movie seems somewhat irrelevant other than as a plot device. Her relationship with Nick is hardly even addressed.

    For the most part, though, I think The Great Gatsby is a very good adaption of the novel and definitely worth seeing. I can say with nearly one hundred percent certainty that Jay Gatsby himself would approve.

Anna Karenina, The Movie

      Several weeks and not many blog posts ago, I discussed my mixed feelings on movie adaptations of books. Anna Karenina is a recent adaptation (directed by Joe Wright) that I looked forward to seeing, even though I knew it would not live up to the standard of the book. I mean, really, there's no way a filmmaker could ever turn 1,000 pages of Tolstoy's powerful prose into a riveting two hour movie that captures every little nuance and brings to life every character.

     Usually when I see a film adaptation of a book, I go into the theater with the attitude of "They better not change anything at all," but with Anna Karenina, I had to be a little more realistic. I had to swallow my pride, temper my dogmatism, and instead I sat before the screen with the attitude of "There's no way they can include everything, but they better not edit out anything important."

     And overall, I thought that the makers of the movie were successful in capturing the story of Anna Karenina...on an extremely superficial level.

      This recent adaptation of Anna Karenina portrayed a very pretty love story; I almost felt like I was watching a ballet, not a movie. The movie's backdrop was not Russia, but  a stage, creating the illusion that the viewer is watching a play, not a movie. A curtain is drawn open upon the opening scene, transitions between scenes mimic set changes, and the actors sometimes ascend the catwalk to get to the seedier side of town.
  
     To imitate a play was a risky choice on the part of director Joe Wright, but one that I think was original and interesting. Overall, the movie is elegantly choreographed. Everything about it is just so...pretty.

     But I felt like all of the substantial moments in the book were either skimmed over or completely cut out. The story of my favorite character, Constantine Levin, especially suffered. Granted, it would be very boring to dedicate as much movie time to Levin talking about his farm as Tolstoy did in the book. Such scenes would not translate well onto the big screen, but I do feel that Levin deserved a larger role. In the book, his relationship with Kitty serves as a perfect foil to Anna and Vronsky's relationship, and I think that element was missing in the movie. Also, because Levin's character is not fully developed in the movie, the attempt, at the end of the movie, to capture his religious epiphany seems random and almost nonsensical.

     Not only did I feel that Levin was cheated, but a lot of my favorite scenes from the book did not make it into the movie. Though, perhaps in this respect I need to be more reasonable; I'm not sure anyone has the patience to sit through a five hour movie.

     Anna Karenina is a very long novel with many social, philosophical, and psychological layers. It may just be unfilmable, unable to be anything but a pretty love story on the big screen. If we must have a filmed adaptation of Anna Karenina, the novel might be better suited to a multi-part movie or a TV mini-series. You just can't capture the complexities of Tolstoy in a couple hours.

     But if you're looking for a pretty love story with pretty music and pretty dancing and pretty people in pretty clothes doing pretty things then Anna Karenina is your movie.

Sorry, guys...

     To the five or so people who have been keeping up with my blog (if y'all really do exist) I would like to apologize for not having written a post in a few weeks. With only two weeks left of high school, my teachers have been expressing their sadness that we will be leaving them by deciding to give a years worth of tests. Not to mention, AP testing starts next week...

        But enough of my complaining.

       I'm sad to say that due to a combination of tests, homework, graduation activities and senioritis, Diary of a Lit Nerd will have to take a brief hiatus. While I would infinitely prefer blogging about books over finding the limit of f(x) functions, sometimes we must dedicate our time to doing painful things, if only to please teachers and make the grade.

     Please know that this blog has not been forgotten, and as soon as I have been released from the shackles of standardized tests and public education, the blog posts will roll in once more. I am, of course, a nerd, and therefore need to get good grades, even if it means sacrificing the time I would usually spend on nerdy activities, such as reading Shakespeare, in order to study (That is The Way of the Nerd--we are quite paradoxical in this respect).

     So this is not a goodbye, but rather, an "I will be back soon. I will be back soon with more Shakespeare adventures. With thoughts on film adaptations of books. With reviews, both kind and scathing, on all the books I have read."

     But for the next few weeks, I bid thee adieu.

The Great Shakespearean Challenge: Day 83

     78 of 1194 pages read.

     The past few weeks have been uncommonly busy for me and, unfortunately, I have had very little time to either write blog posts or read Shakespeare. BUT, I did finish King Lear and have dove right into Part Three of King Henry VI.

     As nihilistic and depressing as King Lear was, I still greatly prefer it to King Henry VI. Not only is Lear a king that I can respect (despite his flaws), but there are just so many layers to the play. On the other hand, King Henry is basically the biggest loser ever, and the plot of the play seems to be the same thing over and over again. Someone wants to overthrow Henry, there's a lot of conspiring, everyone fights, people die, Henry stays king, the traitor is killed, and then someone else decides they want to be king and the whole cycle repeats itself.

     At first, I really didn't like King Lear either. I mean, really, what father banishes his favorite daughter just because she won't shower him in flattery? King Lear, apparently. But as the play progresses, you can't help but to feel bad for the guy. While Cordelia is probably the best daughter a father could ever ask for, Goneril and Regan are definitely the worst daughters any father could be stuck with. Poor King Lear just wants someone to take care of him, but Goneril and Regan ignore him, abuse him, lock him out in a storm, and more or less kill him and just about every other character in the play.

     That's the other thing about the play King Lear. Everyone dies at the end. Well, everyone but Edgar and the Duke of Albany.

     As I mentioned in an earlier post, I read this book for my school's book club. While discussing the play, we spent a lot of time discussing the hopelessly depressing ending. Is Shakespeare giving us an pessimistic or an optimistic outlook on humanity? The easy answer is pessimistic, but we can't forget that there are bright moments in the play as well.

     One of these more optimistic moments is in when the random servant comes out of nowhere and defends Gloster when Cornwall, Regan and Goneril are plucking out Gloster's eyes. Known only as "First Servant," this guy has no ties to Gloster whatsoever. We know that he is a loyal servant to Cornwall and he's one of the few people in the play with a properly functioning moral compass as well as some courage to back it up. First Servant won't stand to see his master unjustly torture Gloster.

     So obviously this is good, right? Shakespeare is saying that some random, unnamed average Joe can fight for what it good and be courageous and heroic, right? Optimism, right? Right?

    It appears that way, until Regan slays our brave First Servant. First Servant does manage to wound Cornwall, but he doesn't save Gloster

     But First Servant isn't our only good guy. There's also Kent, Lear's faithful adviser, who follows Lear even after being exiled by the king. Kent doesn't die, but at the end of the play we get the impression that the end is near for him. My personal favorite is the King of France, who marries Cordelia even after her father disowns her and takes away her dowry. That the King of France would marry Cordelia for love and not money shows that not everyone is corrupted by greed and power, unlike the many selfish characters (Goneril, Regan, Edmund, etc.) in the play.

     And, of course, there is Cordelia herself, a character who is almost unbelievably good and forgiving. She is kind to her father even after he banished her. She'll do anything to help him out. she forgives him and loves him throughout the entire play.

     And she dies too.

     WHY? Why did Shakespeare kill everybody? Is Cordelia a Christ figure? A martyr for goodness? Or is her death symbolic of the end of goodness?

     I like to think the former is true. That maybe Edgar and the Duke of Albany will rebuild the split kingdom, and maybe unnamed First Servants will come to their aid and everything will be okay. And maybe a king as good and selfless as the King of France will emerge and maintain peace.

     But maybe I'm just a hopeless optimist.

     I'm going to have to read this play again. My head hurts.

The One Time the Book Wasn't Better

      You have to believe me when I say that it was physically painful for me to write the above title. As I said in my previous post, books are always better than movie adaptions. Always. Always, always always.

     But, my friends, there is an exception to every rule. And this exception is the TV show Pretty Little Liars.

     This melodramatic, poorly acted teen-drama is based off of the Pretty Little Liars book series written by Sara Shepard. There are fourteen Pretty Little Liar books, plus two companion books. I've only read the first four books.

     I read the books because my friend lent them to me. These four books make a complete story-arc, however at the conclusion of the fourth book there are still unanswered questions.

     I like the Pretty Little Liars books. They are certainly no works of literature, but they are entertaining. They are fast-paced and suspenseful; the kind of books that you start reading after breakfast and finish the same night, curled up in bed. The type of book that you for fun and because, for whatever reason, you just have to know what happens to those silly but strangely lovable characters.

     So as much as I wanted to know who killed Alison DiLaurentis, I stopped at book four. Why? Because I started watching the TV show and, for whatever reason, could not stop.

     I became addicted to the show; the cliffhanger endings to each episode kept me coming back every Tuesday night. But why didn't I keep  reading the books?

     The first reason that comes to mind is sheer laziness. My friend only has the first four books, so I'd have to make the effort to get off my butt and get the other books. And why do that when it would be much easier to watch the plot unfold on TV?

     But as I think about it, I realize that laziness cannot possibly be the answer. If I had really wanted to finish the series, I would have happily gone to the library or coughed up the money for the next few PLL novels. Rather, the reason I did not finish the books is that I was not missing anything.

     As I mentioned in my previous post, the book To Kill a Mockingbird is superior to the movie adaptation because the beauty of the prose is missing. There is no play of syntax in the TKAM movie, but there are also no great syntactic moments in the Pretty Little Liars novels. Not to say Sara Shepard is a bad writer, but she is certainly no Harper Lee. Her books are entertainment, not literary revolutions. And for whatever reason, I find the TV show more entertaining than the books.

     Why the TV show is more entertaining than the books, I'm still not sure. Maybe it's because I am able to find humor in bad acting and bad screenwriting, while mediocre prose just makes me cringe. Maybe its just because Wren's British accent sounds better on TV than in my head. Whatever the reason, Pretty Little Liars is the first (and most likely only) time I was drawn more to the movie/TV adaptation than the book.

     But other than Pretty Little Liars, books always win.

     Always.

A Few Thoughts on Turning Books into Scripts

     A couple months ago, I was sitting in physics when I noticed a nearly-dictionary-sized book resting on the binder of the girl sitting across from me.

     "Watcha reading?" I asked the book's owner.

     "Les Mis," she said, "I want to read it before the movie comes out."

     Sound the sirens, everyone, books have invaded Hollywood. Or, rather, screenwriters have invaded libraries and bookstores, stealing ideas from paper instead of using that thing called "originality" to come up with interesting movie plots.

     In truth, though, it's been happening for as long as movies have been made. Gone With the Wind, The Godfather, Schindler's List, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Google "Best Movies of All Time" and you'll find that quite a few of them were based on books. Even the recent zombie-apocolypse-romance movie, Warm Bodies, is based off of a book by the same title.

     For as long as I can remember, I have always been uncomfortable with the idea of making books into movies. I have always felt that doing so shows a lack of originality on the part of the screenwriter and laziness on the part of those who would rather watch the movie than read the book.

     I think the only reason the laziness aspect annoys me is because the movie is never as good as the book. Never. Ever. Never ever ever. (Well, never except for one book series, but I'll get to that later.)

     Why is it that the book is always better?

     I used to blame the defects on the obvious things. This character wasn't included, they took out my favorite part, or so-and-so is supposed to be blonde but they made her a brunette (yes, I am directly referring to how Annabeth in the movie version of The Lightening Thief was not blonde, a detail honestly ruined the movie for me, even though there were a lot of other serious faults. But I digress.)

     Yet I have come to realize that it is not always the parts that the screenwriters leave out, or the characters they tweak that makes the movies inferior. Some of those changes can even be forgiven, if one considers time and casting limitations. (But only some changes; Annabeth's hair can never be forgiven.)

     Rather, the reason (at least for me) that books are always better, is that the beauty of the language is lost. There are just things that can be done with the written word that cannot be done on the big screen.

     I think the best way for me to explain myself is to give you an example. Here is an excerpt from To Kill a Mockingbird:

  

      Just look at that. That lovely syntactic jump from one paragraph to another, where Mrs. Merriweather unknowingly completes Scout's unfinished thought while simultaneously displaying her hypocrisy. The irony and genius of it all makes me embarrassingly happy. I could go on for awhile about this passage, but I'll save that for another post.

     For now, back to my point. And the point is that you cannot have ingenious syntactic paragraph  jumps in a movie.

     They made a movie out of To Kill a Mockingbird. It was a fantastic movie and it won many awards and it changed many lives. But there is one thing missing in that movie, and that one thing is Harper Lee's writing.

     I guess, in the grand scheme of things, Harper Lee's writing is not the most important part of the book. The most important part of the book is the story itself and that story's themes. But, when you read the book and then watch the movie (like I did), it just seems like something is missing in the movie.

     And that something is the prose.

     Is it unfair for me to judge movies like this? Perhaps. If I had seen To Kill a Mockingbird the movie before reading the book, then I no doubt would have found it more impressive. As I watched the movie, I acknowledged that it was a great representation of the book, was well-written and well-acted, but I still found myself preferring the book.

      Maybe this is just The Curse of the Lit Nerd. Maybe I'm just crazy and word-obsessed. But the prose will always beat out the cinematography.

     After seeing Les Miserables with my parents, I was talking to my mom about how much I enjoyed the movie.

     "That was one of the best movies I've ever seen," I said, wiping my eyes (for the rest of the day, I could barely even think about that movie without tearing up), "I can't imagine how good the book is. I really want to read it now."

     Maybe, just maybe, it isn't so bad that Hollywood is making books into movies. I used to always hate when people would say, "Why should I read Harry Potter? I've seen all the movies." 

      BECAUSE THE BOOKS ARE BETTER!

     Ahem. Excuse me.

     I still hate it when people say that sort of thing. But let's be honest, with that attitude, would they have ever really read the book? Movie or no?

      The cynical (and therefore more likely) answer is no. But at least that person was still exposed to the story of Harry Potter and the themes of friendship and courage.

     The people who often get overlooked are those like myself and my friend in physics. The people who heard about or seen the movie, and want to read the book because of it. Would I or my classmate have wanted to read Les Mis if it had never been made into a movie?

     Maybe, maybe not. The point is, the movie encouraged us to read the book.

     For whatever reason (perhaps out of sheer stubbornness) I'm still not quite one-hundred percent okay with books being made into movies. But I'm getting there. In fact, as mentioned before, there is one exception to the rule; one book series that I prefer to see on screen rather than on paper (but just slightly, I do like the books).

     But, I've wasted enough of your time with my rambling, so The Exception will have to wait until tomorrow. Stay tuned for my next post!

     

  

 

The Great Shakespearean Challenge: Day 41

     58 out of 1194 pages read

     Before I start talking Shakespeare, I would like to thank +Marian Allen for mentioning Diary of a Lit Nerd in her blog! I truly appreciated your kind words, Marian.

     As I mentioned in my previous post, I've been simultaneously reading King Lear and Part Two of King Henry VI. King Lear has proven a much more engaging play than Henry VI, Part Two. Though, I will say, now that I am nearing the end of King Henry VI, the plot has become increasingly more interesting.

     The entrance of the character Jack Cade has livened up the play. Cade is a "labouring man" who is leading a revolt against Henry VI and hopes to take the crown for himself (just about every character in this play wants to take down King Henry). He is portrayed as a fairly terrible person, but his strong personality has brought a degree of excitement to the play.

     So far, my favorite Jack Cade line is "Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin!"

     Okay, I admit, the line doesn't sound that special, especially out of context. But, for whatever reason, it made me laugh; probably only because when I read it, I imagined a frustrated classmate yelling those words at my Latin teacher.

     And, of course, sitting in my second hour Latin class the next day, that line kept popping in my head. For a fleeting moment, I was tempted to jump from my seat and yell, "Away with him, away with him! he speaks Latin!" but I had a feeling that doing so would be frowned upon, despite the literary origins of the outburst.

     Still, I prefer reading King Lear over King Henry VI. Not only is the story more interesting, but the copy of King Lear that I'm reading for book club is illustrated! How do you illustrate Shakespeare, you ask?

     You don't.

    That's why the illustrations are so entertaining. Take a look:

     Obviously, someone thought it would be clever to try to pictorially represent Shakespeare's metaphors. Take, for instance, the top left image, which is a visual representation of the line "the cart draws the horse."

     Umm...I don't think Shakespeare meant that literally, but okay.

     So, as you can well imagine, it is always a pleasant surprise to turn the page and see an awkward snail, what looks to be a sketch of Oz's City of Emeralds, or a guy barbequing his friend.

     But seriously.

    What King Lear has that Henry VI does not have is Shakespeare's wit. Not to say there is no wit or clever wordplay in Henry VI, because there definitely is, but the wit in King Lear is much more searing. It's clear that Henry VI is one of Shakespeare's earliest plays; the genius is there, he just hasn't embraced it yet. Furthermore, as far as personal preference goes, my favorite literary device (yes, I have a favorite literary device; don't hate) is irony, and King Lear is practically oozing irony.

     I look forward to seeing how both plays conclude. I have plenty of reading to catch up on, so I will live you with this parting image, courtesy of my King Lear book:

 

 

Judy Corbett's "Castles in the Air"

(Sorry the font is different, Blogger is being difficult. Please let me know if you are having trouble reading this post.)

      It is very rare that I have strong feelings of dislike for a book. Very rare.

     And this, my friends, is one of those rare moments.

     I read Judy Corbett's memoir, Castles in the Air for my Language and Composition class. The teacher let us pick our own memoirs and, for whatever reason, I chose Castles in the Air.

     Despite the unfortunate title, the book looked interesting enough. (And anyway don't they say not to judge a book by its cover?)  Castles in the Air is about Judy Corbett who, along with her fiancé, Peter, buys a run-down castle in Wales. She tells the story of the physical difficulties they faced in renovating the house as well as the emotional journey of taking on such a daunting project. Sounds harmless enough, right?

    Wrong.

     I went into the book with a positive attitude. After my teacher told me that the memoir would not be a challenging read, and after my parents and friends laughed at the embarrassing title, I had determined that I would like this book. No matter how easy to read or cheesy the book was, I would see the best in it.

     The first eight chapters were fine. While it was cheesy and not the most well-written of books, Corbett was a quirky, humorous narrator. It wasn't until chapter nine that I lost all respect for Judy Corbett. 

     In chapter nine, Peter proposes to Corbett, and mysteriously, the day after she and Peter decide to get married, a ghost begins to haunt the halls of their castle. The ghost's name is Margaret. Corbett feels Margaret's presence, she just knows that the ghost's name is Margaret. She also somehow knows that Margaret's main aim in life (afterlife?) is to make Peter's life miserable.

     At the same time Margaret appears, Corbett and Peter's relationship becomes strained. Corbett is always arguing with Peter, and at one point, she calls off the marriage. Now, why on earth, would a young couple who are way in over their heads renovating a giant crumbling castle, who are in tight money straits, and who are planning to get married ever fight? How could tension ever arise from such a situation?

     No idea. Obviously, if this couple were to fight, it must have been because one of them was possessed by a ghost.

     Yes, that's right. Corbett blames her problems with Peter on Margaret. She claims that she was possessed by Margaret; that the only reason why she and Peter fought was because Margaret had taken over. Corbett was a powerless victim.

     Now, I will admit, that we cannot know for sure whether Corbett was actually possessed by a ghost. The existence of  ghosts has never been completely proved or disproved. But whether or not Margaret exists or not is a moot point. Most likely, Margaret is a figment of Corbett's imagination, a manifestation of all her stress, which causes her to act unlike her usual self. However, if in fact, Margaret is a real ghost, why must all the blame be put on her? I was very frustrated that Corbett never once acknowledged the slight possibility that the problems she was having with Peter could have stemmed from something other than the supernatural.

     After reading about Margaret, I lost all respect for Corbett. And, as I read the rest of the book, Corbett's other flaws became glaringly apparent. Her abundance of cliched metaphors, her poor writing abilities, and her rudeness towards those who visited her and Peter's castle.

     I could go on for quite awhile about the issues I had with this memoir, but this post is long enough as it is. Margaret is just the most striking of many, many flaws. The main problem is that Corbett is not self-deprecating enough and her opinions are very one-sided. Nothing is ever her fault. She blames everything on a ghost or on the ignorance of others. At some points, she is just plain mean.  

     At the end of the memoir, she says that she is no longer bothered by people who critique the castle because those individuals "saw [her and Peter's] dream fulfillment as a mirror to their own failures."

     Okay, sure. I guess. Or maybe they just had a problem with the castle...

     I give Castles in the Air a mucus-y yellow-green rating. This book makes my stomach turn.

Diary of a Lit Nerd is Now on Twitter!

     Exciting news, friends!

     I've decided to become a twit and join tweeter! (Wait, that doesn't sound right...)

     Anyway, please follow me @amelia_bauer! I will be tweeting literary memes, blog post updates, pictures of books and other nerdy things, as well as words of wisdom.

     That's all for now. See you on Twitter!

  

 

The Great Shakespearean Challenge: Day 27

     49 out of 1194 pages read

     Just a quick update.

     I'm making good progress through Part Two of King Henry VI, though I'm finding it less interesting than Part One. None of the characters have really reached out and grabbed me like Lord Talbot and Joan la Pucelle did in Part One. The only character that I have really liked in this play so far was the Duke of Gloster, that is, SPOILER ALERT! until he was murdered.

      I suppose the Duke of York is all right. I'm not sure whether Shakespeare wants me to like him or not, but I'm certainly rooting for him in his quest to overthrow King Henry VI. I'm sorry, but the king is a total loser. I mean come on, the guy faints when he finds out Gloster is dead. Take a look at this stage direction:

The "king" swoons

     Pathetic, right?

     Sure, someone very close to him died. Kings can be sad. But Kings really shouldn't be "swooning."

     Well, King Henry VI was a real person, and I do remember learning in my European History class that he was not the most authoritarian of kings, and was, rather, very sensitive and malleable. If that description is indeed true, then Shakespeare did a wonderful job capturing his personality.

Shakespeare showdown! King Lear vs. King Henry VI

     In other news, the book club at my school is reading Shakespeare's King Lear this quarter. Thus, I've found myself in a situation where I am reading two Shakespeare plays at once.

     Not that I really mind. Can't have too much Shakespeare.

     I've only read a few scene of King Lear, but so far I am really enjoying the play. I'm enjoying it more than King Henry VI, which is becoming a problem as I really need to read both, but I find myself preferring to read King Lear.

     That's all for now. Look forward to more posts about both  Part Two of King Henry VI as well as King Lear.