In which I have more to discuss about Narnia

Since we're on the subject, there are Things You Must Know about Narnia and the Chronicles thereof.

In what order should the books be read? 

I grew up reading the books in order of publication (making The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe the first book of the series rather than The Magician's Nephew, even though Nephew is first chronologically). Setting aside habit and precedent and all that sort of thing, there's something so wonderful in reading about the very beginning of Narnia (in Nephew) after it has already become a familiar place. I will always want to read Lion first, but I won't harp on anyone reading the books in chronological order. The important thing is to JUST READ THEM!

Which of the seven books is my favorite?

I love each one of the Narnia books, but I don't love them all equally. I have four favorites and three not-so-favorites. The best: Lion, The Horse and His Boy, The Silver Chair, and Nephew. But don't tell the other three I said so.

Would I enjoy the books as much if I hadn't read and loved them as a child? 

My (grown-up) friend BR borrowed the series from me a few years back. She enjoyed them, but I don't think she loved them. She very tactfully said she wished she'd read them as a child. I think that means the books didn't hold the same magic for her as they do for me. But I know there are a few of you who have imminent plans to read these books for the first time, and I'm eager to hear what you think! Only . . . if you don't love them, maybe you shouldn't tell me.

What about The Movies?

After reading the books so many times, I have very vivid pictures in my mind of exactly how everything looks. With each re-read, I go back to the exact same place in my imagination. I was worried that watching the movie adaptations would ruin that for me . . . but I couldn't help but do it anyway. Oh, the BBC editions are a little bit horrible, but the Hollywood versions are so beautiful that I don't mind very much when the movie scenery rousts the familiar old images from my brain. Hollywood has made a *lot* of changes to the stories, but most of them have actually been good and exciting changes that have added to the experience. I HEART THEM AND I HOPE THEY MAKE ALL SEVEN BOOKS INTO MOVIES. I will die a little bit inside if they don't.

Guess what? I just finished writing my 200th blog post.

Illustrations by Pauline Baynes. She's my hero.

"The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe" by C. S. Lewis

Cover art on the hardback edition.
Yes, I have two full sets. Is that a problem?

The Chronicles of Narnia have been beloved favorites of mine for so many years. I was first introduced to the series when I received a set for my ninth birthday. (Ah, and this time the books were a gift from my parents, so there are no bad memories of the giver attached.) Since then I have read each of the seven books more times than I can count, and it wasn't long before every re-read became as familiar, delightful and comforting as snuggling under a warm blanket on a rainy day.

There is something so magical about Narnia. Even more than enchantments and talking animals and dragons and adventures, I think what appeals to me most is the idea that a whole new world could be lurking in my closet. (I never had a wardrobe, and oh, I wish I had. It wouldn't even hurt my feelings much if it happened to be full of furs.) But just imagine what it must have been like for the four Pevensie children to discover a doorway into Narnia. I would have given anything to be Lucy! Or Jill. Or Aravis. Or Polly. Heck, I would have even done a stint as Eustace if it had resulted in a voyage on the Dawn Treader.

Now that you know how fond I am of Narnia, I'm sure you can picture my elation when Bookworm Child requested this series for bedtime reading. I would put these books on Bedtime Story Endless Loop if my kids could stand it. I had read the series to them before, but they were much smaller then, and I don't think they really remember it.

My original book. It's been well-loved.

Unfortunately, my elation soon turned to disappointment when Bookworm Child declared the story boring and decided not to listen. Boring! I don't understand. How could she? (I'm beginning to suspect she's a changeling.) The other two did hang around to listen, but I think this was mainly just because the youngest likes to cuddle and the oldest likes any excuse to stay up later.

All I can say about this is: what is wrong with my kids?? (I wonder what they do teach them at these schools.) You shouldn't be surprised, though, to hear I just kept right on reading. I think I was mainly reading for me. If all three kids had wandered off I probably would have continued reading it aloud to myself.

I walk a fine line in introducing all of these marvelous childhood stories to my children (not just the Narnia books, but others as well). On one hand, I want to make sure my kids have a chance to read (or at least hear) all of my old favorites. On the other hand, I wonder if I should allow them to discover these wonderful books on their own. What if Stacia hadn't known anything about Narnia until her ninth birthday, and then had read the stories to herself? If her experience had been more like mine, would she have loved the series like I do? As it is, I'm afraid she never will truly care for Narnia.

(*sheds a tear*)

I don't know if I can convince my kids that we need to read the rest of the series at bedtime. I'm not above bribing them. But I should probably draw the line at breaking out the duct tape.

"Great Expectations" by Charles Dickens

"Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day."

This was a re-read for me, but it's been a sufficiently long time (which, with my sieve-like brain, could mean mere weeks, but in this case it's been at least ten years) so that I couldn't remember much about Great Expectations other than the vague notion that I really enjoyed reading it.

I remembered that there was Pip, and there was Estella, and there was Miss Havisham who was a little bit gross and a lot crazy. And there were varying incarnations of unrequited love and impressive coldheartedness. I wasn't sure how many of my shadowy memories of the story came from the modernized 1998 movie and how much I actually remembered from the book.

As it turns out, I didn't remember much. The gist of the book was familiar (Pip, raised in a lowly blacksmith's home, admires the rich and snooty until, unexpectedly, he is given the opportunity to become rich and snooty himself, and he does a bang-up job of it). But so much of it took me by surprise. Which was really kind of nice, because it's much easier for mysterious and suspenseful plot twists to be mysterious and suspenseful if I'm not sure where they're going.

One thing I certainly didn't remember was how funny this book is! Not in the way that Anna Karenina occasionally made me laugh when I wasn't sure I should. No, Dickens's tone is surprisingly (and intentionally) quite droll. And Dickens managed to hit Pip's voice just perfectly. It was not at all pompous, prolix or pontifical, the way Dickens seems in my mind whenever I'm not reading him. Pip is hopeful and optimistic, and even when he was painfully ashamed of his roots (or, more importantly, of the loving people he left behind), I still didn't hate him.

Here's something interesting we discovered at book club: we didn't all interpret the ending in the same way. Even more interesting is a fact I unearthed today: did you know there are TWO DIFFERENT ENDINGS to Great Expectations? (Don't follow that link unless you've already read the book, or if you just happen to love spoilers.) It's like Choose Your Own Adventure! I need to ask Lydia if her book had the original ending, which would make our differing interpretations completely understandable. At any rate, I certainly prefer the ending in my copy of the book.

Another certainty: Great Expectations is SUCH a good story. It was definitely worthy of a re-read. AND I would read it again in the future. Dickens deserves to be named the Supreme Mugwump of Victorian Lit, even if I still love Henry James more.

I've got a couple of surplus tidbits for you. First, historical perspective: Great Expectations was initially published in serial form, with the first installment appearing in December 1860 and the final installment in August 1861. These dates bracket the start of America's Civil War, which officially began in April 1861.


Detail of Goya's The Old Ones: 
Miss Havisham?

Second, don't you think Miss Havisham could have been modeled after this grotesque old woman?

Hunting and Gathering

I took a page out of Lesa's book (I'm so corny, how can you stand it?) and went Goodwill hunting today. Wait, I mean yesterday. I didn't fare quite as well as she did (I paid nearly twice as much for the same number of books) but since we're talking $8 for seven books, I'd say I still had a pretty good haul! I might have been able to find free Kindle versions for some of these, but please bear in mind I'm trying to ignore that possibility.

From top to bottom, here are the seven:

1. The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. I think this is a book that my 8th grade class read without me. (My parents so conveniently managed to ban me from half my life.) It doesn't sound especially fun, but there must be something interesting about it if my parents wouldn't let me read it.

2. The World According to Mister Rogers by Fred Rogers. Because I don't believe all of the awful rumors about him, and I have fond memories of his neighborhood.

3. Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. This one is kind of like The Jungle (except for the part about my parents): not fun, but good for me.

4. Tom Jones by Henry Fielding. One from my wish list! I hadn't realized what a fatty it is . . .

5. The Reader by Bernhard Schlink. I watched the first half of this movie at the end of a three-and-a-half-movie airplane flight. (I was on my way home and I'd already used up all of the books I'd brought with me.) The movie looked pretty intriguing. I'm not sure why I've never tried to watch the rest of it.

6. Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann. Some (like Brenna) say this book is amazing, and others (like Leah) say it's a little tedious, but for a dollar I can afford to decide for myself. Not surprisingly, I'm a little bit afraid to read it (what if I agree with Leah?) but when I conquer my fear it will be waiting for me.

7. The Water Babies by Charles Kingsley. Another wish-lister! I may read this to my kids, once I finish one or two of the three books we have going currently. The cover of the copy I bought isn't quite as charming as the one pictured here, but I hope the inside is.

If I had to pick my next read from this stack, I would probably start with #5. But between book club books and my mental (in more ways than one) list of "I want to read that next" books, it's just going to have to get in line and wait its turn. If it were British it would know how to queue, but as it is I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed and hope for the best.

Which of these have you read? Which did you love? If you feel I should move one of these right up to the teetering tippy-top of my TBR pile, persuade away.

"Daddy-Long-Legs" by Jean Webster

Daddy-Long-Legs, first published in 1912, is the pleasant little story of an orphan named Jerusha Abbott. At the age of seventeen, Jerusha (who later renames herself Judy, since that's the sort of name which belongs to a girl "who romps her way through life without any cares," which she would very much like to pretend she is) is given a rare bit of good fortune when she is informed that a mysterious benefactor has offered to pay her way through college.

The only requirement is that she must write regular letters to the man (to whom she gives the nickname Daddy-Long-Legs), though she is not to know his real name, and he never writes back to her. After a short chapter at the beginning which introduces the situation, the entire book is in the form of Judy's letters to the enigmatic Daddy-Long-Legs (with some crazy drawings thrown in).

Judy has a very engaging personality that shines brilliantly through her correspondence. In fact, her disposition is so bright and charming that she seems less like a college girl and more like a twelve-year-old. She's certainly not an always-optimistic Polyanna, but she really seems quite childish, albeit in a funny and endearing way. Here's a great example:

"Speaking of classics, have you ever read Hamlet? If you haven't, do it right off. It's perfectly corking. I've been hearing about Shakespeare all my life, but I had no idea he really wrote so well; I always suspected him of going largely on his reputation."

Webster should have had Judy going away to boarding school instead of college. Even so, and despite being overly sentimental at times, this is such a nice little story.

The ending was so perfectly, exactly what I wanted that I nearly cried. (Let's be clear, though: notice I said nearly. Which doesn't really count.) It didn't even bother me that I guessed what there was to be guessed long before it was revealed. I was just so happy that that the ending was just right.

There's a sequel! It's called Dear Enemy. And guess what? Amazon has a free kindle version of it. I know better than to think I'll be diving into it right away, but it's nice to have it waiting for me until I'm ready.

"Exit the Actress" by Priya Parmar

I've been reading The Plum Bean Project for nearly a year now. If you've ever had the chance to check it out, you know that Priya has a truly lovely writing style. I once compared it to cheesecake (delicious: rich, filling and sweet) but I think that's the wrong type of dessert. I love cheesecake, but it's so heavy. Priya's writing is much more lighthearted. Maybe like a good french silk pie with a wonderfully tender crust.

Of course I have been eager to read her debut novel, Exit the Actress, ever since I first heard about it; it was released last week, so I've finally had that opportunity. Priya has written the story of 17th century English stage actress Nell Gwyn, chronicling her rise from humble beginnings to the bed of King Charles II. The book is written in a familiar, gossipy manner, entirely composed of diary entries and various forms of correspondence.

Despite my anticipation, as I first began to read I found myself thinking that I prefer a book with bigger balls. The most recent historical fiction I read was much more boldly written and I loved it for that. During the first 80 cautious and inoffensive pages of Exit the Actress I was disgruntled and wanted a bit more oomph, but then I settled in and began to really enjoy it. The writing throughout the entire book was just as beautiful as I had come to expect from Priya, and the story gives a charming glimpse into Restoration London. Reading her wikipedia entry gives me the idea that Nell was much more bawdy and indecorous than the delightful and sprightly girl portrayed in Exit the Actress, but Priya's version makes for a much sweeter love story between Nell and the king.

If you are a fan of historical fiction I bet you can't help but love Exit the Actress. Girls only, though, I think. I'm already looking forward to Priya's next book which will take us back to London, this time during World War I.

"The Neverending Story" by Michael Ende

I finally finished reading The Neverending Story to the kids last week. This book is not meant to be read a few pages at a time. When read in such small chunks it does seem endless, and not in a good way.

Although it took us far too long to read, the book has an interesting ingredient which is probably the fond dream of many readers: a boy who is reading a book becomes a part of the story. Bastian Balthazar Bux has hidden himself away from the world with a stolen book whose title is none other than The Neverending Story. As he reads about the hero Atreyu riding the white luckdragon Falkor in a desperate attempt to save Fantastica from The Nothing that is devouring the country, Bastian comes across oblique references to himself that slowly become more direct and more frequent until he suddenly finds he has left our own world and is a part of the story in Fantastica.

I like this description of the story as "Arabian Nights meets Aesop's Fables meets Grimm's Fairy Tales." The Neverending Story has the same feeling of fantasy and wonder threaded through with morality tales that you'd imagine from such a mix. Also, though it is not a series of stories like those three collections, it does seem to lack cohesion, especially in the second half of the book as Bastian rebuilds Fantastica on wishes and whims.

Most people who love this book refer to the nostalgia it evokes, since they read it as a child. I, too, read it when I was a child. My copy was given to me for my 12th birthday. (Of course I never would have remembered that, but I have proof.) Unfortunately, it was given to me by someone I'd rather forget, so I don't have quite the same feeling of sweet reminiscence as you may have when you reread The Neverending Story.

See? Proof.

Notice how He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wrote that "this story is not just for reading it through, but also for thinking about." I was kind of insulted by that, even at age twelve. Just because I didn't want to tell him my thoughts on books didn't mean I wasn't thinking about the books I read. Of course, I suppose I can understand how he came to that conclusion.

Even worse, Blur called me a rat. Apparently, to Germans, the term "reading rat" is as innocuous as "bookworm" is to us Americans (and really, cultural context aside, I'd say it's a toss-up as to whether I'd rather be called a worm or a rat). I bet if anyone else had dubbed me The Reading Rat I would have worn the badge with pride in the knowledge that it fit me well. Though I might have preferred a nickname like The Reading Mouse, even if that doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

I can't help but wonder how much more I might have liked The Neverending Story if it had been given to me by someone I cared for and remember with affection. It's similar to disliking a name because it reminds you of an awful person: not the name's fault, but undeniable all the same. Do you have any books where your own personal experience, unrelated to the story itself, left you with a less-than-good feeling about it?

"The 39 Steps" by John Buchan

Chalk this up as another one where I've seen the movie but had no idea it started as a book. It's also one whose movie adaptation bears little resemblance to the original story. (Actually, it has several movie adaptations, but the one I've seen is Hitchcock's 1935 version.)

I found myself spending a day away from home with lots of waiting and I FORGOT MY BOOK. I can't stand doing nothing when I could be reading, so I had to feed my addiction and make a quick trip to Books-A-Million. It was a toss-up between looking for something that was already on my TBR and getting something cheap.

Cheap won. B-A-M has a set of Reject Carts out front with books selling (or not) for between $1 and $3. Though there's usually nothing good to be found there, I can't help but look every time. And this time I found a winner! It's a nice slim book--the perfect size to wedge between the others I was already reading but hadn't brought with me. I recognized the title and knew the story (or so I thought) so I was pretty sure the book wouldn't suck. I LOVE the cover. AND it only cost two dollars. I figured I couldn't go wrong.

I haven't read many spy novels, and those I have read were more contemporary, but this was a nice little old-fashioned adventure story. Know what it reminded me of? The Hardy Boys for grownups. (That was not intended as an insult, in case you thought it sounded like one.) Richard Hannay is Frank and Joe rolled into one, with keen skills of observation and a knack for ingenuity, finding himself in the most treacherous scrapes and always narrowly escaping through the use of his sharp intellect.

As the book starts, Hannay is finding life in London dreadfully dull. He's decided to give England one more day to get exciting; if it continues to disappoint him, he'll head back to South Africa where he'd already spent a number of years. Of course that very night the excitement begins. One of his neighbors turns out to be a spy who ends up staying with Hannay for a few days. He's hiding from the evil Germans who are chasing him because he knows about the plot to assassinate the Greek premier, Karolides, which is expected to precipitate a war. (I, in my limited knowledge of history, decided Karolides must have been the literary version of Archduke Ferdinand. The book was first published--and takes place--in 1915, when Franz's death of the previous year was still fresh news.) Needless to say, Hannay decides to stick around a while. He becomes embroiled in the chaos and loves every minute of it.

Differences between the book and the movie are legion. The one that surprised me the most was the absence of any character in the book remotely like Mr. Memory. This, of course, means that the "39 steps" of the title are something entirely different in the original story. The movie also spiced things up a bit by throwing in a couple of major female characters (but don't forget we're talking 1935 here, so it was more like paprika than habanero). I don't think I really had a preference between the two stories; it was actually nice to find they were different. The book was more suspenseful that way, since I was expecting one thing and getting another.

Did you know this was a book? Have you read it, or seen any of the movie adaptations?

"Doomsday Book" by Connie Willis

I think something is wrong with me. Here is a book that won several awards and is listed as one of "500 of the best books you'll ever read." It was given 9 1/2 caterpillars and I was promised I would luuuuuv eet. A quick google blog search reveals that others have described it as "wonderful" and "beloved" and "unique."

But . . . but . . . this book is just such a mess. There's so much padding that could have been cut out. Too many of the characters are one-dimensional and have a ridiculously one-track mind. (No, not that track. This book doesn't have dirty bits.) Some of the characters were mere placeholders, talked about but never actually present, and left as loose threads.

I could go on. In fact, I think I will. Moments that should have been exciting or suspenseful are just annoyingly frustrating due to contrived delays or obstacles. The "transcripts" between the chapters are insulting in their recap of important details from the preceding chapter, as if I might have overlooked them if I only read them once. Small things are mentioned repeatedly (a shopping bag full of Christmas gifts, an umbrella strap, gobstoppers, a brass-bound casket), so that I was sure there must be some significance attached to each, but . . . there wasn't.

At least the story was interesting (although I had my own ideas that would have made it so much better. A little bit of time travel paradox does much towards blowing the mind.) Here's the premise. It's the year 2054 at Oxford University, when history can be studied in the best way possible: by traveling back in time to experience it first-hand.

Kivrin Engle is well prepared for her trip to 1320. She has learned all of the practical skills needed in the Middle Ages and is vaccinated against any number of medieval diseases. The "drop" appears to go well, and as far as anyone knows, Kivrin has made it to where she'd planned to go . . . until the tech says, "Something's wrong," and then faints on his computer keyboard. And proceeds to spend the next 400 pages either delirious or unconscious--in any case, unable to tell anyone what went wrong. (Yeah, that's one of those contrived delays or obstacles I mentioned earlier). Much worry and many deaths ensue.

In spite of all my aggravation, I wouldn't say I *hated* the book. I really didn't even dislike it strongly. I never had to force myself to read it. It wasn't boring. It wasn't so horribly poorly written that I couldn't stand it. But . . . it was a mess. And it definitely wasn't one of the 500 best books I've ever read.

I did learn something interesting as a result of this book. It sounds like a bit of history I should have already known. The title of the book, and more specifically the name Kivrin gave to her record of the events she experienced, came from a property survey of England and Wales conducted in 1085 for William the Conqueror. The record of that survey was called the Domesday Book in reference to the Day of  Judgment "because its decisions, like those of the Last Judgment, are unalterable."

What about you? Have you read Willis's Doomsday Book, and did you love it? Am I the only person in the world who was not impressed?

Presenting Samuel Black . . . And don't miss the giveaway!

Tomorrow is the last day to sign up to win a copy of The Ground is Burning by Samuel Black. Don't miss out! In the meantime, here's your chance to "meet" the author.

Samuel Black is a debut historical fiction novelist who was born in London and raised in France. In The Ground is Burning, set in Renaissance Italy, Black weaves a gripping story out of the intertwining lives of Cesare Borgia, Niccolò Machiavelli and Leonardo da Vinci. I'm proud to announce that I've scored an interview with the author, so sit back and enjoy while I pick Mr. Black's brain.

Who wouldn't want to be this
scruffy-looking nerf-herder?

First, let's get to know you a little bit better. If you were a character in Star Wars, who would you be and why?

Han Solo, because he gets to be a hero without acting like a choirboy. And he gets Princess Leia, of course.

OK, I'll ignore the fact that you've just given the most common and un-original answer to that question, because I know you've written an uncommonly original book. What initially sparked your interest and led you to write The Ground is Burning?

Leonardo da Vinci:
The Original Renaissance Man

I was reading a biography of Leonardo da Vinci by Charles Nicholl. At the time I’d begun writing a different novel, but I was struggling with it. I was reading about Leonardo purely out of curiosity, but then I came upon a short chapter that described a little-known moment in the artist’s life when he shared a series of castles with, among others, Niccolo Machiavelli and Cesare Borgia. I remember being astounded by this – I hadn’t even known the three men were contemporaries. Better still, the story had a classic narrative arc, ending in two bloody climaxes on Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve. It even had a beautiful young noblewoman, who’d been kidnapped by Borgia. It was just like a novel! To my amazement, however, I discovered that nobody had written a novel on this subject. So I decided to do it myself. I gave up on the other novel I was writing that very day, and began this one instead.

You enjoy reading. Is your choice of reading material reflected in what you've written?

Yes and no. I do love some historical fiction – Hilary Mantel’s A Place of Greater Safety is one of my favourite novels of any kind – but a lot of it, as with most genres, is fairly clichéd and dull. So I certainly read a lot of fiction which appears to have nothing to do with what I’ve written in this book. Then again, appearances can be deceptive: the voice of Cesare Borgia, for instance, was partly influenced by James Ellroy’s prose in The Cold Six Thousand, while the overall feel of my story owes as much to Coppola’s Godfather movies as to anything more overtly historical.

Tell us about the research you did for The Ground is Burning.

Senigallia, Italy: Setting of the novel's climactic scene
Photo by Samuel Black

I spent a whole year reading every secondhand book I could find on the subject and the period – including the books that my heroes read themselves (Dante, Livy, Plutarch, Lucretius, Julius Caesar etc). In retrospect, I probably overdid this, although I figure it’ll come in useful one day. The best part of the research, by a long way, was a three-week trip round Italy that I took in October 2008, following in the footsteps of my characters: that really made the history come alive for me.

Of your three main characters, who do you identify with most strongly? (Keeping my fingers crossed that you don't say Cesare. He was awful. My guess is Machiavelli.) Did you have a favorite character?

Cesare Borgia: Not a nice guy

I wrote from the perspective of all three of the major characters, and to do that you obviously have to identify with them. This was admittedly easier with Leonardo and Machiavelli, who were both essentially decent human beings, than it was with Cesare Borgia. But I must confess I quite enjoyed inhabiting the Evil One. He was clearly a monster, but he had a certain style.

Machiavelli certainly seemed admiring of Cesare Borgia in spite of (sometimes even because of) Borgia's brutality, and yet you managed to make Machiavelli's admiration palatable. What was behind your decision to downplay Machaivelli's cold-bloodedness and enhance his appeal?

Machiavelli: Not the man you
know by reputation

I don’t think it’s a question of downplaying Machiavelli’s cold-bloodedness, but of writing about the man rather than extrapolating from his most famous work, The Prince. If you read his plays, his poetry and particularly his letters, it’s obvious that Machiavelli was not cold-blooded at all: he was very funny, he loved his family, he was loyal to his friends, and he fell in love easily and frequently. All of that is against his reputation, but that’s because his reputation is wrong.

How historically accurate is your book? Where did you take the greatest liberties?

All of the essential events and circumstances are true, all of the characters are real people, and many of the smaller details are based on historical fact as well. Obviously I have imagined/invented the characters’ thoughts and relationships and dialogue, but I have contradicted history only once in any notable way – and that was one of the central plot lines, which just fell flat when I wrote it in a historically accurate way. It is a work of fiction, so I make no apologies for changing that, but at the same time the original story was so dramatic and novel-like that it seemed perverse to make up more than I needed to. There’s a historical note at the end of the book explaining what is factual and what invented.

Do you have any future projects in the works?

The mysterious Marlowe

Yes, my next book will be about the life and death of the playwright Christopher Marlowe in London in 1593. I think it’s going to be a detective novel, although I haven’t begun writing it yet: I’m still at the research stage.

I can't wait to read it! No rush or anything, but hurry every chance you get. One last question for you: Would you rather be on the team that wins the 2014 World Cup but afterwards lose your eyesight for the rest of your life, OR be a famous detective who lives in the arctic every winter?

Ha, what a cruel question! Much as I’d love to be a famous detective, there is no way I could live in the Arctic every winter for the rest of my life. I really don’t like long, cold, dark winters. Give me blindness in a warm climate to an unending vision of bleak whiteness any day!

There he is, folks. Samuel Black. His first novel, The Ground is Burning, will be released on February 3 (that's Thursday!) by Faber & Faber, and can be pre-ordered from amazon.co.uk now. Meanwhile, check out this related article Mr. Black wrote about the sort of fame that lasts for centuries.

"The Willows in Winter" by William Horwood

Did you know there was a sequel to The Wind in the Willows? As a matter of fact, there are four (that I know of), although I only learned this recently. The sequels somehow escaped my notice until my bookworm discovered The Willows in Winter at our local library.

For what seemed like an interminable number of nights this was one of our bedtime stories (along with the aptly named The Neverending Story, which we should finally be finishing within the week--I hope!) and I must say I'm really glad it's over. This is in large part because the kids have put in a request for a reread of the Narnia books next . . . and the Harry Potter series after that. Never mind that by the time we finish those fourteen books my grade-schoolers may have already left for college.

So, yes, I'm glad the weeks and weeks of The Willows in Winter have ended, but that's not to say we didn't enjoy reading it. The sequels were not written by Kenneth Grahame, but this story fits in very nicely with the original classic. All the old familiar friends were there: Badger, with his gruff exterior that hides a soft heart; Rat, who is somehow both businesslike and fun-loving; kindhearted and agreeable Mole; and Toad, who gets up to utterly Toad-like shenanigans, though he'd promised he was through with all that. Even the tradition of Using Big Words was upheld.

I bet this is the picture that inspired the sequel

It was interesting to read, in the Author's Note at the end of the book, what inspired William Horwood to attempt a sequel of The Wind in the Willows. He became the proud owner of some of Ernest H. Shepard's original illustrations for that book, one of which portrayed Mole trudging through a snowy wood in search of Badger's house. What happened next is best explained in the author's own words.

"The Mole alone in the Wild Wood in a book was one thing; on my study wall he was rather different. As the months went by Shepard's drawing became part of my own imaginative landscape and Mole's original errand to find Badger faded as the great trees of the Wild Wood loomed larger before me, and the blizzard winds of winter surged and blew . . . it seemed to me that Mole was off on a journey rather different from his original one . . . the story of The Willows in Winter had begun."

How do you feel about sequels of a beloved favorite--especially if the story is continued by a new author? I'll confess that in most cases I would be quite wary of such an animal. I have the feeling that, if the original author is not the source, any further stories just don't count because they're not quite real. Kind of like fanfiction. But I can make an exception for Horwood, who seems to have followed suit respectfully enough that Grahame should still be resting peacefully.

"The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka

Am I the only one who wakes up most mornings frantically trying to figure out what day it is and what I need to be doing? This morning began with a familiar inner monologue: What day is today? What day is today? Yesterday was Sunday. OK, today is Monday. You need to go run, and don't forget that doctor's appointment this morning like you forgot it last week. I can only imagine how that stressful feeling might be compounded if I were simultaneously trying to come to terms with the fact that I'd somehow been transformed into a giant bug.

That is, as I'm sure you all know, the pickle in which Gregor Samsa finds himself in Kafka's novella The Metamorphosis. (Yet another book that was assigned reading in high school for everyone but me.) As the book opens, Gregor's physical metamorphosis has already occurred. The narrative doesn't concern itself with the process of the change, or even the reason behind it. Normally that would drive me crazy because, gaaaah! I want to know why!! But my mind did not dwell on that as I read. It's only dwelling on that now.

So, why call this The Metamorphosis if it only deals with the aftermath? Because there are other changes that occur during the story. The true metamorphosis is in the family's attitude towards Gregor. Formerly the sole breadwinner, he is now their burden. Surely they used to have great respect for Gregor (although I wonder if they didn't quietly snicker behind his back at the naïve way he enabled their laziness). Gregor's transformation caused immediate fear and revulsion accompanied by pity, which slowly changed to anger and hatred. It also caused a reversal of roles. Gregor's parents and sisters were the parasites at first; upon waking on that fateful morning, suddenly the parasite was Gregor.

Kafka's language in this novella is deceptively simple, leaving me certain that it is disguising hidden depths, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to read into the story. To me, it seems like more of an exercise in creative writing. "What would happen if, one day, a man woke up as a giant bug?" As a much-studied piece of literature, there are all sorts of symbols to be found, but like Nabokov said in his lecture about The Metamorphosis, we shouldn't study symbolism too closely. "I am very careful not to overwork the significance of symbols, for once you detach a symbol from the artistic core of the book, you lose all sense of enjoyment." He's hit upon the reason why so many great books are hated by students. Of course, that doesn't mean we shouldn't study symbolism at all, but when you're lazy efficient like me, Nabokov is as good an excuse as any.

And I did enjoy reading this novella, especially the ridiculousness of it all. After Gregor's initial surprise at his new body, he seems to be in denial. He's thinking about his morning as if nothing were different. I like the absurdity of that. Then, he begins to wonder if his metamorphosis will cause anything else to change in his life. What an optimistic outlook for a giant bug.

Initial optimism aside, I felt so sorry for Gregor through most of the book. He wasn't without faults (he seemed unable to see the bad in others, for one thing) but his utter alienation from humanity, which he accepted so humbly, was quite disheartening. I may cherish solitude, but it's always with the understanding that companionship is waiting in the wings. Not so for poor Gregor. I won't tell you whether things end well for him, in case you've not read this one yet, but I'm sure you can guess that life is pretty harsh when you're an oversized beetle.

Yeah, beetle. That's really just a guess. Kafka did not specify exactly what Gregor had become. My translation calls him a "horrible vermin" in the first sentence. The cleaning lady later calls him a dung beetle. I think his specific form was intentionally left ambiguous, which is made even more evident by the fact that Kafka didn't want a picture of Gregor the Bug at all. Regarding the cover of the first edition, Kafka said, "The insect itself is not to be drawn. It is not even to be seen from a distance." The unknown is frequently more horrifying than the known. I think Kafka knew that the "horrible vermin" of each individual reader's imagination would be worse than any he could describe. Personally, I tend to think of Gregor as a brand new species, kind of like a short fat millipede with lots of tiny legs and a set of sharp, fearsome-looking pincers.

Whatever kind of bug Gregor was, I'm pretty sure he wasn't a butterfly.