To a reader of the first eight books in Maud Hart Lovelace’s Betsy-Tacy series, the start of this one is disorienting. Suddenly four years have passed since we last left our heroine, her sister Julia is married, Tacy is married and pregnant, the Ray family has moved from Deep Valley to Minneapolis, Betsy and Joe are estranged (Joe has won a scholarship to Harvard and Betsy is dating another man), and Betsy’s college experience has been less than successful—marred by a bout of appendicitis and a long convalescence in California, her customary lack of interest in math and science, and a hectic, frivolous social life. Luckily, she has still been writing, publishing some successful stories, and when she decides she wants to drop out of school, her father generously agrees to send her on an educational trip abroad instead. Even for my adult self, this rapid change in circumstances is enough to prompt a “Wha-?” or two (I kept wishing Lovelace hadn’t skipped the college years entirely, because how fun would it be to read about those madcap 1900s sorority adventures at the U?), so you can imagine what a shock it was to my younger mind; I think I only broached this book a few times despite being such a great fan of the preceding volumes.
So Betsy’s on board a ship headed for Europe in January 1914. Anyone who knows anything about twentieth-century history will greet that revelation with an “Uh-oh,” but as a kid I was mostly oblivious to the shadow that rapidly approaching war casts on the book. And there is much to distract from it: the amazing glamour of the transatlantic crossing (staterooms, steamer chairs, mid-morning bouillon, a handsome purser, the Captain’s Ball!); exotic stops in the Azores, the Madeira islands, Gibraltar, and Algiers; living in Munich; being courted by an Italian in Venice; sojourns in Paris and London. Betsy’s personal journey is equally impressive; she’s traveling basically independently (although she has enough contacts and chaperones, mainly family friends, to be proper and makes additional friends along the way), and overcomes homesickness, loneliness, language barriers, and cultural differences, as well as growing as a writer. But rereading it now, I realized that this book is first and foremost a bittersweet valediction for a way of traveling that no longer exists (the world seemed so much bigger then!) and a bygone golden age of Europe about to be shattered by two world wars. (You can’t help wondering what happened to all the friends Betsy made in Germany and the young men at her London boarding house who so eagerly enlist when war breaks out. The fact that Betsy is still in England when war is declared is particularly fascinating, as Lovelace describes the Americans scrambling to get back home with a foreboding urgency Betsy doesn’t fully comprehend.) Even to Lovelace’s 1952 readers, I’m guessing that Betsy’s adventures seemed adorably quaint, tinged with the glow of nostalgia. This book is unabashedly romantic, and not just because it ends with one of the sweetest reconciliations in literature, in the form of the following message: “BETSY. THE GREAT WAR IS ON BUT I HOPE OURS IS OVER. PLEASE COME HOME. JOE.” It should be no surprise that the next book is called Betsy’s Wedding.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
2009 IN BOOKS
I know this is an entire month late, but I analyzed my 2009 reading (all of which I managed to document on this blog, a new trick for me) and was pleased to learn that I managed one book more than in 2008 (that’s 68 books total, 45 fiction and 23 nonfiction, with 10 rereads and the rest new-to-me-titles). Of course, it’s the quality that really counts, not the quantity, and although there were a few books I now wish I hadn’t bothered with (The Food of a Younger Land, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Black Dossier, for instance), I read a lot of stuff I really liked last year. Here’s a list of my 10 faves (at least, in retrospect—it’s so hard to recall my exact comparative levels of enjoyment at the time), in chronological order:
Maps and Legends, by Michael Chabon
Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons
Bleak House, by Charles Dickens
The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories, by Connie Willis
Shelf Discovery, by Lizzie Skurnick
The Magicians, by Lev Grossman
The Children’s Book, by A.S. Byatt
Blame, by Michelle Huneven
Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby
The Jeeves books, by P.G. Wodehouse—I can now say that I’ve read the entire series; I enjoyed them wholeheartedly and was quite surprised to discover that I’d barely read half of them before (apparently, I devoted more of my youth to reading the short stories over and over again than tracking down all the novels).
The Children of Men, by P.D. James, and Fray, by Joss Whedon, et al nearly made the list, so they get honorable mentions. And of course, a special “best reread” prize must go to the Betsy- Tacy series, which I’ve thoroughly loved revisiting so far (just one more to go!).
Maps and Legends, by Michael Chabon
Watchmen, by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons
Bleak House, by Charles Dickens
The Winds of Marble Arch and Other Stories, by Connie Willis
Shelf Discovery, by Lizzie Skurnick
The Magicians, by Lev Grossman
The Children’s Book, by A.S. Byatt
Blame, by Michelle Huneven
Juliet, Naked, by Nick Hornby
The Jeeves books, by P.G. Wodehouse—I can now say that I’ve read the entire series; I enjoyed them wholeheartedly and was quite surprised to discover that I’d barely read half of them before (apparently, I devoted more of my youth to reading the short stories over and over again than tracking down all the novels).
The Children of Men, by P.D. James, and Fray, by Joss Whedon, et al nearly made the list, so they get honorable mentions. And of course, a special “best reread” prize must go to the Betsy- Tacy series, which I’ve thoroughly loved revisiting so far (just one more to go!).
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
THE CAT-NAPPERS
Background: Published in 1974 in the U.K. as Aunts Aren’t Gentlemen, then in 1975 in the U.S., this is the final Jeeves and Bertie novel (Wodehouse died in 1975).
This is the one where: Bertie deals with “what I suppose my biographers will refer to as The Maiden Eggesford Horror—or possibly The Curious Case of the Cat Which Kept Popping Up When Least Expected.”
The action takes place at: Maiden Eggesford, “one of those villages where there isn't much to do except walk down the main street and look at the Jubilee watering trough and then walk up the main street and look at the Jubilee watering trough from the other side”
Bertie accidentally gets engaged to: Vanessa Cook (“The thought occurred to me that in another thirty years or so she would look just like my Aunt Agatha, before whose glare, as is well known, strong men curl up like rabbits.”)
But she’s really in love with: Orlo Porter, “a beefy bloke…who had been on the same staircase with me at Oxford. Except for borrowing an occasional cup of sugar from one another and hulloing when we met on the stairs, we had never really been close, he being a prominent figure at the Union, where I was told he made fiery far-to-the-left speeches, while I was more the sort that is content just to exist beautifully.”
The task at hand: Relax and recover (Bertie starts the book with mysterious spots on his chest and is advised by his doctor to visit the country), keep Plank (whose memory is afflicted by malaria) from remembering that he thinks Bertie is a kleptomaniac named Alpine Joe, avoid the violent jealousy of Orlo Porter, avoid the wrath of Pop Cook, keep Aunt Dahlia from losing all her money on Jimmy Briscoe’s horse Simla (while also trying to return the cat she has stolen from Pop Cook in an effort to sabotage his competing horse, Potato Chip)
Other characters include:
Jeeves disapproves of Bertie’s: N/A
First paragraph: “My attention was drawn to the spots on my chest when I was in my bath, singing, if I remember rightly, the ‘Toreador Song’ from the opera Carmen. They were pink in color, rather like the first faint flush of dawn, and I viewed them with concern. I am not a fussy man, but I do object to being freckled like a pard, as I once heard Jeeves describe it, a pard, I take it, being something on the order of one of those dogs beginning with d.”
Bertie fashion moment: N/A
Slang I’d like to start using: It's not exactly slang, but next time I arrive at work after battling insane traffic, I'd like to steal Bertie's casual line “There were rather more astigmatic loonies sharing the road with me than I could have wished.”
Bertie gets no respect: “Anyone looking at you would write you off as a brainless nincompoop with about as much intelligence as a dead rabbit.”—Orlo Porter
Best Jeeves moment: “He expressed no surprise at seeing me tied to a sofa with curtain cords, just as he would have e. no s. if he had seen me being eaten by a crocodile…though in the latter case he might have heaved a regretful sigh.”
Best bit of description: Bertie, when Jeeves makes a brilliant observation: “I felt like Doctor Watson hearing Sherlock Holmes talking about the one hundred and forty-seven varieties of tobacco ash and the time it takes parsley to settle in the butter dish.”
Best bit of dialogue: “The girls you’ve been engaged to and have escaped from would reach, if placed end to end, from Piccadilly to Hyde Park Corner. I won’t believe you’re married till I see the bishop and assistant clergy mopping their foreheads and saying, ‘Well, that’s that. We’ve really got the young blighter off at last.’”—Aunt Dahlia, to Bertie
My review: Three stars. It was enjoyable and pretty darn impressive considering it was written by a 93-year-old, but it's clearly a later effort (some of the jokes are retreads from earlier books), and stands a bit apart from the rest of the series. Bringing Plank back is a nice touch, but the rest of the characters are sketchily drawn, and the plot doesn't reach the full hilariously complex potential of the earlier ones (only one engaged couple?). Still, it has Aunt Dahlia, and also a cat. Although Wodehouse was a dog person, he describes cats rather adorably, and Bertie seems fond of them: “Ask any cat with whom I have had dealings what sort of a chap I am catwise, and it will tell you that I am a thoroughly good egg in whom complete confidence can safely be placed. Cats who know me well, like Aunt Dahlia's Augustus, will probably allude to my skill at scratching them behind the ear.”
The last few paragraphs are my favorite part and make a worthy ending for the whole series (as well as making me wonder why the American publisher changed the title to something so bland as The Cat-nappers), so I'm going to quote them here:
This is the one where: Bertie deals with “what I suppose my biographers will refer to as The Maiden Eggesford Horror—or possibly The Curious Case of the Cat Which Kept Popping Up When Least Expected.”
The action takes place at: Maiden Eggesford, “one of those villages where there isn't much to do except walk down the main street and look at the Jubilee watering trough and then walk up the main street and look at the Jubilee watering trough from the other side”
Bertie accidentally gets engaged to: Vanessa Cook (“The thought occurred to me that in another thirty years or so she would look just like my Aunt Agatha, before whose glare, as is well known, strong men curl up like rabbits.”)
But she’s really in love with: Orlo Porter, “a beefy bloke…who had been on the same staircase with me at Oxford. Except for borrowing an occasional cup of sugar from one another and hulloing when we met on the stairs, we had never really been close, he being a prominent figure at the Union, where I was told he made fiery far-to-the-left speeches, while I was more the sort that is content just to exist beautifully.”
The task at hand: Relax and recover (Bertie starts the book with mysterious spots on his chest and is advised by his doctor to visit the country), keep Plank (whose memory is afflicted by malaria) from remembering that he thinks Bertie is a kleptomaniac named Alpine Joe, avoid the violent jealousy of Orlo Porter, avoid the wrath of Pop Cook, keep Aunt Dahlia from losing all her money on Jimmy Briscoe’s horse Simla (while also trying to return the cat she has stolen from Pop Cook in an effort to sabotage his competing horse, Potato Chip)
Other characters include:
- Aunt Dahlia, “not to be confused with my Aunt Agatha, who eats broken bottles and is strongly suspected of turning into a werewolf at the time of the full moon. Aunt Dahlia is as good a sort as ever said ‘Tally Ho’ to a fox, which she frequently did in her younger days when out with the Quorn and Pytchley. If she ever turned into a werewolf, it would be one of those jolly breeze werewolves whom it is a pleasure to know.”
- E. Jimpson Murgatroyd, a doctor with a“resemblance to a frog which had been looking on the dark side since it was a slip of a tadpole”
- Major Plank, “the explorer and rugby aficionado, whom I had last seen at his house in Gloucestershire when he was accusing me of trying to get five quid out of him under false pretenses”
- Pop Cook, “a red-faced little half-portion brandishing a hunting crop I didn’t much like the look of”
- Herbert “Billy” Graham, the poacher Aunt Dahlia hires to steal the cat--and whom Bertie must pay to return it again (“I had always supposed that poachers were tough-looking eggs who wore whatever they could borrow from scarecrows and shaved only once a week. He, to the contrary, was neatly clad in formfitting tweeds and was shaven to the bone. His eyes were frank and blue, his hair a becoming gray. I have seen more raffish cabinet ministers.”)
Jeeves disapproves of Bertie’s: N/A
First paragraph: “My attention was drawn to the spots on my chest when I was in my bath, singing, if I remember rightly, the ‘Toreador Song’ from the opera Carmen. They were pink in color, rather like the first faint flush of dawn, and I viewed them with concern. I am not a fussy man, but I do object to being freckled like a pard, as I once heard Jeeves describe it, a pard, I take it, being something on the order of one of those dogs beginning with d.”
Bertie fashion moment: N/A
Slang I’d like to start using: It's not exactly slang, but next time I arrive at work after battling insane traffic, I'd like to steal Bertie's casual line “There were rather more astigmatic loonies sharing the road with me than I could have wished.”
Bertie gets no respect: “Anyone looking at you would write you off as a brainless nincompoop with about as much intelligence as a dead rabbit.”—Orlo Porter
Best Jeeves moment: “He expressed no surprise at seeing me tied to a sofa with curtain cords, just as he would have e. no s. if he had seen me being eaten by a crocodile…though in the latter case he might have heaved a regretful sigh.”
Best bit of description: Bertie, when Jeeves makes a brilliant observation: “I felt like Doctor Watson hearing Sherlock Holmes talking about the one hundred and forty-seven varieties of tobacco ash and the time it takes parsley to settle in the butter dish.”
Best bit of dialogue: “The girls you’ve been engaged to and have escaped from would reach, if placed end to end, from Piccadilly to Hyde Park Corner. I won’t believe you’re married till I see the bishop and assistant clergy mopping their foreheads and saying, ‘Well, that’s that. We’ve really got the young blighter off at last.’”—Aunt Dahlia, to Bertie
My review: Three stars. It was enjoyable and pretty darn impressive considering it was written by a 93-year-old, but it's clearly a later effort (some of the jokes are retreads from earlier books), and stands a bit apart from the rest of the series. Bringing Plank back is a nice touch, but the rest of the characters are sketchily drawn, and the plot doesn't reach the full hilariously complex potential of the earlier ones (only one engaged couple?). Still, it has Aunt Dahlia, and also a cat. Although Wodehouse was a dog person, he describes cats rather adorably, and Bertie seems fond of them: “Ask any cat with whom I have had dealings what sort of a chap I am catwise, and it will tell you that I am a thoroughly good egg in whom complete confidence can safely be placed. Cats who know me well, like Aunt Dahlia's Augustus, will probably allude to my skill at scratching them behind the ear.”
The last few paragraphs are my favorite part and make a worthy ending for the whole series (as well as making me wonder why the American publisher changed the title to something so bland as The Cat-nappers), so I'm going to quote them here:
“Jeeves…Do you ever brood on life?”Had I read it before? Definitely not.
“Occasionally, sir, when at leisure.”
“What do you make of it? Pretty odd in spots, don’t you think?”
“It might be so described, sir.”
“This business of such-and-such seeming to be so-and-so, when it really isn’t so-and-so at all. You follow me?”
“Not entirely, sir.”
“Well, take a simple instance. At first sight Maiden Eggesford had all the indications of being a haven of peace. You agree with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“As calm and quiet as you could wish, with honeysuckle-covered cottages and apple-cheeked villagers wherever you looked. Then it tore off its whiskers and revealed itself as an inferno. To obtain calm and quiet we had to come to New York, and there we got it in full measure. Life saunters along on an even keel. Nothing happens. Have we been mugged?”
“No, sir.”
“Or shot by youths?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir is right. We are tranquil. And I’ll tell you why. There are no aunts here. And in particular we are three thousand miles away from Mrs. Dahlia Travers of Brinkley Manor, Market Snodsbury, Worcestershire. Don’t get me wrong, Jeeves, I love the old flesh and blood. In fact I revere her. Nobody can say she isn’t good company. But her moral code is lax. She cannot distinguish between what is according to Hoyle and what is not according to Hoyle. If she wants to do anything, she doesn’t ask herself, ‘Would Emily Post approve of this?’; she goes ahead an does it, as she did in this matter of the cat. Do you know what is the trouble with aunts as a class?”
“No, sir.”
“They are not gentlemen,” I said gravely.
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