Short Story Reviews: Arthur Conan Doyle and Henry Lawson

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One of my personal challenges for 2010 was to read more short stories. So far I haven’t been making much progress, but I made up for it this week by reading two very different short stories: The Brazilian Cat by Arthur Conan Doyle and The Drover’s Wife by Henry Lawson.

The Brazilian Cat by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

I don’t use any real method in choosing which short stories to read.  At the rate I’m reading them (only six so far in 2010!) there are enough available online to keep me busy for years, so I’ve just been selecting one or two pretty much randomly.  As I’ve never read any of Conan Doyle’s works other than some of the Sherlock Holmes books, I decided to try one of his stories from Tales of Terror and Mystery (published 1922).

The Brazilian Cat, one of the “tales of terror”, is a quick, easy read. Marshall King, heir to Lord Southerton, has been invited to stay at the home of his cousin Everard, who has recently returned to England from Brazil. Everard has brought a menagerie of animals and birds back to England with him, including a peccary, an armadillo, an oriole…and a Brazilian cat.

“I am about to show you the jewel of my collection,” said he. “There is only one other specimen in Europe, now that the Rotterdam cub is dead. It is a Brazilian cat.”
“But how does that differ from any other cat?”
“You will soon see that,” said he, laughing. “Will you kindly draw that shutter and look through?”

What exactly is a Brazilian cat? Why does Everard’s wife seem so desperate for Marshall to leave Greylands Court? And why is Everard receiving so many mysterious telegrams? You’ll have to read the story to find out.

As a short horror story I wouldn’t say it was terrifying, but it was suspenseful with the tension building at a steady pace throughout the story.  There’s nothing very deep or profound about The Brazilian Cat, nothing complex or thought-provoking, but it’s entertaining and worth reading if you have a few minutes to spare.

Read it online here

The Drover’s Wife by Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson has been described as one of Australia’s greatest writers but until now I had never read any of his work.

The Drover’s Wife (1892) is the story of an unnamed woman who lives in the Australian bush with her husband and four young children. Her husband is a drover and spends very little time at home; at the time of our story he has been away for six months. When the children spot a snake slithering into the house, their mother makes a bed for them on the kitchen table and sits up all night watching over them. During the long hours of darkness she reflects on her life “for there is little else to think about”.

Although the story is very short and contains very little action, it manages to leave a lasting impression of the hardships, obstacles and overwhelming loneliness faced by a woman living an isolated life in rural 19th century Australia. The drover’s wife’s lifestyle has made it necessary for her to become independent, brave and resourceful. As she sits in the kitchen waiting for the snake to emerge, she remembers all the times in the past when her husband has been absent – on one occasion she had to fight a bush fire on her own; on another she fought a flood. She has also had to defend herself and her home from “suspicious-looking strangers” and “crows and eagles that had designs on her chickens”.

And yet the drover’s wife has grown accustomed to being on her own and is making the best of her lot in life:

“All days are much the same for her; but on Sunday afternoon she dresses herself, tidies the children, smartens up baby, and goes for a lonely walk along the bush-track, pushing an old perambulator in front of her. She does this every Sunday. She takes as much care to make herself and the children look smart as she would if she were going to do the block in the city. There is nothing to see, however, and not a soul to meet… But this bushwoman is used to the loneliness of it. As a girl-wife she hated it, but now she would feel strange away from it.”

I recommend reading this story as it’s an important piece of Australian literature. Having read some of the essays and analysis online however, it seems there’s more than one way to interpret the story. Some people consider it to be anti-feminist because it implies that all of the drover’s wife’s pain and suffering is caused by the absence of her husband. This is interesting because on my first reading I had seen it as a straightforward portrayal of a woman’s courage and bravery; yes, it would have made things easier if her husband had been around to help her, but she was doing the best she could to take care of herself and her children – husband or no husband. I can see I’ll have to give it some more thought. Have you read the story? What was your interpretation of it?

You can read The Drover’s Wife online here

I’ll try to make more progress with this personal challenge and post my thoughts on some more short stories soon!

Pictures of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Henry Lawson both in the public domain

Review: The Book of Fires by Jane Borodale

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Agnes Trussel is a seventeen year old girl whose life is thrown into turmoil when she discovers she is pregnant and runs away to London to start a new life.  In London she is lucky enough to find employment as an assistant to the firework maker John Blacklock but as she desperately tries to hide her pregnancy from everyone around her, she starts to realise that she’s not the only one with secrets…

When I first heard about this book last year I was immediately interested in reading it but eventually decided to give it a miss – until I saw that it had been shortlisted for the Orange Award for New Writers.  Of course, being shortlisted for an award doesn’t guarantee that a book will be good, but it does usually mean that there will at least be something different or special about it that makes it worth reading.

Well, it was worth reading, but I did also have a few problems with the book – the first being that it’s written in the first person present tense.  There have been a few books written in the present tense that I’ve enjoyed, but usually I find it distracting – and that was the case here.  I also found it difficult to connect to any of the characters, even Agnes herself.  It wasn’t that they were badly drawn or uninteresting – Cornelius Soul the gunpowder seller, Mrs Blight the housekeeper and the mysterious Lettice Talbot wouldn’t be out of place in a Dickens novel – I just couldn’t engage with them or care about them very much.  When I read historical fiction I like to feel as if I’ve been transported back in time and as if I’m there experiencing things along with the characters.  Unfortunately I didn’t feel any of that with this book.

The plot itself was interesting enough.  I struggled with the opening chapters -which described the slaughter of a pig in an unnecessary amount of detail – but after that, when Agnes arrived in London I started to enjoy the story more.


Picture by Jon Sullivan in the public domain

The descriptions of firework making were fascinating.  It was particularly interesting to learn about the early experiments and research that would eventually lead to the discovery of coloured fireworks.

“You imagine colours vividly,” he says.
“I do, sir.” I reply. “It is…almost as though I feel them as a sense of touch or taste when I am looking.”
He looks up at me beside him. I am startled to see how his eyes are tight with excitement. A hope flares up in me.
“Have you attempted a blue, Mr Blacklock?” I whisper.

Despite the negative points I mentioned above, I kept on reading to the last page because I wanted to know how the story ended – and I was rewarded with a surprising ending that I hadn’t been expecting.  In fact, the final few chapters were great and made me glad I’d persevered with the book.

Would I recommend it?  I’m not sure – there are much better historical fiction novels out there in my opinion – but if it appeals to you then give it a try and see what you think.

Review: Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte

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After reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall earlier this year, I wanted to read Anne Bronte’s other book, Agnes Grey.  I approached it with trepidation having read some quite negative reviews of it.  However, I was pleased to find that I enjoyed the book.  Although I didn’t think it was as good as The Tenant and it didn’t have the feel of a must-read classic like Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights, there was still a lot to like about Agnes Grey.

The plot is simple, plain and linear.  It’s the story of a young woman in 19th century England who goes out to work as a governess when her family fall on hard times. Unfortunately Tom, Mary Ann and Fanny Bloomfield are three of the most badly-behaved children imaginable. When her short, unhappy time with the Bloomfields comes to an end, Agnes finds another situation with two older pupils, Rosalie and Matilda Murray. This second position is not much better than the first – the Murray girls are selfish and thoughtless and the only thing that makes Agnes’s life bearable is her friendship with Mr Weston, the village curate.

Agnes Grey has an autobiographical feel because Anne Bronte herself had worked as a governess and was able to draw on her own personal experiences to show how servants were often treated with cruelty and contempt by their employers. I could sympathise with Agnes as I would soon have lost my patience with the spoilt Bloomfield children and the self-centred, inconsiderate Murrays. I also thought it was unfair that the parents expected Agnes to control their children without actually giving her any real authority over them. It was such a difficult position to be in.  However, I found it slightly disappointing that Agnes seemed prepared to just accept things the way they were and not do anything to change the situation.  The book was more about tolerance and perseverance than about taking action to try to make things better.

Another of the book’s themes is the importance of morality, virtuousness and goodness, qualities in which the Bloomfield and Murray families seem to be sadly lacking, leading Agnes to feel isolated and miserable.  However, I think many readers will find Agnes too self-righteous and superior, so if you prefer your heroines to be flawed and imperfect this probably isn’t the book for you!  Reading about the day to day life of a governess is not particularly exciting or dramatic, but I still found the book enjoyable and interesting – and at under 200 pages a very quick read compared to many of the other Bronte books.

Recommended

Classic/Publisher: OUP (Oxford World’s Classics)/Year: 1998 (originally published in 1847)/Source: Library book

Review: Basil by Wilkie Collins

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In 19th century literature, a man can approach a girl’s father, ask for permission to marry her and be given that permission, all without the girl having any say in the matter whatsoever. Sometimes the potential husband has only actually spoken to the girl once or twice; sometimes not at all – and they certainly haven’t had time to get to know each other properly. Basil by Wilkie Collins is a good example of why these arrangements were often doomed to failure and caused unhappiness both for the husband and the wife.

Our narrator, the Basil of the title, is the son of a rich gentleman who is proud of his family’s ancient background and despises anyone of a lower social standing. When Basil meets Margaret Sherwin on a London omnibus he falls in love at first sight and becomes determined to marry her. Unfortunately Margaret is the daughter of a linen-draper, the class of person Basil’s father disapproves of most of all, so he decides not to tell his family about her just yet.

Mr Sherwin agrees to Basil marrying Margaret – but he insists that the wedding must take place immediately and that Basil must then keep the marriage secret for a whole year, not even seeing his wife unless Mr or Mrs Sherwin are present. This unusual suggestion should have told Basil that something suspicious was going on but he’s so blinded by love that he doesn’t care – until it’s too late…

Basil was one of Collins’ earliest novels and it shows, as it’s just not as good as his more famous books such as The Woman in White. The story took such a long time to really get started, with Basil introducing us to the members of his family, giving us every tiny detail of their appearance, personality and background. The second half of the book was much more enjoyable, filled with action, suspense and all the elements of a typical sensation novel including death, betrayal and adultery (Victorian readers apparently found the adultery scenes particularly shocking). There are lots of thunderstorms, people fainting and swooning, fights in the street, and everything you would expect from a Victorian melodrama.

All of Collins’ books are filled with strong, memorable characters and this was no exception. There’s Basil’s lively, carefree brother Ralph, his gentle, kind hearted sister Clara, the poor, frail Mrs Sherwin and the sinister Mr Mannion. However, I thought the overall writing style of this book was slightly different to what I’ve been used to in his later books – although I can’t put my finger on exactly what the difference was. This is not a must-read book but if you like the sensation novel genre, you’ll probably enjoy this one.

After the Sunday Papers #2: New Books vs Old Books

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Sunday again already – and it’s a long weekend so I’m not back to work until Tuesday!

While I was trying to think of a topic for this week’s After the Sunday Papers post, it occurred to me that it’s been a while since I reviewed a newly published book. Recently I’ve been reading a lot of classics and books from the early 20th century. I don’t know if anyone has a problem with blogs that review older books, though I’m guessing that if you’re following my blog you probably don’t mind!

We all have different reading tastes – some of us like to read the latest books as soon as they are published; others prefer Victorian classics or World War II era books; many of us just read whatever we’re in the mood for or whatever happens to be on our shelves. But have you ever thought about when most of the books you read were published?

If you had asked me that question yesterday, I would have said that I don’t read enough new books. It’s not deliberate – I do read other people’s reviews of the latest releases and make a note of the titles, fully intending to read them, but when it comes to actually buying books or borrowing them from the library, I find myself choosing books that sound interesting regardless of publication date and regardless of whether everyone else has already read them years ago.

However, today I took the publication dates of the 35 books I’ve reviewed so far on this blog, put the figures into a pie chart maker…and this is what it came up with:

As you can see, I’ve obviously read more books from the last decade than I thought! What about you? Do you read mostly new books, older books or a mixture?

Review: The Meaning of Night by Michael Cox

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I was intending to read this book when it was first published four years ago, but for some reason I didn’t and forgot all about it until I noticed it in the library recently.  I’m glad I finally got round to it, even if I’m late as usual!

The plot will be a familiar one to anyone who has read a lot of Victorian fiction – it’s a story of love, betrayal and deceit, revolving around a lost inheritance and a childhood rivalry. A vast country estate, a beautiful, mysterious heroine, and the dark, foggy streets of 19th century London combine to make this a clever imitation of the Victorian sensation novel.

In a similar way to The Unburied which I reviewed earlier this month, the book is presented as a genuine 19th century manuscript, complete with an ‘Editor’s Preface’ and numerous footnotes. The use of footnotes, which seemed to appear on almost every page, reminded me of Susanna Clarke’s Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. However, whereas in Jonathan Strange the footnotes really added something to the story, providing us with fascinating anecdotes about the history of magic, in The Meaning of Night they served very little purpose – other than to give the book a scholarly feel. Overall though, this was one of the best written of all the novels of this type that I’ve read so far and I was impressed by the author’s use of language and writing style to make this feel like an authentic 19th century novel.

The narrator, Edward Glyver, is really quite a horrible person. In the first chapter – in fact, in the first sentence (so this is not a spoiler) – he confesses to murder:

“After killing the red-haired man, I took myself off to Quinn’s for an oyster supper.”

He also cheats on the woman who loves him, develops an obsession with his enemy, Phoebus Rainsford Daunt – and becomes increasingly dependent on opium, making him an unreliable narrator at times. Is he a character deserving of our sympathy, then? Definitely not – and yet, I was rooting for him throughout the story, wanting him to right the wrongs that had been done to him, which is a testament to Michael Cox’s writing skills.

The only thing that really disappointed me about this book was the ending. I can’t say too much about it without spoiling the story for you, but the ending left me feeling dissatisfied – I had been hoping for a few more plot twists.

This book won’t be to everyone’s taste – if you simply don’t like intricately plotted Victorian or Victorian-style novels you’ll want to avoid this one. However, fans of Charles Dickens or Wilkie Collins will probably enjoy this book, as they were clearly two of Michael Cox’s influences (many of the characters have Dickensian names such as Phoebus Daunt, Fordyce Jukes and Josiah Pluckrose). It should also appeal to readers of Sarah Waters, Charles Palliser or other writers of neo-Victorian fiction. In particular, I found it very similar to Palliser’s The Quincunx, though slightly less complex and intellectually demanding.

Recommended

Genre: Historical Fiction/Pages: 608/Publisher: John Murray/Year: 2006/Source: Library book

Review: My Cousin Rachel by Daphne du Maurier

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This is the second Daphne du Maurier book I have read this month.  I hope eventually I’ll have time to read all of them because so far none of her books have disappointed me.

Like I’ll Never Be Young Again, which I read at the beginning of May, My Cousin Rachel is written in the first person from a male perspective. Also as in I’ll Never Be Young Again, the male narrator is a naïve, immature man who I found it difficult to sympathise with. His name is Philip Ashley, a twenty-four year old Englishman who has been raised by an older cousin, having lost both his parents at an early age. Philip and his cousin Ambrose have a very close relationship and Philip is left confused and jealous when Ambrose suddenly marries a woman he meets in Italy. This woman happens to be another cousin of theirs – their cousin Rachel.

Early in the novel, Ambrose dies and Rachel returns alone to the Ashley estate in England. At first, Philip is convinced his cousin Rachel was responsible for Ambrose’s death, but after meeting her he’s not so sure…

My Cousin Rachel is often compared with Daphne du Maurier’s most famous book, Rebecca, and although the two books are very different in many ways, I can see the reasons for the comparisons. The books share some common elements, including the estate in Cornwall (based on du Maurier’s own home, Menabilly) and the mysterious, secretive woman, but the biggest resemblance is in the atmosphere the writing conveys. Daphne du Maurier is one of the most atmospheric writers I know of. Whether she’s writing about the streets of Florence or the coast of Cornwall she always manages to convey a mood perfectly suited to the location and draws you completely into the world she has created. My Cousin Rachel has a strong feeling of foreboding, where from the beginning you know something bad is going to happen and you’re just waiting to see what it is.

Throughout the book, my opinion of Rachel was constantly changing. It was hard to form an accurate idea of what Rachel was like, as we only really saw her through Philip’s eyes and he was not a reliable narrator. Another thing that added to the vagueness and uncertainty of the story was that we were never told exactly when it was taking place. It was obvious that the book was set in the 19th century, but which decade? And what was the name of the Ashley estate? Unless I missed it, we weren’t told that either. It seems to be quite typical of Daphne du Maurier to withhold information from us in this way – after all, in Rebecca we aren’t even told the narrator’s name!

There are a lot of loose ends and questions left unanswered at the end of the book, which is something that often bothers me, but in this case I didn’t mind. I liked the way there were aspects of the story that could be interpreted in several different ways. I expect it would have been a good book to read with a group, as the ambiguity would lead to some interesting discussions and theories.

Recommended

Pages: 304/Publisher: Virago Press (Virago Modern Classics 491)/Year: 2008 (originally published 1951)/Source: Library book