Book of the Fortnight, no. ?

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again...

Got it yet?

I'll give you another clue: Mrs Danvers.

For many, the title of this book will have been evident from the first line alone; the opening sentence of Rebecca must be one of the most recognisable in the history of English literature, bested, perhaps, only by "Reader, I married him" and "It is a truth universally accepted that a single man, being in possession of a fortune, must be in want of a wife" (name those books!). Somehow, this sentence has succeeded in permeating the national consciousness in a way that few other have. The character of Mrs Danvers, too, is instantly recognisable. Actual contemporary situations, too, are compared to that of the second Mrs De Winter living under the psychological shadow of Rebecca. And yet, many have never read the book; until last week, I was one of them.

I have a slight issue with so-called classic books. The way their reputation precedes them is, at times, forbidding; it takes a certain amount of courage, or persuasion, to tackle one. At university, I took three different modules just to make myself read certain things, most of which I enjoyed when I got to them. Reading the Iliad, the Odyssey and the Aeneid for Classical Literature 1A, for example, broke the mystique surrounding ancient literature and gave me the nerve to pick up Ovid's Metamorphoses, which I read in ten-minute chunks on trams around Grenoble, a treatment it lent itself particularly well to. Intellectual History made me read Plato and Cicero and Aristotle, St Augustine and Thomas More. I enjoyed that somewhat less, possibly because of the way the course was structured- City of God in one week, anyone? No, thought not.

I am a great believer in public libraries, but it's easy to borrow a book. Once you get it home, though, there's no pressure to read it. And so, just after Christmas, I bought a copy of Rebecca as part of a three-for-two offer at Waterstones. If I've bought it, you see, I have to read it, otherwise it would be a great waste. Yes, you see, it's that self-guilt-tripping thing again. It works, though, you know.

Anyway, I'm very glad I did. Rebecca is a truly wonderful book; in spite of its gothic novellish tendencies, it stays just the right side of melodrama and remains firmly within the bounds of reality. There are no ghosts, and Mrs Danvers is not a monster, at least not in the Frankenstein sense of the word; the nameless Mrs De Winter is terrorised by a falsified idea based on a misunderstanding, not by ghouls and spectres. The reader, looking in from the outside, sees Mrs De Winter fall into a psychological trap from which she cannot escape, caused not by explicit lies but by concealed truths, helped along by the peculiar behaviour of a clearly psychotic housekeeper. Rebecca is in some respects a very modern book, ahead of its time. Du Maurier's decision not to name the second Mrs De Winter is a very clever plot device; at the beginning of the book her reasons for doing this are not clear, but by the end, it is difficult to imagine what the heroine could have been called without the book losing something.

Off back to the cupboard now to check for skeletons and psychotic housekeepers.

Book of the Fortnight, No. 3

I'm a few days behind, yet again (EDIT: nearly a fortnight behind, because the internets ate this post and I hadn't realised it wasn't published). One of the problems with unemployment, actually, is that you lose track of what day it is, what week it is and the like, and so your perception of weeks, fortnights and the like becomes more flexible.



Then again, maybe I'm just lazy and/or forgetful and should stop making excuses. Bad Dobby.



This fortnight's book was nearly another history one, but I've decided to spare you a post on methodology and the interdisciplinary approach for now. Instead, I re-read (yes, re-reading counts, as long as the book merits it) The Hiding Place by Corrie ten Boom, an autobiographical account of the author's experiences sheltering Jews in occupied Holland, for which she was eventually arrested and sent to the Ravensbruck concentration camp.



The most startling aspect of the book is the remarkable faith demonstrated by Corrie and her sisters, devout Christians who based their decisions on prayer and reading the Bible. The tone of the book is perhaps a little too evangelistic for some tastes, almost bodering on hagiography when ten Boom talks of her sister, Betsie, who died in Ravensbruck, but the overwhelming impression is one of sincerity and true conviction. The book issues an unspoken challenge to believers to truly put their trust in God; so many of Corrie's actions appear courageous to the point of recklessness, but the strength of her faith meant she was certain that everything would work out for the best.



Amazon informs me that there is both a prequel and a sequel to this book available these days. I'll have to see if the library has them.

Book of the Fortnight, No. 2

Once again, I seem to be running a bit late, but better late than never, right?

This fortnight's book is Isabella: She-wolf of France, Queen of England by Alison Weir. Yes, it's a history book...well, all that education needs to serve some purpose, seeing as up until now it's not managed to get me a job. It looks like quite a long book, but actually, a good quarter of it is notes and references at the end. It's quite satisfying to finish an "educational" book sooner than you expect, even if you are enjoying it. The book also has two picture sections, as this kind of history-for-everyone book often does, which makes for a little light relief part way through.

Anyway (I should stop starting paragraphs with anyway). (I should probably stop using quite so many brackets, too). The subject of the book- Isabella, oddly enough- was the wife of Edward II, who, to all intents and purposes, was A Bit Of A Numpty. Her popular reputation is that of General Evil Queen Type Woman, mainly because of stuff Christopher Marlowe wrote about her 200-odd years after her death. See, spin is nothing new. She's also That French Tart In Braveheart- see, I was sure you'd have come across her before! Alison Weir is one of the "great three" female writers of historical biographies of medival women (yes, yes, I know, it's a very small field..) alongside Antonia Fraser and Anne Somerset, all of whom write books that are very, very readable. Philippa Gregory also deserves a mention here- although she writes fiction it's very well researched, and by 'eck, her books are good (this last phrase should be imagined in the voice of Wallace from Wallace and Gromit. Thank you.)

Anyway (see, I did it again!) (AND the brackets). Isabella kept me occupied for three hours in Lancaster train station, which seriously takes some doing. I really don't like that place, I seem to spend half my life stuck there, and very few things can distract me from clock-watching every time I end up there. I only flicked through to look at the pictures once. If you've never tried reading a history book, this might be a good place to start- and if you don't know what happens, so much the better, that way there's suspense too!

Next book in a fortnight's time. I'd better get going, there are so many books in my cupboard at the moment that I barely fit in it.