Why Thomas Hardy?

For many years, starting in high school, I was very drawn to the harsh stories and stark landscapes found in the novels of Thomas Hardy. I read and re-read "Far From the Madding Crowd," "The Return of the Native," "Jude the Obscure," and, especially, "Tess of the D'Urbervilles." What was it about these gloomy novels that so appealed to me? Why would a reader like me with a basically sunny disposition be so attracted to these wonderfully plotted and written but -- let's face it -- depressing stories? Well, there is that Anglophile side of me. And the world of Wessex is a fascinating one. And Hardy's characters are unforgettable. There is also Hardy's deep understanding of the lives of country people, and his unusual (for the time) understanding of women's restricted lives. The attraction was also, probably most of all, a part of my adolescent need to be acquainted with the "dark side," the side I wrote about on 9/18/10 in my post "The Luxuriantly Dark and Moody Thoughts of Youth." Perhaps it feels safe to be drawn to that dark side when one is young and feels -- despite various adolescent troubles -- protected, and even -- with the imperviousness of youth -- invincible? (I realize that adolescence is not so protected for all youth, and know that I am fortunate to have had a secure, safe, and well-loved --albeit occasionally moody -- childhood and adolescence.) Of course accessing the "dark side" through classic literature is hardly walking on the wild side! But emotionally it fulfilled some need. I haven't read any Hardy for many years now, but there is a part of me that is still mysteriously connected to the worlds he created in his novels.

StephanieVandrickReads' One Year Anniversary

It has been one year today, January 24, 2011, since I started this blog, StephanieVandrickReads. I have very much appreciated and enjoyed having this place to write about what I have been reading, about favorite authors and books, and about reading-related topics. I also appreciate very much and thank everyone who has read the blog, and those who have responded, either by commenting on the blog site itself or by contacting me by email or otherwise.

To mark this one year anniversary, I am listing here my most treasured authors, the ones I go back to and re-read over and over, the ones who give me the most sustenance, pleasure, and food for thought. I do not claim that these are necessarily the "best" authors, although many of them would in fact be on most "all-time best" lists. And there are, of course, many, many more writers whose work I have liked very much. But those on this list form the core of my love for reading; these are the authors I personally feel most connected to, and most grateful for. My life would be far poorer without them.

In no particular order, here is the "short list" of my twenty most treasured authors:

-Jane Austen
-George Eliot
-Elizabeth Gaskell
-William Thackeray
-Charlotte Bronte
-Thomas Hardy
-Edith Wharton
-Willa Cather
-Virginia Woolf
-E. M. Forster
-Elizabeth Bowen
-Barbara Pym
-Alice Munro
-William Trevor
-Carolyn Heilbrun
-Penelope Lively
-Anne Tyler
-Carol Shields
-Mary Gordon
-Gail Godwin

I dedicate this one year anniversary post to my dear friend of almost forty years, C.

"A Room with a View"

I just finished listening to a CD version of E. M. Forster’s "A Room with a View" (originally published 1908; Books on Tape, 1993). Forster is one of my all-time favorite authors, so I have read and/or listened to all of his novels several times, especially “A Passage to India,” “Howard’s End,” and “A Room with a View.” As with any great fiction, I notice new aspects, new insights, every time I read this novel. This time I was more struck than ever by Forster’s portrayal of how claustrophobically constricting the social rules lingering on from the Victorian era were, at least for those of the upper middle and upper classes, especially for women. Lucy Honeychurch, the main character, was only allowed to go to Italy under the protection of her fussy, traditional, annoying older cousin Charlotte. There, a huge (in the eyes of Lucy and Charlotte, but especially Charlotte) crisis arose when a man Lucy met there suddenly kissed her on a hill full of violets near Florence. Charlotte and Lucy felt they had to leave Florence abruptly the next day and go to meet friends in Rome; then, and after they returned to England, they kept worrying that someone would find out about the kiss, and Lucy’s reputation would be ruined. The complicating factor was that although she soon after was engaged to another man, she couldn’t quite get the man who kissed her out of her mind. Lucy and other young women of the time had so little control over their own actions, movements, and fates, and although they were very privileged in other ways, the social rules could make them feel smothered and miserable. Of course Forster’s novels are not “about” just one thing; they are all, in some way, portrayals of people’s needs both for human connection and for something transcendent in their lives.

"Books as Bombs"

In the current (1/24/11) issue of The New Yorker, there is an article by Louis Menand about highly influential, even life-changing, nonfiction books published in the 1960s and 1970s; he particularly focuses on Betty Friedan's 1963 book, "The Feminine Mystique." Although the word "bomb" is a fraught one, Menand's use of the word in his title, "Books as Bombs," dramatically represents the way books in those days could make a huge difference, in a way that perhaps they no longer do in today's era of diffused media. Some of the other books discussed in this article are Rachel Carson's "Silent Spring" (1962), an enormous factor in the beginning of the environmental movement, and Ralph Nader's "Unsafe at Any Speed" (1965), which kickstarted the consumer protection movement. I treasure the idea that books can have a powerful impact, changing people's lives, even saving lives. I am sorry if Menand is correct that they no longer do so in the same way today.

The Late, Lamented Laurie Colwin

Although Laurie Colwin died unexpectedly of a heart attack in 1992, at the far too young age of 48, her books are still popular. She published five novels (one posthumously), three story collections, and two memoir/cookbooks. Her books focus on cooking, food, love, and family. Although Colwin was complicated, as were her characters, she had a gift for happiness, and it is fitting that two of her novels have the word "happy" or "happiness" in them ("Family Happiness" and "Happy All the Time"). She wrote about couples, families, and relationships, and frequently used food, cooking, and shared meals as signifiers of nourishment, connection and joy. I recently ran across one of her novels at my local library sale, and was reminded of how much pleasure her books have given me. I read all of her fiction in the 1980s and 1990s, but not her memoirs; I think I will look for those now.

Am I Playing It Too Safe in my Reading Choices?

When I was in my teens and twenties, and especially during college and grad school and in the years after, I read thirstily and widely, delving into many different types of literature, classic and new, from various parts of the world, in various styles. Over the years, I have developed a a pretty clear sense of my own taste, and have refined (narrowed?) my preferences in reading materials. This is perhaps why I like most of what I read (and blog about here): I have developed a knowledge in advance of which books I will like and which I will not. These judgments are based on years of extensive reading, as well as on reading many reviews. The positive side of this is that I am not too often disappointed in what I read. The negative side is that I am less willing to read books that I don't know if I will like, I take fewer chances than I used to, and thus perhaps miss out on some great literature. The dilemma is this: At this point in my reading life, I know what I like, and I don't want to waste much time on what I probably won't like; on the other hand, do I want to be the kind of reader who no longer stretches herself, who no longer takes a chance?

"Being Polite to Hitler"

I still remember being bowled over by Robb Forman Dew's first novel, "Dale Loves Sophie to Death" (1981). I have read more of her books as well, but that is the one that sticks in my mind. I just finished reading her "Being Polite to Hitler" (Little, Brown, 2011 -- the first 2011 title I've read, I think!), and had that bowled-over feeling again. What a wise novel! First, I should discuss the title. The setting of the novel is Washburn, a small town in Ohio, from the early 50s into the early 70s; people are loath to rock the boat, and feel it is polite not to discuss bad behavior or difficult topics. One day, one character accuses her family and friends of being so devoted to preserving peaceful and conventional discourse that they wouldn't even speak up against Hitler and his deeds. It is true that much goes on under the surface in this town: alcoholism, affairs, feuds, deteriorating marriages, misunderstandings among friends and family members. But there are also a lot of decent people, doing their best, helping each other, preserving traditions. The main character is Agnes, a wise, down to earth, and very likable woman at the center of a large, well-known family in the area. Another main character is the man she marries years after she has been widowed: Sam is the best male character I have read about in a long time. And by best I don't mean most literary or dramatic or best-written; I mean he is a thoroughly good, kind, thoughtful person, a good husband, a good friend, a good citizen, and a person who truly appreciates and enjoys life. I think I am a little in love with Sam! The plot, although a bit meandering, is interesting enough, and we are also given a sense of the events happening in the world around the characters: the nuclear threat, the Cuban crisis, the assassinations of JFK and others, and more. Even a peaceful, prosperous town like Washburn is affected by these events, and by the unease they cause. But the best features of the novel are the wonderful, well-developed characters and the sometimes offhand spot-on observations the characters or the author make. This is a rich, lovely novel, thick with the events of life, large and small, and deeply understanding of the human condition.