Not THAT Sort of Girl

When I first read Lolita, over 10 years ago, I loved it so much that I declared it to be my favourite book.  I added it to my Classics Club list because I was curious to see whether or not I'd still feel the same way about it almost a decade and a half later.

The verdict is in: I don't. I had a lot of fun re-reading Lolita  and I think it's fantastic. I still appreciate all the things I originally loved about it but I'm after a different reading experience these days. Lolita is a book of tricks and games. The sounds of the language and the rhythm of the words are truly brilliant. It's like every word is edible, delicious, delectable.

What Lolita lacks, however, is a sense of purpose beyond the play. As Nabokov explains in his afterword, there isn't supposed to be one, but that didn't stop me wanting it. I think the book could have been truly spectacular if Nabokov had decided to add yet another layer to it. At times I grew a little tired of the trickery and wanted something I could ponder, or something I could feel besides wry appreciation.

Tampa has been touted as the new Lolita. The only thing they have in common is that the narrator is a paedophile. Which might sound striking if you haven't read them, but in an odd way, this is almost irrelevant. I could go on a big discussion comparing them but the more I think about it, the more they are trying to do completely different things as works of literature. So I will conclude by saying that I liked them both for totally different reasons, and I'm not sure I could say which I preferred.

Star Light, Star Bright

"He owned solid things: houses, ship-loads of half-spoiled fruit, dilapidated little shops, collections of other people's battered and abandoned possessions. He could never wring from them enough money to buy the laughter and the security his mother had denied him when he was a child".

If you like that sentence then you really should take yourself off and get your hands on some Stella Gibbons to read. She has such a subtle, cheeky, cut-through way with words that are often lovely and lilting at the same time. After having read Starlight (quoted above) I can understand both why Gibbons had so many novels published, and also why all of her books apart from Cold Comfort Farm went out of print for several decades. I loved reading Starlight , and it was full of little gems where the words are put together so beautifully you stop reading to bask in them for a moment. But I found the ending deeply unsatisfying. Some of the characters had very neat and tidy endings, while for others there was no ending at all, and it felt too uneven. In trying to puzzle out the ending I realised other holes in the story-telling that just did not hold up to scrutiny.

I have now read a few of Gibbons' novels and they are a mixed bag. I am going to read as many of them as I can get my hands on because I love her approach to words, and because Cold Comfort Farm and Westwood are two supremely wonderful books. I wouldn't tell people not to read Starlight, but to be aware of what to expect. I would give the first three quarters of the book 4.5 stars, and the final quarter 3 stars. In conclusion: not too shabby, 3 and a bit stars.

Bodices and Bonnets

I seem (even to myself)like just the sort of person who would have read lots, if not all, of Jane Austen's work. In actual fact, until the other day I had not read a single one of her novels from start to finish.

I am really not sure why I never read any Austen. All I can think is that once I discovered Edith Wharton I tended to hang about the back shelves of the library, and my browsing wanders never made it up to 'A'.It does seem an odd fluke that I made it all the way through an English degree without having read any (And yet I somehow managed to be twice-assigned Gulliver's Travels; the reading of which, in my opinion, is best described as the literary equivalent of extended teeth grinding).

It will come as less of a surprise than fries on a McDonald's menu for you all to learn that I loved Persuasion. I cried. Readers of this blog know that many, many books make me cry, but Persuasion made me cry at least three times. It also made me sigh wistfully on numerous occasions. There doesn't seem a lot of point in writing much about a book that is 200 years old and has already been read by basically everyone except me, so all I will add is how much I enjoyed the experience of being able to read something so old with completely fresh eyes.

Perec-a-palooza

Georges Perec's The Art And Craft Of Approaching Your Head Of Department To Submit A Request For A Raise is exactly the type of book I would have chosen to write an essay about at uni. The main reason I would have chosen it is because the title is so long that reaching the required word count would be an absolute doddle. A secondary fact in the book's favour is that it is only 84 pages long. Added to which, the whole book is one entire, absurdly long sentence with no commas or colons. I cannot think of more perfect undergraduate study fodder.

To be completely honest, it did feel at times a little like I was reading it because I had to. If it had been very much longer I might not have persevered. The gimmick of no full stops is cute, but it certainly makes one appreciate them. Reading a sentence that goes on and on becomes a tad irritating after a while. There were just about enough glimmers of humour to save it, but having read it once I wouldn't bother again. The device is useful as a way of making the reader feel as full of frustration and ennui and soul-deadened as the central character ('you'), but on the downside, it made me feel somewhat frustrated, soul-deadened and full of ennui.

The Art And Craft Of Approaching Your Head Of Department To Submit A Request For A Raise is successful inasmuch as it proves Perec's cleverness and originality as a writer. It is less successful as an enjoyable read. So count yourselves lucky that I went to the trouble to read it and blog about it; you can now discuss the book at dinner parties and thoroughly impress you friends, without having to go through the tedious business of actually reading the thing.

Whatever you think of his hairstyling choices, you certainly can't fault the man's literary inventiveness. I also read Things, A Story Of The Sixties this week, which is a completely different sort of book from The Art and Craft.... It is one of the few re-reads on my Classics Club list.

I first read Things about 15 years ago and loved it. Something about it utterly seduced me, even though I was aware that I was supposed to find the central characters vapid, silly, flakey and somewhat pathetic. In my second reading of the book, I was bowled over by how obviously I had missed the point the first time around but I eventually figured out why. I had read the book as a teenager who was longing for life to happen. Even though the things and events and objects of Things are shown to be meaningless and empty, they were still more colourful and exiting than my life was at that time.

Perec absolutely nails that lust for experience, for stuff and for status, and I think I responded to the feeling of longing for fulfillment as much as anything else. I'm glad I took the time to re-read Things because the experience was so much richer the second time around. It made me think about life and society and experiences and relationships. Read this book: if you feel ponderous, and if you want to feel refreshed.

Perec is most famous for having written an entire novel without using the letter E (A Void). What I think is even more of a head-fuck is that the English translation I have has also been written entirely without the letter E. I am looking forward to reading it sometime in the next few months, after a break from my bout of Perec-a-palooza.

Bon Apetit

My first ever post on one of the 52 books I have pledged to read as part of The Classics Club is a bit of a cheat. I couldn't resist; ever since I baked a cake and handed it in to my tutor instead of writing an essay, I have delighted in breaking rules. So the first book is not exactly what I would consider a classic, but I have a really good reason for letting it slip through the Classic Definer Net of Criteria, which I will explain. But first: what is the book?

My Life in France by Julia Child. The book is a memoir of a time in Child's life when she was creating what I do consider a classic: Mastering The Art of French Cooking, and that is why I have let it slip through. I have dipped into Mastering while reading My Life in France and quite enjoyed the added context the biography gives the cookbook.

What I have loved so much about My Life in France is that it is a joyful, inspiring and exciting read. Child's enthusiasm for her discoveries is palpable and invigorating. My Life in France is a story about a mind awakening, horizons expanding, and passions and direction in life being discovered. It is utterly heartwarming and reassuring to know that it really can happen to a person at any age.

It ramped up my own enthusiasim for food, cooking and eating (always fairly high to begin with). I have slowed my reading pace in order to peruse more deeply than normal several books on my groaning recipe book shelves, including Jamie's Great Britain (Jamie Oliver) and Four Seasons Cookery Book (Margaret Costa). This has been a wonderfully pleasurable and informative experience, and I wouldn't have thought to do it if I hadn't been reading My Life in France.

So, if one chooses to define a classic as a book that can make you think deeply about a topic, and open you mind to new ideas and possibilities then My Life in France most assuredly counts as a classic. And if if one chooses to see a classic as a book that has been engaged with multiple times and in multiple ways, you could equally use this definition to include My Life in France in a list of classics. I whole heartedly give this book five sticks of butter out of five.