Reading in Retrospect: "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm" by Kate Douglas Wiggin, or Why the Anne of Green Gables Series is Better

My middle child, the bookworm, was given a copy of Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm for Christmas. I read it for the first time only a few years ago. It seems like I’d heard of this book all my life, and I thought surely I’d read it as a child. But absolutely none of it seemed familiar, so I guess I’d missed this one.

The novel encompasses five years in the life of Rebecca Rowena Randall. One of seven children whose father died around the time of her youngest sibling’s birth, at the age of twelve Rebecca is sent to live with rich spinster aunts for schooling and raising. One aunt is spineless and the other is very hard to live with, but Rebecca’s engaging personality and active imagination see her through.

This book was first published in 1903. Anne of Green Gables was first published in 1908. There are many similarities between the two books, but Lucy Maud Montgomery did a better job with Anne. It’s as if Montgomery read Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm, said, “I can improve upon this!” and did.

First, Montgomery did away with all of the unnecessary background (Rebecca might as well have been an orphan; Anne was an orphan). More importantly, Anne was a more believable and likeable character. Both Anne and Rebecca were wonderfully imaginative, but Anne was also head of her class at school (smart girls rule!), and the scrapes she got herself into were both more serious and more entertaining than Rebecca’s.

Rebecca’s story doesn't extend beyond the one book, but Montgomery wisely gave us more detail in several volumes for Anne’s story. And overall, somehow Wiggin’s book was sappy, sentimental and adolescent, whereas Montgomery’s books managed to get deep into my heart rather than simply skimming the surface. Comparing Rebecca to Anne all the way through kind of ruined it for me, but I couldn't avoid it. Not that I didn’t enjoy this book, but I knew it could have been better than it was.

One final complaint about Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm (which is kind of a spoiler, by the way). Ever since the moment his character was introduced, I wanted Rebecca to marry Mr. Adam Ladd (Mr. Aladdin) at the end. At the rate she was growing up through the chapters I thought for sure we would reach that point, but we didn’t. With no marriage in this book, I had hoped it might take place in a sequel, but that doesn’t seem to be the case either. (Wiggins did write the New Chronicles of Rebecca, which I haven't read, but from what I've gathered it doesn't pick up where RoSF left off; instead, it tells more stories that occurred within the same time frame.) The fact that Mr. Aladdin was twice Rebecca's age might have made a wedding somewhat squicky, but a hundred years ago such a thing wouldn't have even been considered Lolita territory (once Rebecca was an older teenager, anyway).

Oh, and it also annoyed me that most of the story didn’t even take place at Sunnybrook Farm.

Am I the only American girl who didn't read this book when I was little? Maybe I would have appreciated it more if I had.

Reading in Retrospect: "Hallowe'en Party" by Agatha Christie

This is your average Agatha Christie book. That’s a good thing, of course. In my mind, Christie is the ultimate mystery writer. I weigh all mystery novels against hers, and most suffer by comparison.

I have read this one enough times that I can actually remember who done it. (Most of Christie’s books surprise me every time I read them. You know. That literary amnesia thing again.) Of course there were a lot of details that I did not remember, so I still enjoyed the read.

In this book, Hercule Poirot is called in by his author friend Ariadne Oliver, who has been visiting in the town of Woodleigh Common. Just the night before, Ms. Oliver had attended a children’s Halloween party during which one of the young guests, a girl by the name of Joyce Reynolds, was drowned in an apple-bobbing bucket. The thing that stuck in Ms. Oliver’s mind was the fact that, earlier during the evening of the party, Joyce--a girl given to telling tall tales and generally known as a liar--had been trying to convince the others present that she had once witnessed a murder. Unfortunately for Joyce, the wrong person overheard her claims.

This isn't my absolute favorite Agatha Christie book (I'd say that slot is claimed by And Then There Were None), but I don't think I've ever read a mystery of hers that I didn't like, and this one was no exception.

Here is what I love about Agatha Christie. Her stories are always so logical. Even if the murderer is slightly insane, it's in such a neat, restrained, British way. There's very little gore, and hardly anyone ever gets hacked to pieces. Many of the deaths occur by a nice, civilized poisoning, or at worst an efficient coshing or a single, well-thought-out gunshot. Poirot and Miss Marple are my heroes, with their amazingly astute observations and keen understanding of human nature. And somehow Christie manages to get me suspecting almost every single character in the story at one point or another. See? Perfection.

Happy Halloween! Don't keep your head in the apple-bobbing bucket overlong. 

Reading in Retrospect: "Dragon Rider" by Cornelia Funke

My sister first introduced me to Cornelia Funke's books a number of years ago. Meine Schwester wohnt in Deutschland, and Funke is like a German J.K. Rowling, if perhaps the junior version. I think Sis first told me about The Thief Lord, which I devoured with relish before quickly working my way through several of Funke's other books.

It's been several years since I read Dragon Rider, but luckily I marked down a few notes about it at the time. The story took me a little while to get into, although I’m not sure why, because it turned out to be a very enjoyable book. Perhaps not quite as good as Inkheart (which is by far my favorite Funke book), but every bit as good as The Thief Lord--and maybe just a little bit better because, rather than beginning realistically but suddenly and strangely becoming an obvious fantasy halfway through, Dragon Rider was fantastic in its entirety.

This is the story of Firedrake, a silver dragon, and his furry Brownie companion named Sorrel. Firedrake and Sorrel have embarked on a journey to find the Rim of Heaven, a protected valley of legend where any number of dragons could live undisturbed. Their reason for this quest, and for leaving their happy and comfortable home among other dragons (in Scotland?), is that humans are encroaching on their caves, and discovery--with the inevitable destruction that would follow--is imminent. Once Firedrake has found the Rim of Heaven, he plans to return for the other dragons and lead them to it.

Not far into their journey, Firedrake and Sorrel acquire a small orphaned human named Ben when they stop to purchase a map from Gilbert Graytail, the white rat. Unfortunately (cue menacing music), the trio attracts the attention of a wicked golden pseudo-dragon named Nettlebrand, a creature created by an alchemist for the purpose of destroying dragons.

Not surprisingly, my two older kids have taken to Funke's stories just as much as I have. My son read Dragon Rider for a school project last spring once his interest was spurred by the movie How to Train Your Dragon. Not long afterwards, my daughter also read it when she was on her Cornelia Funke kick.

Dragon Rider is a good fun kids’ book. Have you read anything by Cornelia Funke? Which is your favorite?

Reading in Retrospect: "Mirror, Mirror" by Gregory Maguire

This was the second book I read by Gregory Maguire. It's definitely different. The story is based on that of Snow White, but I would call it more of an alternate history than a retelling of the fairy tale. In fact, when I read the "teaser" for Mirror Mirror which I found at the end of my copy of Wicked, I'm not sure I even realized it was supposed to be the Snow White story.

After reading Wicked and seeing how Maguire’s treatment of the Wicked Witch of the West portrayed Elfaba as more kindhearted than wicked, merely masquerading as a witch, and not even really from the west, I assumed that in Mirror Mirror the allegedly wicked queen would really be a tragically maligned figure while Snow White would be the truly wicked one. (And, in fact, until finishing Mirror Mirror I assumed that the ugly stepsisters of Maguire's Cinderella retelling would really be beautiful, sweet and kind, and Cinderella would be a mean and thoughtless harpy, but Mirror Mirror caused me to revise my expectations.) Maguire may have explored the theme of fairy tale retellings through several books, but his methods are by no means formulaic.

In Maguire's version of Snow White, displaced Spaniard Vicente de Nevada and his motherless daughter Bianca (get it? that's White) have a small but comfortable Italian holding in Montefiore. Bianca’s mother and the love of Vicente’s life, Maria Ines, had died in childbirth in approximately 1494. Seven years later, although the residents of Montefiore have managed to avoid the civil unrest that swirls around them, destruction is visiting them in the form of the Borgias, Cesare and his sister (and sometime lover) Lucrezia.

Cesare forces Vicente to depart from Montefiore on a quest to obtain the one remaining branch of the Tree of Knowledge, leaving Montefiore (and thus, Bianca) under Cesare’s control. Vicente is compelled to obey this demand as he owes the holding of Montefiore to the Borgias. Over the next five years, Lucrezia is overcome with jealousy as she realizes that Bianca has unwittingly and unwillingly caught the eye of Cesare, so Lucrezia pays a young hunter to take Bianca into the woods and kill her.

Of course the hunter cannot complete the evil deed, and instead releases Bianca into the forest, where she is found by a group of strange stone creatures that are slowly evolving into dwarves. (That's one of the more bizarre aspects of this story, of which I’m not absolutely sure I grasped the point.) Another odd part of the story is the way time seems to slow down for Bianca while she is with the dwarves. She lies in a sort of a coma for perhaps 6 years. There is really no explanation for this passage of time (no poison, no illness) other than the fact that the stony beings she is with have a different concept of time from humans; nor is there any good explanation for why she finally wakes up.

This book is definitely a departure from the Disney version. I am sure that in this case I prefer the original story. Some of Grimm’s fairy tales can be grisly (in the case of the original Snow White story, Disney doesn't tell us that the wicked queen salts, cooks, and eats what she believes to be Snow White's heart, or that while Snow White and her prince were living happily ever after, the queen was punished with dancing in red-hot shoes until she fell down dead), but Maguire's retelling went beyond grisly. It was corrupt and perverted (though I understand that for some of you that may be a draw rather than a deterrent).

One great thing about the way Maguire told the Snow White story was how he stirred in actual historical figures. The Borgias fascinate me in the mesmerizing way of a poisonous snake. I'm not sure I can think of a more conniving and infamous family in all of history. Though their presence in a fairy tale can't be historically accurate, I'm convinced the portrayal of their tendencies and personalities was.

My biggest complaint about the book is that odd dreamlike quality I was frequently frustrated by in my own creative writing assignments when I was in grade school. So often when I was required to write a story I had trouble making it sound concrete and realistic, as when something you think you understand inexplicably morphs into another thing, or perhaps even disappears entirely. Much of this book was plagued by a similar problem. It may sound intriguing, but I saw this as a weakness in my own writing, and when I recognize it in a book I can't help but view it as a flaw.

Reading in Retrospect: "The Tale of Despereaux" by Kate DiCamillo

I first picked this book up at the library because of the subtitle I saw on the spine: "Being the Story of a Mouse, a Princess, Some Soup and a Spool of Thread." Sounds like a delightful combination, doesn't it?

This is a cute little story and a very sweet book, not to mention a fast read (as I suppose most children's stories are). Despereaux Tilling is an unlikely hero: an unusually small mouse with unusually large ears who finds he loves music (“it smells like honey”) and breaks the rules of the Mouse Council because of it. He’s certainly not like the other mice who also live in the castle. Despereaux would rather read books than eat the glue from their bindings, and he not only speaks to humans, he even falls in love with one--namely, the Princess Pea.

The castle of the Princess Pea sits atop a dark, foul, dank dungeon that is full of rats. One of these rats, Roscuro, concocts a fiendish scheme to imprison Pea in the dungeon with the help of a half-wit serving girl, Miggery Sow, who longs to become a princess. Despereaux, banished to the dungeon by the Mouse Council for speaking to humans, is helped to escape by the kindly old jailer Gregory. Despereaux then sets about to foil the plot of the rat.

Kate DiCamillo has also written several other children's books, including The Magician's Elephant and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, which I expect I will get around to reading someday. To the kids, of course. That's my excuse, anyway.

Reading in Retrospect: "Under the Lilacs" by Louisa May Alcott

If you're like me, the name Louisa May Alcott brings to mind Little Women and not much else. You may know about Little Men and Jo's Boys (unfortunately I can't remember for sure if I've read one or both of those). But when Under the Lilacs caught my eye at the library a few years ago, it was a delight to find it was authored by Alcott.

This was a sweet little story. I could see why it was not one of Alcott’s better-known classics, but I still enjoyed it. It was a little slow to start but was a pleasant read. At the time, I thought I might recommend it to my book-loving child when she got a little older. I'm glad to be reminded of that thought, because I think she's at the perfect age to read it now.

Mrs. Moss, who has two young daughters named Bab and Betty, is a caretaker for a large old house that has been shut up for some time. They take in young Ben and his dog Sancho who have run away from the circus. Not long after, Miss Celia and her brother Thorny, wealthy orphans, move back in to the house that Mrs. Moss cares for. Everyone is great friends and has grand adventures, like putting on a play (an Alcott staple) or walking to the next town to watch a circus. I can't remember how the book ends, but I have no doubt it was happy, one way or another.

You can download a free e-text copy of this book from Project Gutenberg, or listen to the free audio version from LibriVox. Or borrow it from my local library. I wouldn't call it a must-read for the garden-variety adult reader, and any true Alcott fan is probably already aware of this title, but the little girl in your life might appreciate being introduced to it.

Reading in Retrospect: "The Life and Times of Grigorii Rasputin" by Alex de Jonge

Rasputin (1869-1916) is someone who has always drawn my curiosity, just like the Borgia family, the Nephilim, and the Bermuda Triangle. Since I've been reading Anna Karenina (yes, I'm STILL reading it) and realizing my knowledge of Russian history is sadly lacking, my mind has drifted back to this biography of Rasputin which I read several years ago.

For my taste, this book was too much about The Times and not enough about The Life. Back when I read it, I was more compelled to find out about the myths surrounding Rasputin than about the truths or underlying reasons for the existence of those myths. (In retrospect, however, the myth-busting aspect of it seems more interesting). I must admit I found it rather dull and dry reading, though it nearly became a page-turner in the last 40 pages as the plot to murder Rasputin got underway. (That's not really a spoiler, is it? I mean, you knew he died, right?)

Anastasia Nicolaievna

I was also disappointed that the execution of the Tsar and his family received barely any mention, but as those killings occurred approximately 18 months after Rasputin’s death, it makes sense that this book would not encompass that event. But now I want to read about “the rest of the story,” including the royal family’s execution, and I want to read about the stories of their daughter Anastasia possibly surviving with amnesia (another topic I've always wondered about). The author of this book briefly made it clear that he believed the real Anastasia died with the rest of her family.

To quickly sum up the author’s take on Rasputin: He was a Siberian peasant who set out on the path to infamy by taking to the road as a pilgrim in search of salvation. It seems he found a “religion” which was one-of-a-kind, cobbled together from an assortment of practices (both accepted and unacceptable) found in Russia at the time. Various disciples followed him, beginning with those in the clergy and progressing up to Tsar Nicholas and his wife, the Tsarina Alexandra. Rasputin’s control over the royal family was not absolute (although it came closer to complete domination in regard to the tsarina), but his influence was quite potent, especially in contrast with his humble beginnings.

It seems people generally had one of three reactions to Rasputin. Some (few, mostly men) could see through Rasputin from the moment they met him, and had no respect for him. Others (especially women) were instantly and completely enthralled by him as a holy man, but later their eyes were opened by all the damning evidence proving his righteousness a sham. Very few had the third reaction, which was to be captivated by him from beginning to end, ignoring all evidence of immorality, no matter how clear-cut it was. There were only two people (possibly three) who had this latter sort of reaction: the tsarina, her friend and confidante Anna Vyroubova, and (the possible third) the tsar.

Would you want to have sex with this man?

When people saw Rasputin for what he was, what did they see? He was a drunk and a lecher. He used sexuality in his “religion,” either challenging himself to resist temptation by standing in its path, or with the laughable notion that God wants us to sin so that he has something for which to forgive us. It seems Rasputin was very badly behaved, becoming increasingly depraved throughout his life, and usually not doing much to hide that fact.

This book somewhat dispelled the myth that Rasputin was a puppeteer controlling the tsar and tsarina. He was able to get many government appointments passed, usually by directing the tsarina to suggest appointments to the tsar, but he did not always succeed at this. What was clear to me through this book was that Rasputin really didn’t seem to have a Big Plan. He was not following an agenda. Though he did frequently stress the desire to avoid needless shedding of blood (in war), he seemed to have no more cohesive goal than to enjoy his power as a generous benefactor (meaning it didn’t seem that he pushed any government appointment for political reasons; he did it just because he could--almost as if he was merely doing it to impress people), and to live the good life, doing whatever pleased him.

The author writes that Rasputin was capable of mild foresight, giving some successful predictions that were vague enough to merely be guesses guided by common sense. The author also mentions that his foresight must not have been anything great if he could not foresee his own murder. However, in the way the author describes the night of the murder, there was an inkling of the possibility that Rasputin did know but was resigned to his fate.

It appears indisputable, although the book left the mechanism unexplained, that Rasputin was capable of healing, namely with the tsarevich Alexander Nicolaevich who suffered from hemophilia. Rasputin was always able to stop Aleksey’s episodes of bleeding, even (at least once) from afar. The author says perhaps Rasputin would put off his arrival until after the crisis was over, making the supposed "healing" merely a matter of timing; or perhaps he knew of some sort of peasant remedy. If not one of these two explanations, then perhaps his ability might have been truly supernatural.

I have not yet decided if my curiosity about Rasputin was sated by this book. I do think that de Jonge covered all available information. His book was very well-researched and had so many sources that I find it impossible to believe that he left out any information that might be found elsewhere. In other words, although there may have been more to the life of Rasputin, any other information has been irretrievably buried in the sands of time. I find myself coming to the conclusion that there would be no point in reading a different book about him in hopes of finding new information. However, I bet I would enjoy reading fiction about him.

Have you read any good books about Rasputin, or about the execution of the Russian royals in 1918?

The Romanovs       

Reading in Retrospect: "Summer Rain" by Marguerite Duras

Literary amnesia notwithstanding, I find it odd that I have absolutely no recollection of reading this book. Not even when I try to refresh my memory by re-reading my old notes from nearly 6 years ago. I know I read it--I still have the book, it's sitting under my elbow right now--but, though I have physical proof, I have no mental proof. This is especially surprising because it sounds like quite an interesting book. In reading what I wrote about it, I am intrigued and wondering if maybe I ought to read it again.

Originally published in French as La pluie d'été in 1990 (of course I read an English translation), this is a very short book with small pages and lots of gaps between paragraphs, but not necessarily a fast read. Apparently I found it rather bizarre. I wasn't quite sure I actually understood it all. I hate to admit it, but I think it was slightly over my head.

Here's what I wrote down as a synopsis six years ago: A poor welfare family lives in Vitry, a rundown suburb of Paris. The father and mother are foreigners, Emilio from the Po valley in Italy and the mother (sometimes Natasha, sometimes other names that I don’t recall at the moment and can’t quickly find by flipping through the book) of indeterminate origins (she claims she doesn’t remember where she’s from, although she did at one point live in, or at least travel through, Siberia).

This mother and father like to read a lot, though they mostly just read books that they find in trash heaps. The mother is very fair and beautiful, the father dark and wiry. They have seven children. I am not sure that the younger ones are ever mentioned by name, but the two oldest are Ernesto and Jeanne. Jeanne is beautiful, just like her mother. Both of these children are supposed to be very young (Ernesto 12 and Jeanne 11, or perhaps they are twins, it is ambiguous) but they look older (Ernesto looks like he might be in his 20s, and perhaps he actually is; this is never made quite clear).

All of the children are neglected, as the parents send them out of the house in the morning and don’t let them back in until supper time. Neither the mother nor the father has a job. Sometimes they go into town to drink all night, leaving the children home alone. None of the children have ever gone to school, and they can not read or write. (Side note: isn't that odd for parents who love to read?)

They finally decide to send Ernesto to school, but he only lasts ten days before he walks out because “they teach me things I don’t know.” He continues to get an education by listening in at the school windows when it suits him, and when he finishes with the lower schools, he goes on to University classes. Turns out he must be some kind of genius, because he amasses knowledge without being taught. In fact, it seems that he teaches himself to read with no help.

Jeanne also starts to attend school but only goes for four days, and she doesn’t seem to have Ernesto’s genius. However, there is some kind of odd connection between Ernesto and Jeanne. They are very much in love with each other, and although it is not spelled out word for word, incest is hinted at between the two.

Bottom line: whatever “it” is, I don’t think I got “it”. This might be an interesting book to read for Book Club . . . maybe someone there could explain it to me. Oh, and speaking of Book Club, you can read what Lydia though of our first meeting here.

Here's something I found out just today: this book is a little bit backwards, because it was first a movie instead of the other way around. It's definitely not like one of those Disney "movie novelizations," in case you hadn't already gathered that from my synopsis. Anyway, the 1984 movie was called Les enfants ("The Children") and the book's author was one of the movie's directors. Too bad it's not available through netflix.

Have you heard of the book, the movie, or the author? I didn't recognize any of her other works, even though there were more than a dozen listed at the front of the book.

Reading in Retrospect: My favorite book by Gregory Maguire

By popular demand (or, well, because Kristi asked about it), this Nostalgia Post is about my favorite of the three Gregory Maguire books that I've read: Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister (in case you hadn't already gathered which book it was from the picture of the cover).

Here is a case where the blurbs do the book justice and don't talk it up more than it deserves. Take the quote attributed to the Nashville Tennessean: “A tale so movingly told that you will say at the end of the first reading, ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve read a book this good.’ ” Or from the Detroit Free Press: “An arresting hybrid of mystery, fairy tale, and historical novel...” And, further, with Booklist, saying, “Highly absorbing... Maguire’s precise, slightly archaic language... sweeps readers through this mysterious and fascinating story.”

This novel takes the original Cinderella fairy tale and styles it so that the entire story is completely plausible and could have actually happened in real life. There is absolutely no magic involved (though plenty of imagination and intrigue), but towards the end the Cinderella character (Clara) makes up some nonsense to appease her sleepwalking stepmother, using parts of the magic in the original story (the pumpkin coach, the fairy godmother).

The book opens with Margarethe and her two daughters traveling from England back to Holland where Margarethe was born. Margarethe’s husband Jack Fisher was killed by an angry mob in England and, having no family left there, Margarethe and her daughters, Iris (younger and incredibly plain) and Ruth (who is mentally somewhat slow, and physically large and ox-like), left Harwich to find Margarethe’s grandfather in Haarlem, using their last bit of money to pay for their passage. Of course, when they arrived, they found that the grandfather was dead and gone, leaving them to either beg for charity or find a job for Margarethe as quickly as possible. They managed to meet a charitable and somewhat eccentric painter named Luykas Schoonmaker, better known as the Master, who gives them a temporary position.

Not many days later a man named Heer van den Meer calls on the Master to inquire about a commission, and when he finds out that Iris speaks both Dutch and English and is about the same age as his daughter, he decides he wants Margarethe, Iris and Ruth in his household in order to teach English to, and be a companion for, his daughter. Van den Meer’s daughter Clara, though very beautiful, is quite reclusive and is not allowed outside the garden walls surrounding their house. It takes her a while to warm up to Iris but she finally does, in the best way she knows how.

An interesting slant to the story is the presence of a number of painters and others with creative talent. The book delves into the way things are seen with an artistic eye, which I found a curious coincidence, as right after I read this book I picked up My Name Is Asher Lev (which deals intensely with the same theme) for book club. Confessions also reminded me quite a bit of Tracy Chevalier's Girl with a Pearl Earring, if only for the Dutch setting and the painterly milieu. I think a reader who enjoyed one will also like the other.

I just found out today that Confessions was made into a movie in 2002. Apparently it was a pretty big flop, as netflix doesn't even list it. Even so, I kind of wish I could see for myself. Have you seen the movie, or even heard of it?

Reading in Retrospect: "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire

Rachel's post on "Wicked: The Musical" reminded me, as the Google homepage already had earlier, that today was the 71st anniversary of the release of the movie The Wizard of Oz. What better day to put up my Nostalgia Post about Gregory Maguire's book, Wicked? I can still squeeze it in, as it won't be tomorrow for 26 more minutes (in my time zone, anyway).

This book first caught my eye while I was browsing at Target, my home away from home. It was the end of a year of belt-tightening and I was on a small shopping spree. When I saw the book, I assumed it would be a back-story of the Wicked Witch of the West, neatly dovetailing with the book by L. Frank Baum (which I hadn't yet read at the time, but like any good American I was fairly familiar with the movie).

As I'm sure you all know by now, I was right about the back story bit, but I couldn’t have been more wrong about the dovetailing. This book took Baum’s story and turned it on its head. It was as if Baum’s book had been written from an entirely different perspective and he got it all wrong.

Of course the main difference is with the witch herself. Other than being green and having a somewhat prickly personality as a result of her skin color, the “Witch”, Elfaba, is really not wicked at all. She is different, and perhaps shunned, but she is actually kind-hearted and bent on social equality, not evil. She goes to college (or possibly more of a prep school) and has a circle of close friends, one of whom, unexpectedly, is the “good witch” Glinda mentioned in the original book and movie. Most surprising (to me) of all, Elfaba has a passionate love affair. Who would have thought?

Glinda is another character that appears quite differently in this book. She is written in Wicked as a silly vain snob, although she is not as flat as all that, undergoing growth and changes and actually befriending Elfaba. In the end it is indeterminate as to whether she is (either knowingly or not) an agent of evil, but the possibility is there. And speaking of Evil, The Wizard is It. He is enacting great change and revolution in the land of Oz, and not for the better. The entire population (except perhaps for Elfaba) is terrified of him and his henchmen, the Gale Force (ha ha) who sound more like Gestapo.

I love fairy tales and am drawn to retellings (although not the modern, politically correct ones for today's children. Someone has subtracted all of the frights and thrills, reforming evil rather than vanquishing it, and allowing everyone to live happily ever after whether they deserve it or not). I don't mind a bit when an old favorite is retold in a darker and more sinister manner. I must admit, though, that I could have lived without the creepy weirdness of the multi-species sex club with enforced audience participation.

Since reading Wicked, I have read two more books by Maguire. One of them was on the mediocre side (Mirror Mirror), but the other I loved and will probably post about at some point.

Reading in Retrospect: What was the name of that book?

When Chris and Jess posted last week about a favorite childhood book, my mind skipped right over all seven Chronicles of Narnia, my kindred spirit Anne of Green Gables, Edward Eager's books about magic, Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, Ramona Quimby and her comical misunderstandings, and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle's amazing problem-solving abilities, and went directly to That Book. The magical book I read more than a quarter of a century ago whose mysterious plot, though vaguely remembered, had been so enchanting.

In my memory of the story, four siblings were vacationing (or perhaps sent to live) near the ruins of an old castle. The children enjoyed picnicking and playing among the fallen stones. One cloudy day, the courtyard of the castle was full of mist. The children climbed to the top of the winding staircase within the castle walls, where the top floor was all rotted through, and suddenly the youngest (maybe a boy, maybe blond-haired, but maybe not) fell down through the mist towards the ground far below. The other children rushed back down the stairs, afraid the boy was hurt or maybe even dead, but when they reached the bottom he was nowhere to be found . . . because he had traveled back in time! Now, who wouldn't want to read that story?

I spent years looking for this book because I wanted to read it again. I knew I was taking a risk, as my memory of the book might have been better than the book itself, and why ruin a wonderful childhood memory? But my desire to re-read it outweighed my fear of disappointment, and the hunt was on. My search was made much more difficult by the fact that I could remember neither the title nor the author of the book.

I knew my sister had read the same book, so I asked her about it. She remembered the story, but not the title or author. I scoured the Internet, googling for books about castles and children and time travel and mist. (In the meantime, I found a delightful little 1890 edition of The Children of the Castle by Mrs. Molesworth, with beautiful pen-and-ink illustrations by Walter Crane. Lovely, but not the book I was looking for.) I recalled writing a book report on this book in third grade, and dug through dusty old boxes at my parents' house, hoping to find that book report. All to no avail.

At some point during my quest I came across a website called "Stump the Bookseller," where for a measly little $2 I posted a synopsis of that long-lost favorite book from my childhood, and Harriet Logan of Loganberry Books came through for me. Here is the book I was looking for: In the Keep of Time, by Margaret J. Anderson. What a feeling of triumph, to finally succeed in my search! I bought a gently used copy to add to my library.

Of course, as I suspected, the story wasn't quite as magical when I revisited it, but I don't regret finding it and re-reading it. Now I can share it with my children. Not only that, but imagine my thrill when I realized that the setting for this book exists in real life! The "castle" that the children played in was Smailholm Tower, which still stands in Scotland. These days it houses a museum, so obviously the old rotten wooden floors have been replaced, but I would love to see it in person some day. Even if it only figuratively transports me back in time.

Reading in Retrospect: "I, Richard" by Elizabeth George

Elizabeth George is a favorite author of my sister's. Several years ago my mom borrowed this book of five short stories from her, read it, and then loaned it to me, which is unusual since my mom generally can't handle short stories. I'm not saying she's stupid, but I will say she is far too literal-minded and often can't follow a story that leaves too much to the imagination, as short stories so often do. J.D. Salinger's Nine Stories? "They're just weird." But I digress.

Four of these stories are “murder mysteries” (or at least mysteries involving a death). The first three seemed relatively predictable to me, so I was surprised and pleased to be caught unawares by a few twists in the last two stories. I'm so glad I wrote down what each story was about, because although I do have a vague memory of reading the book, I never would have remembered what was in it otherwise. I wrote down more than I'm giving you here, because of course I included "whodunit" where applicable, but I'm doing my best to avoid spoilers for you.

1. Exposure: A group of mostly American, mostly wealthy people take a summer course entitled “History of British Architecture” at Cambridge University. Murder is foreshadowed, but the killer and the victim don’t turn out to be who you might at first expect. I guessed the killer based on access but I was surprised by the thief (in fact, I wrongly thought nothing was actually stolen).

2. The Surprise of His Life: An older man suspects his younger, beautiful wife of cheating on him--and with his brother, no less. This story involves quite a bit of irony of the O. Henry variety, although perhaps less poignant and more horrifying.

3. Good Fences Aren’t Always Enough: A strange old Russian woman moves into a previously perfect little neighborhood and immediately plants English ivy all over her yard, which causes a rat problem that the neighbors take care of. No murders in this one, unless you count the rats.

4. Remember, I’ll Always Love You: A recent widow finds out that she really didn’t know her husband as well as she’d thought, and digs into his past to discover more about him. This one threw me. I thought the husband may have faked his death and moved to the Caribbean. I was way off.

5. I, Richard: Involves quite a bit of history about Richard III of England. A Ricardian apologetic historian (one who believes King Richard III was innocent of his nephews' deaths) has his own devious plot afoot to catapult himself to celebrity using the book he's writing about Richard III in conjunction with a 500-year-old document as proof.

I'm pretty sure this is the only Elizabeth George book I've ever read. Which of hers have you read? Which do I need to put on my TBR list? If amazon.com is to be believed, most fans of George's novels were disappointed in this book of short stories, so keep that in mind if you're thinking about looking for a copy of I, Richard, but I had no problem with it.

Reading in Retrospect: "Some Enchanted Evening" by Christina Dodd

I was duped into reading a romance novel. It was an “impulse borrow” from the library a few years back. I found it right up there on the display shelf by the front desk, and I grabbed it in a moment of reckless spontaneity just before the librarian finished checking out my kids' stack of picture books. I must admit that, in this case, my literary amnesia has served me well and I have absolutely no recollection of this book beyond what I wrote about it at the time. I think maybe my subconscious has done me the favor of blocking an unsavory memory.

The front cover showed a castle against a sky pink and purple with the setting sun. (Obviously the cover pictured here is not the one I'm talking about, but it's the closest one I could find). I was thinking the story might be a fairy tale, or perhaps historical fiction. Yeah, maybe the title should have warned me, but the front cover did not show a shirtless, long-haired man ripping the bodice from a beautiful beskirted heroine like this. Nor did it depict a wistful, winsome lass gazing with yearning from her achingly romantic perch on her castle's balcony, as does the front of the current edition. If it had, I would have known better.

The author was described as a “New York Times Bestselling Author.” The book was in hardcover, for Pete’s sake! And it looked brand new. I would never have guessed that our local library was spending its meager supply of book money on brand new trash.

That said, I did read the entire book. But only because I had nothing better to read at the time, and because I'm one of those people--I have to finish every book I start, no matter how painful the process. The plot was somewhat interesting, and the love scenes were not completely embarrassing, although I could have done without them.

If you must know a bit about the plot, here's what I wrote about it back when I read it: Three princess sisters are exiled from their tiny country during the turmoil of war. The eldest sister has disappeared, but the younger two, Clarice and Amy, are traveling incognito from town to town in the English countryside, selling their “royal secret” face creams in order to make enough money to stay alive while trying to remain hidden from those who hunt them and want them assassinated. They make their way into Scotland where they become embroiled in a scheme with Robert MacKenzie, Earl of Hepburn. Of course Clarice and Robert fall in love against their will, have really hot sex, and in the end are married and become “with child”, although this is against the wishes of the martinet Dowager Queen Grandmama back in Beaumontagne. Eeesh.

Bottom Line: Not Enchanting. I won’t make the mistake of wasting my time on this one again. And next time maybe I won’t judge a book by its cover. (Ha! Good luck with that one.) But at least the newer editions are no longer printed with a trickster cover.

Reading in Retrospect: "Me & Emma" by Elizabeth Flock

Here's a book I read in my pre-blogging days. I picked it up in the library two years ago because the cover was so striking, with such a pretty color of blue in the background. Yup, shiny stuff catches my eye just as you'd expect of a magpie, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

But there is more to this book than a pretty cover. It's obvious that there is something to a book when a self-professed literary amnesiac can remember it so vividly two years later. In fact, if I had to describe this book in one word, I would say, "WOW."

For the first half of the book I was somewhat horrified--who wants to read about an 8-year-old girl who is sexually and physically abused by her stepfather? But by about halfway through the book I was tangled up in the story and couldn’t put it down. AND THEN there was an explosive surprise towards the end which completely caught me unawares. I never saw it coming. This caused a huge shift in perspective, very similar to what I experienced in watching the ghost-story movie The Others. Once I was given the big revelation in that movie I had to immediately watch the entire thing again, and I saw the whole story in a completely different light. I was tempted to do the same with this book. All day long, after finishing the book, I went over different passages in my mind, realizing what it really meant now that I knew the truth.

Here's a quick summary of the plot that doesn't give anything away: Eight-year-old Caroline “Carrie” Parker lives in poverty in Toast, North Carolina with her distant and somewhat abusive mother, her alcoholic and distinctly abusive stepfather Richard, and her 6-year-old sister named Emma. Carrie’s real father died perhaps 2 years previously at the hands of two men trying to rob their house, as witnessed by Emma. Carrie is having a hard time at school, finding she speaks out loud the thoughts she thinks are only in her head, embarrassing herself often, getting in many fights, and acquiring the nickname “Scary Carrie.”

Carrie's childhood reminds me of that of Jeannette Walls in The Glass Castle. In fact, for anyone who says they liked that book, I always recommend Me & Emma. Likewise, if you couldn't stomach Walls' book, don't bother with Flock's. But, oh, I hope you bother with it.

Reading in Retrospect: "The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wilde

Would you believe I still haven't finished reading The Sparrow? Lesa was right--the pace does pick up some once the main characters reach the new planet--but I suppose I have been distracted by visitors and pergolas and sunburns and last days of school, so I'm only about half way through that book.

Meanwhile, here is something new. Or, rather, something old made new. Several years ago, probably before I even knew what a blog was, I briefly kept track of the books I read by writing a little synopsis and making a note of my thoughts on each one. I got bored with this and quit after several months, which is one reason I'm surprised that I've been blogging for a year already and am still having fun. Anyway, I thought I would rescue those old files from languishing in obscurity, and incorporate them into my blog so they can languish slightly less obscurely. Now is a good time to start, since I probably won't be blogging much over the next two weeks. So, here is what I had to say about The Picture of Dorian Gray somewhere between five and ten years ago:

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It was our First Saturday Book Club selection this month and we had one of our best discussions over it. It was certainly not a light, fast read, but it was fascinating. Dorian Gray is a beautiful young man in London during the 19th century. He is innocent, unspoiled and naive. He is friends with a painter named Basil Hallward, and Dorian has been sitting as a model for many of Basil’s paintings. Until now, Basil had always painted Dorian as a literary or mythical character, but his newest painting is slightly different, as it is an actual portrait of Dorian. This new painting has captured every detail of Dorian’s beauty, the existence of which Dorian seems not to have noticed before now; it is as if the painting makes him aware of his own beauty.

It is not only the painting, however. It is that in conjunction with the corrosive influence of Lord Henry “Harry” Wotton, a close friend of Basil’s whom Basil has reluctantly introduced to Dorian. Basil seems to know that Harry is a poor influence, and he actually asks Harry that he not "spoil" Dorian, at which Harry, of course, laughs. Harry respects nothing. I think his Aunt Agatha sums him up neatly when she says, “He never means anything he says.” I don’t think she realizes how she has hit the nail on the head, but with Harry, nothing is sacred or important. He has a lot to say, and loves to hear his own voice, but I believe his only aim in speaking is to see what will happen when he tosses his theories down on the table. He wants to see what kind of reaction he will get.

Another vice of Harry’s is that he is manipulative and is curious to determine what kind of influence he can exert on people. He sees the young and impressionable Dorian as a blank canvas. He convinces Dorian that to live fully you must strive to “always [search] for new sensations... a new Hedonism...” In a rash moment while admiring Basil’s just-finished portrait, Dorian wishes that he could always stay young, while the portrait grows old instead. In fact, he goes so far as to say, “I would give my soul for that...” (Catch the foreshadowing?) This is a turning point, the beginning, the first step in his corruption, as evidenced by his very next statement. He says to Basil, “...you like your art better than your friends...” which, though possibly an astute observation, is a very rude and hurtful comment, and heretofore uncharacteristic of Dorian.

Dorian first realizes his wish has come true a month later in relation to Sibyl Vane. Sibyl is a beautiful and very talented actress, and Dorian desires her from afar. After they meet and Sibyl falls in love with Dorian, her craft is destroyed. Having experienced real love, she can no longer put her heart and soul in to acting, and she becomes wooden and talentless. This causes Dorian to lose his infatuation with her. He cruelly leaves her, planning never to see her again, until later that evening when he notices his portrait has changed. There is cruelty in its expression. He suddenly remembers his rash wish and is stunned to realize it has come true. This scares Dorian into promising himself that the next morning he will go to Sibyl and “forgive” her and marry her. However, the next morning he finds out that she has killed herself in despair. Rather than strengthening his resolve to be “good”, this causes him to give up. Over the next 20 years, Dorian keeps his youthful good looks, but all the while his portrait looks worse and worse. Not only is the portrait ageing, but all the signs of Dorian’s vices show up in the painted face. He keeps the portrait hidden so no one will know his awful secrets.

There are several times Dorian narrowly misses “salvation”, and he even realizes it, but always seems to think it is too late. His first chance to turn away from vice was with Sibyl. She could have saved him from his fate if he had stayed true to her rather than treating her cruelly. With Sibyl, Dorian realizes Harry’s theories are “wrong” and “poisonous.” Dorian even says that “she would have done that for me,” meaning she would have kept him on a straight path. He also realizes that his friend Basil could have saved him, but by this time Dorian felt that “the future was inevitable.” It seems that Dorian is able to blame most of his shortcomings on other people, situations, or even books (he claims he was “poisoned by [the] book” loaned to him by Harry, which by the way those at Book Club thought might be Proust), but he never places the blame where it really belongs--on himself. [Note from today: years later, I still know nothing about Proust, but now I wonder if they said Faust and I misheard?]

Dorian even reaches a point where he says of the horrid painting, “What did it matter? No one could see it.” I think this is the point of the whole book: that it does matter, whether anyone can see it or not. But it seems that to Dorian the ravages of age are equal to, or worse than, the changes that are evidence of his sins.

Throughout the book, Lord Henry makes so many statements that sound profound, deep, or even just shocking (or some combination of these three “qualities”). But I certainly don’t believe everything he says, and I am surprised that his hearers often seem to. Whether this is evidence of Harry’s charm or of his listeners’ stupidity, I don’t know. But I see past the thin veil of intelligence covering his statements, and I see that the core is false. He couches his falsehoods in truth to lend validity to his philosophies, but he does not fool me. Whenever he expostulates, “facts [flee] before [him] like frightened forest things.” He speaks some truth (“we never get back our youth”) and then at a later dinner party he contradicts himself, saying, “To get back one’s youth, one has merely to repeat one’s follies.” Some other of his statements that make no sense or even seem to be the opposite of truth:

“Beauty is a form of genius . . . [Beauty] is not so superficial as Thought is . . . It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances . . . There are no triumphs left for you [after you’ve lost your youthful beauty] . . . Fidelity in love is purely physiology and has nothing to do with our own will . . . Punctuality is the thief of time." This last one is a very selfish principle (although it seems Harry often has selfish principles), as being late is actually stealing time from those waiting for you.

And yet more: “When we are happy we are always good, but when we are good we are not always happy.” Goodness, to Harry, is equal to selfishness and doing exactly what you wish--which is, to me, an odd definition of goodness. “The only things that one can use in fiction are the things that one has ceased to use in fact . . . No civilized man ever regrets a pleasure," though I guess this depends on Harry’s definition of civilization. As does the following statement, written by Wilde but not spoken by any character: “Society, civilized society at least, is never very ready to believe anything to the detriment of those who are both rich and fascinating.” That does not seem to be true here in America. Though we may elevate the rich and fascinating to a level higher than they deserve, we are always more than willing to tear those “heroes” down from the pedestal we have put them on. I suppose this means we are not “civilized.” Which makes me wonder, did Oscar Wilde ascribe to Harry’s theories? If so, I think he was very misguided.

I wondered what Wilde referred to when he mentioned “that book of cowardice whose author apes the name of common sense.” I thought he must have been speaking of the Bible, but I wonder if I am narrow-minded in thinking this?

I found it odd that Dorian could be so weak-willed as to be easily influenced by Harry, and yet he seems to have exerted quite a strong influence over many young people he himself came into contact with.

And there you have it: my thoughts on a great book. I must add that if you have actually read this whole post, I am proud of you. You get a gold star.