The Illustrated Golden Bough | Sir James George Fraser #Readalong

Given the ridiculous amount of books I have on the go at the moment, the idea of starting yet another, seems rather ridiculous. But I struggle to pass up any opportunity to join a readalong at the best of times, but when it also means reading along with Jean and Cleo, then how could I possibly resist!

Jean @Howling Frog is hosting the spontaneous readalong in question. Part of the appeal is the lack of firm reading dates. Jean and Cleo plan to read 2-3 chapters a week, however my edition is The Illustrated Golden Bough: A Study in Magic and Religion. It's not only full of pretty colour pictures, but it's also the abridged version with only 221 pages (plus indexes).

First published in 1890 in two volumes (then three volumes in 1900 and finally a whooping twelve volumes in 1906-15), my one volume edition was published in 1996 with eleven chapters. Which means that my edition does not have the chapter on the crucifixion (that Fraser removed from subsequent editions after being criticised for including a Christian story in his comparative study of myths and pagan rituals and religions). A disappointing fact, that may lead me to search out the missing chapter online somewhere, to round out my reading journey. 

(I have found the Project Gutenberg ebook here).

I've now had The Golden Bough lurking on my bookshelves since the year 2000. I started reading it back then, but my interest fizzled out part way through. I'm hoping that Jean and Cleo can help me finally finish this book.

Frazer was born in 1854 in Scotland. He was a social anthropologist. His work describes the three stages of human belief from primitive magic to religion to reason & science. He said,

Books like mine, merely speculation, will be superseded sooner or later (the sooner the better for the sake of truth) by better induction based on fuller knowledge."

His critics were not only upset by the inclusion of the Christian story, but one Edmund Leach, "one of the most impatient critics of Frazer's overblown prose and literary embellishment of his sources for dramatic effect" said that,

Frazer used his ethnographic evidence, which he culled from here, there and everywhere, to illustrate propositions which he had arrived at in advance by a priori reasoning, but, to a degree which is often quite startling, whenever the evidence did not fit he simply altered the evidence!

Frazer was a social anthropologist interested in speculative human psychology; Leach (1910-1989) was a social anthropologist interested in functionalism and kinship structures. As Frazer predicted, his ideas were superseded by newer, modern methods of reasoning and science. Many of Frazer's ideas may now be outdated, but the conversation had to start somewhere.

I'm curious to see what he has to say. 

As a frustrated amateur anthropologist from way back, I feel that I should warn Jean and Cleo that I'm about to enter into a topic and subject matter that I have been known to obsess over ad nauseam. Blogger beware!

My first caveat is that I'm not always convinced by the idea of continual progress dressed up as a positive forward march for all humankind. Evolution, change and adaptation - yes, by all means - but it's not necessarily superior or better; it's just different - a sign of modification and acclimatisation - not ascendancy. 

My other bias is that I view all religion as part of our human urge to create a life narrative - a story that seeks to satisfy our need to ascribe our lives with a higher meaning and purpose. We're all looking for something bigger than us, something to belong to that gives our lives significance. 

Thousands of years ago, the gods inhabited the heavens. They were powerful, unpredictable and not of this earth. Then, curiously, within about 500 yrs of each other, the main civilisations on this planet at that time, all grew tired of these distant, uncaring, demanding gods and turned to something, or someone closer to home. Jesus, Buddha and Mohammad changed the spiritual narrative into a more personal one. It became a story about people, here on earth, with human frailty and flaws as well as the potential for goodness and kindness and altruism. 

Some wonderful stories have grown out of these traditions, but so too, have many poor ones. Ones that no longer serve us well. In the end, though, it's whatever works for you. You have to find the story that gives your life significance. Just don't try to convince me that your story is somehow better than any other story. Like all stories, some people are into it and some aren't. Some win awards and some don't. Some are hidden gems and some would probably be better if they got pulped. Trying to convince anyone that your story is more right than any other, will only lead to discontent, vexation and hostility.

That's the personal predisposition I bring with me whenever I delve into the topic of myth, magic and religion.

I'm extremely curious. I don't feel it necessary to believe any of it. My lens is impersonal and pragmatic. I'm like an interested outsider, looking in, trying to understand how something works and what it looks like in practice. I'm looking for the patterns, the rituals & rites, and the timelines. But mostly, I'm looking for the reason why. 

I'm endlessly fascinated by the stories we tell ourselves. What do they reveal about the times in which we live, what need do they fulfil, how are these stories used (for good and for evil) and how do these stories get converted into our daily routines and practice? 

Post-Introduction update:

• I should have read the Intro by Robert Temple before publishing this post.
• He posits a kinder way of viewing Frazer's work than did Leach.
• Temple clarifies Frazer's anthropological position as an interest in taboos and totemism.
• He believes that Frazer took 'the grand view' surveying 'world history as a whole'.
• Temple saw Frazer's ability to 'change his hypothesis if he saw it to be inadequate' as one of two 'exemplary characteristics.' The other being his 'disregard for excessive specialisation'. 
• He concluded with, 'Frazer was essentially a nineteenth-century thinker, and approaches to social anthropology have changed....some of his views are no longer compatible with current thinking. However (his work) remains a vital part of cultural history. It is a unique archive and work of literature, and Frazer's splendid prose style is a pleasure to read.'
• A far more generous appraisal of The Golden Bough and Frazer, I'm sure you will agree.

The Conquest of Plassans | Émile Zola #FRAclassic

La Conquête de Plassans, or The Conquest of Plassans (1874) is the fourth novel in Émile Zola's twenty-volume Rougon-Macquart series that I have been reading with Fanda for #Zoladdiction. My Oxford World's Classics 2014 edition is translated by Helen Constantine and has an Introduction by *Patrick McGuinness. He reminded me that,

Like all of Zola's fiction, (The Conquest of Plassans) is also a novel of human truth told with drama, symbolism, lyricism, and imaginative power.

It's set between 1858 and 1864, straight after the events in the very first book, The Fortune of the Rougons. The central drama follows the political machinations of the Catholic Church and the Second Empire against the disaffected rural provinces. A topic, I confess I knew very little about. Even Wikipedia acknowledges the difficulty for modern readers with this now little-known historical period.

Although the novel does assume in its readers a degree of familiarity with the battle between clerical political interests and governmental influence in the provincial towns of the Second Empire - knowledge which Zola's contemporary readers would certainly have taken for granted, but which seems obscure and almost arcane now - its strength lies not in its politics but in its human drama. On the face of it this could have been a relatively dull series of political observations, but instead by the end it is almost a melodrama, such is the anticlerical fury which Zola instils in his work.

To help me get my head around all the French Empires and Republics, I created my own little timeline below.

• Kingdom of France 987 - 1872
• First Republic 1872 - 1804 
• Napoléon Bonaparte
• First Empire 1804 - 1815 
• Napoléon I
• Bourbon Restoration 1815 - 1830 
• Louis XVIII (1814-1824) 
• Charles X (1824-1830)
• July Monarchy 1830 - 1848
• Louis Philippe I
• Second Republic 1848 - 1852 
• President Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte
• Second French Empire 1852 - 1870 
• Napoleon III
• Third Republic 1870 - 1940 
• Vichy Government 1940 - 1944 
• Philippe Pétain
• Provisional Government of the French Republic 1944 - 1946 
• Charles de Gaulle
• Fourth Republic 1946 - 1958
• Fifth Republic 1958 - present

Plassans is now in the hands of the Rougon family as we saw in the first book. They are Bonapartists. The bloody nature of his succession, with all it's betrayals and double-dealing, left a bad taste in the mouth of the locals. As this story begins in 1858, the Legitimists (or Royalists) have political favour.

Abbé Faujas', the new man in town (and surely the epitome of literary stranger danger), has his own self-interests at heart. As does Félicité Rougon, the matriarch of the family and the unofficial ruler of Plassans. She may appear to be helping him, but Bonapartist or not, if he gets in her way, she will do everything in her power to come out on top. Félicité is clearly in it for the long game.

Faujas has been enlisted, by a shadowy group of Bonapartists in Paris, to bring Plassans to heel. Le Petit Napoleon was not popular in the countryside after the violent 1851 coup d état although every effort was made to turn this opinion around. The Catholic Church and it's priests are shown here, to be as political, ambitious and lusting for power as the next man. Zola shines a light on religious hypocrisy and power plays and reveals the toxic mix of small town gossip and self-serving intrigues.

It's a heady mix of dastardly deeds, hysteria and madness.

The cover illustration, The Orange Trees, or The Artists Brother in His Garden, 1878 by Gustave Caillebotte is a very appropriate choice given the amount of time our characters spend in the back garden. 

The story begins with Mouret enjoying his garden of Eden-style space, pottering around in his vegetable and herb garden, picking fruit. It's a safe haven for his children to play in. On either side are two opposing political families - on the right are the rich Rastoil's with a pretentious English-style garden and on the left, the family of the sub-prefect, Péqueur des Saulaies with a carpet of rolling grass and a pond. The Rastoil's are Legitimists and the sub-prefect and his friends are 'bigwigs of the Empire.' Mouret is probably a Republican (like Zola), but prefers not to get caught up in the politicking.

Abbé Faujas, our very own snake in the grass, is very interested in what's happening in both gardens.

The Artist's Garden at Vétheuil | Claude Monet | 1881

As Faujas' influence grows, he uses the intermediary garden to bring together the two different groups. As he spends more time in the garden, Mouret spends less and less, isolating himself in his room instead. The addition of Faujas' sister and brother-in-law, Trouche, hasten the disintegration of Mouret's family life...and his mind. Slugs not only attack his lettuces but his peace of mind. And when Trouche takes over the garden, pulling up all the vegetables and fruit trees to create a vulgar flower show, we see this as sign of Mouret's fall from grace.

It is symbolic, and rather satisfying, that Mouret uses remnants of this showy garden as a catalyst for his last dramatic and fiery act. The garden of Eden becomes an apocalyptic fire of Hell. A Zola-esque form of purification has occurred on this troubled site.

Faujas was deliberately created by Zola to be misogynistic. Early on he says to Marthe, Mouret's wife and cousin, (she is a descendant of the legitimate Rougon line, while Mouret is part of the less than salubrious Macquart branch of the family) "you are like all women, even the noblest causes are ruined when they get hold of them."

Yet Marthe succumbs to religious fanaticism anyway, although it's often hard to tell if her fervour is for God or for Faujas. As she becomes more caught up in her religiosity, her family life suffers. The house falls into disrepair, domestic duties are ignored and eventually all her children leave or are farmed out to others.

The Mouret's decaying marriage is also another example of Zola's fixation on genetic dysfunction. This is not a genetically healthy family and when two cousins from the two different branches come together, it is sure to be disastrous. The youngest Mouret daughter is feeble-minded, but that's not enough for Zola. He throws a rat into this seemingly happy existence, to see what these characters will do.

And what they do, is unravel, rather magnificently into madness and illness. Imperfection or flaws are not enough for Zola. Natural determinism is what he is really exploring, and whether or not an individual can rise above their genetic makeup. Zola clearly believes they can't. Even though, he draws the Mouret family sympathetically (the Simpsons of the Second Empire!) they are doomed to suffer the same fate as the rest of the extended family.

The Conquest of Plassans could have been a dry novel about politics and religion, instead Zola created a gripping, fascinating insight into a period of time long gone. That time may be long gone, but our world is still suffering from the same kinds of intrigues and machinations. Except now it is faith-based initiatives being used to drive government policy across the globe, supposedly in the name of God, but really just about power and money.

Zola wrote about his time in history, but his books are now considered classics because they can still have the power to speak to us, 150 years later.

• La Fortune des Rougon (1871)
• La Curée (1871–2) The Kill
• Le Ventre de Paris (1873) The Belly of Paris
• La Conquête de Plassans (1874)
• Nana (1880)
• Germinal (1885)

The Three Questions | Leo Tolstoy #ShortStory

As part of our year long readalong of War and Peace (it's not too late to join!), Nick has selected a number of Tolstoy's short stories and essays to make our 361 chapter book stretch to 366 days.

At the end of Volume 1, we have the first such extension read. Perfectly timed, too, I have to say Nick!

In the final pages of this section, Prince Andrey is pondering the nature of life and death after being wounded at the battle of Austerlitz. He says,

How good it would be to know where to seek for help in this life, and what to expect after it beyond the grave! How happy and calm I should be if I could now say: ‘Lord, have mercy on me!’... But to whom should I say that? Either to a Power indefinable, incomprehensible, which I not only cannot address but which I cannot even express in words—the Great All or Nothing-” said he to himself, “or to that God who has been sewn into this amulet by Mary! There is nothing certain, nothing at all except the unimportance of everything I understand, and the greatness of something incomprehensible but all-important.                         Louise and Aylmer Maude translation

The Three Questions from What Men Live By, and Other Tales by Leo Tolstoy is a short parable about a king who also wants to know what is right, who to turn to for help and which way to go.

Because it is relatively short, I've included the complete story below as translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude.

It once occurred to a certain king that if he always knew the right time to begin everything; if he knew who were the right people to listen to, and whom to avoid; and, above all, if he always knew what was the most important thing to do, he would never fail in anything he might undertake. 

And this thought having occurred to him, he had it proclaimed throughout his kingdom that he would give a great reward to anyone who would teach him what was the right time for every action, and who were the most necessary people, and how he might know what was the most important thing to do. 

And learned men came to the king, but they all answered his questions differently.
In reply to the first question, some said that to know the right time for every action, one must draw up in advance a table of days, months, and years, and must live strictly according to it. Only thus, said they, could everything be done at its proper time. Others declared that it was impossible to decide beforehand the right time for every action, but that, not letting oneself be absorbed in idle pastimes, one should always attend to all that was going on, and then do what was most needful. Others, again, said that however attentive the king might be to what was going on, it was impossible for one man to decide correctly the right time for every action, but that he should have a council of wise men who would help him to fix the proper time for everything 

But then again others said there were some things which could not wait to be laid before a council, but about which one had at once to decide whether to undertake them or not. But in order to decide that, one must know beforehand what was going to happen. It is only magicians who know that; and, therefore, in order to know the right time for every action, one must consult magicians. 

Equally various were the answers to the second question. Some said the people the king most needed were his councilors; others, the priests; others, the doctors; while some said the warriors were the most necessary. 

To the third question, as to what was the most important occupation, some replied that the most important thing in the world was science. Others said it was skill in warfare; and others, again, that it was religious worship.

All the answers being different, the king agreed with none of them, and gave the reward to none. But still wishing to find the right answers to his questions, he decided to consult a hermit, widely renowned for his wisdom. 

The hermit lived in a wood which he never quitted, and he received none but common folk. So the king put on simple clothes and, before reaching the hermit’s cell, dismounted from his horse. Leaving his bodyguard behind, he went on alone. 

When the king approached, the hermit was digging the ground in front of his hut. Seeing the king, he greeted him and went on digging. The hermit was frail and weak, and each time he stuck his spade into the ground and turned a little earth, he breathed heavily.
The king went up to him and said: “I have come to you, wise hermit, to ask you to answer three questions: How can I learn to do the right thing at the right time? Who are the people I most need, and to whom should I, therefore, pay more attention than to the rest? And, what affairs are the most important and need my first attention?” 

The hermit listened to the king, but answered nothing. He just spat on his hand and recommenced digging. 

Vincent Van Gogh |Bauern Bei der Arbeit | 1890

“You are tired,” said the king, “let me take the spade and work awhile for you.”
“Thanks!” said the hermit, and, giving the spade to the king, he sat down on the ground.
When he had dug two beds, the king stopped and repeated his questions. The hermit again gave no answer, but rose, stretched out his hand for the spade, and said:
“Now rest awhile – and let me work a bit.”

But the king did not give him the spade, and continued to dig. One hour passed, and another. The sun began to sink behind the trees, and the king at last stuck the spade into the ground, and said: “I came to you, wise man, for an answer to my questions. If you can give me none, tell me so, and I will return home.” 

“Here comes someone running,” said the hermit. “Let us see who it is.” 

The king turned round and saw a bearded man come running out of the wood. The man held his hands pressed against his stomach, and blood was flowing from under them. When he reached the king, he fell fainting on the ground, moaning feebly. The king and the hermit unfastened the man’s clothing. There was a large wound in his stomach. The king washed it as best he could, and bandaged it with his handkerchief and with a towel the hermit had. But the blood would not stop flowing, and the king again and again removed the bandage soaked with warm blood, and washed and re-bandaged the wound. When at last the blood ceased flowing, the man revived and asked for something to drink. The king brought fresh water and gave it to him. Meanwhile the sun had set, and it had become cool. So the king, with the hermit’s help, carried the wounded man into the hut and laid him on the bed. Lying on the bed, the man closed his eyes and was quiet; but the king was so tired from his walk and from the work he had done that he crouched down on the threshold, and also fell asleep – so soundly that he slept all through the short summer night.

When he awoke in the morning, it was long before he could remember where he was, or who was the strange bearded man lying on the bed and gazing intently at him with shining eyes. 

“Forgive me!” said the bearded man in a weak voice, when he saw that the king was awake and was looking at him.
“I do not know you, and have nothing to forgive you for,” said the king. 

“You do not know me, but I know you. I am that enemy of yours who swore to revenge himself on you, because you executed his brother and seized his property. I knew you had gone alone to see the hermit, and I resolved to kill you on your way back. But the day passed and you did not return. So I came out from my ambush to find you, and came upon your bodyguard, and they recognised me, and wounded me. I escaped from them, but should have bled to death had you not dressed my wound. I wished to kill you, and you have saved my life. Now, if I live, and if you wish it, I will serve you as your most faithful slave, and will bid my sons do the same. Forgive me!” 

The king was very glad to have made peace with his enemy so easily, and to have gained him for a friend, and he not only forgave him, but said he would send his servants and his own physician to attend him, and promised to restore his property. 

Having taken leave of the wounded man, the king went out into the porch and looked around for the hermit. Before going away he wished once more to beg an answer to the questions he had put. The hermit was outside, on his knees, sowing seeds in the beds that had been dug the day before.  

Bill Strain | "I've been sitting here all day, feeling like I need to apologize to someone." | 2010

The king approached him and said, “For the last time, I pray you to answer my questions, wise man.”

“You have already been answered!” said the hermit, still crouching on his thin legs, and looking up at the king, who stood before him.
“How answered? What do you mean?” asked the king. 

“Do you not see?” replied the hermit. “If you had not pitied my weakness yesterday, and had not dug these beds for me, but had gone your way, that man would have attacked you, and you would have repented of not having stayed with me. So the most important time was when you were digging the beds; and I was the most important man; and to do me good was your most important business. Afterwards, when that man ran to us, the most important time was when you were attending to him, for if you had not bound up his wounds he would have died without having made peace with you. So he was the most important man, and what you did for him was your most important business. Remember then: there is only one time that is important – now! It is the most important time because it is the only time when we have any power. The most necessary person is the one with whom you are, for no man knows whether he will ever have dealings with anyone else: and the most important affair is to do that person good, because for that purpose alone was man sent into this life.”

Prince Andrey certainly needs some lessons in living in the now, as well as appreciating those around him and dealing with what is in front of him, instead of fantasising about future possibilities for heroics for himself.

I understand that Tolstoy came at this story from a religious perspective, but the whole 'live in the now' message is such a Zen Buddhist one, that I wonder if he was also influenced by Eastern philosophies?

Naturally this led me to dig a little deeper.

The short answer is that Tolstoy was interested in philosophical questions from a young age. He delved into the works of Schopenhauer as well as Christian, Buddhist, Hindu and Taoist texts.

The long answer begins with a 19 yr old Tolstoy, hospitalised at Kazan (apparently for venereal disease) where he met a Buddhist monk who had been attacked and robbed. The story goes that Tolstoy was impressed by the monks principle of non-violence.

A growing dissatisfaction with the Russian Orthodox Church led him to formulate his own faith that focused on peace, harmony and unity. By the end of his life, he was a vegetarian, living an ascetic life. He believed that Christian churches were corrupting and falsifying the word of Christ. He was drawn to the teachings of Jesus, particularly the sermon on the mount, rather than any idea of a divinity or miracles.

Later in life, when he was trying to find answers to his many questions about life and it's meaning and purpose, he looked to science, but found that it asked even more questions. The scientific way of working on the finite, didn't bring Tolstoy any closer to his search for the infinite. Neither did the ancient philosophers.

In 1879, he published A Confession, where he attempted to study how the people in his social sphere managed this vexing question of existential angst.

I found that for people of my circle there were four ways out of the terrible position in which we are all placed. The first was that of ignorance. It consists in not knowing, not understanding, that life is an evil and an absurdity. From [people of this sort] I had nothing to learn — one cannot cease to know what one does know. 

The second way out is epicureanism. It consists, while knowing the hopelessness of life, in making use meanwhile of the advantages one has, disregarding the dragon and the mice, and licking the honey in the best way, especially if there is much of it within reach… That is the way in which the majority of people of our circle make life possible for themselves. Their circumstances furnish them with more of welfare than of hardship, and their moral dullness makes it possible for them to forget that the advantage of their position is accidental … and that the accident that has today made me a Solomon may tomorrow make me a Solomon’s slave. The dullness of these people’s imagination enables them to forget the things that gave Buddha no peace — the inevitability of sickness, old age, and death, which today or tomorrow will destroy all these pleasures. 

The third escape is that of strength and energy. It consists in destroying life, when one has understood that it is an evil and an absurdity. A few exceptionally strong and consistent people act so. Having understood the stupidity of the joke that has been played on them, and having understood that it is better to be dead than to be alive, and that it is best of all not to exist, they act accordingly and promptly end this stupid joke, since there are means: a rope round one’s neck, water, a knife to stick into one’s heart, or the trains on the railways; and the number of those of our circle who act in this way becomes greater and greater, and for the most part they act so at the best time of their life, when the strength of their mind is in full bloom and few habits degrading to the mind have as yet been acquired… 

The fourth way out is that of weakness. It consists in seeing the truth of the situation and yet clinging to life, knowing in advance that nothing can come of it. People of this kind know that death is better than life, but not having the strength to act rationally — to end the deception quickly and kill themselves — they seem to wait for something. This is the escape of weakness, for if I know what is best and it is within my power, why not yield to what is best? … The fourth way was to live like Solomon and Schopenhauer — knowing that life is a stupid joke played upon us, and still to go on living, washing oneself, dressing, dining, talking, and even writing books. This was to me repulsive and tormenting, but I remained in that position.

It's curious to see that, just like Herman Melville in the US and Charles Darwin in the UK, Tolstoy was wracked by the same existential doubt and insecurity. In their modern world, teeming with scientific discoveries, these highly educated men struggled to find a way to live a meaningful, purposeful life, that didn't involve the strict (and often hypocritical) doctrines of their childhood religions or a belief in a supreme being.

Rational knowledge presented by the learned and wise, denies the meaning of life, but the enormous masses of men, the whole of mankind receive that meaning in irrational knowledge. And that irrational knowledge is faith, that very thing which I could not but reject. It is God, One in Three; the creation in six days; the devils and angels, and all the rest that I cannot accept as long as I retain my reason. 

My position was terrible. I knew I could find nothing along the path of reasonable knowledge except a denial of life; and there — in faith — was nothing but a denial of reason, which was yet more impossible for me than a denial of life.... 

And I understood that, however irrational and distorted might be the replies given by faith, they have this advantage, that they introduce into every answer a relation between the finite and the infinite, without which there can be no solution. 

So that besides rational knowledge, which had seemed to me the only knowledge, I was inevitably brought to acknowledge that all live humanity has another irrational knowledge — faith which makes it possible to live. Faith still remained to me as irrational as it was before, but I could not but admit that it alone gives mankind a reply to the questions of life, and that consequently it makes life possible.

Tolstoy found his way through the quagmire by differentiating between faith and religion. His faith incorporated man-made philosophies from all around the world.
So, yes, the Buddhist ideas intermingled in this parable are there deliberately and by choice.

There is also a children's picture book by Jon J. Muth (most well-known for his picture book Zen Shorts) based on this tale. He uses a young boy, various animals and the weather to explore the three questions and their answers. He clearly arrives at

• The only important time is now. 
• The most important one is always the one you are with. 
• The most important thing is to do good for the one standing at your side.

I can highly recommend Muth's picture books if you are looking for a way to discuss these big ideas with young children.

Midwinter Break by Bernard MacLaverty

I picked Midwinter Break from my TBR pile to read for Cathy @746Books #ReadIreland18 month. It is a staff pick at work thanks to one of my colleagues, so I was looking forward to it. But I failed to engage.

There was lots to like about the story. I enjoyed the time that Stella and Gerry had wandering around Amsterdam. I enjoyed their cute couple moments - the kiss in the lift, the little in-jokes and intimacies that can only occur over time and with love. It was sad seeing this obvious once-love being destroyed by Gerry's alcoholism.

He wasn't an abusive, violent drunk. There was no need to be scared of Gerry or to fear him. He was a bumbling, deceptive, in-denial drunk. He was sloppy and mocking and selfish.

It was interesting to see how the major event in their marriage - Stella being shot whilst pregnant - was a turning point for all of them, in such different ways. After she had recovered, and the baby survived as well, they made the decision together to leave Ireland for the safer option of Scotland. However, at the time of the shooting, Stella vowed and said a prayer,

Spare the child in my womb and I will devote the rest of my life to YOU.

She viewed the survival of her son as a miracle that had to be atoned - a spiritual debt that had to be repaid - by good deeds, to improve the world through kindness and justice and equality.

Gerry simply saw Stella's survival and the birth of Michael as the miracle,

To him her presence was as important as the world. And the stars around it. If she was an instance of the goodness in this world then passing through by her side was miracle enough.

The tragedy being that he was just pissing all that goodness away.

Normally I don't mind jumps between various times and events, but it felt clumsy here. I kept losing my way. And the very worse thing that can happen to me when reading a book happened at the half way mark - I realised I was bored.

I skimmed through the last half hoping for my very own bookish miracle, but it failed to recapture my imagination.

Sad, but true.

#begorrathon18
#ReadIreland18

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Before Thomas Thwaites dreamed up the idea of being a GoatMan and before Peter Wohlleben communed with the trees in Germany, Frances Hodgson Burnett gave us the original back to nature, talk with the animals, boy child, Dickon.

Dickon is a kindred spirit to all the creatures that live on the moors. He mothers orphaned lambs and squirrels, talks to the robins and is followed around by a fox cub. He grows the best herbs and vegetables to feed his large family and he has the sunniest, most positive disposition of any human I've ever known!

He is too good to be true.

Mary and Colin are not.

Two more self-indulged, self-involved, selfish children you will not find anywhere.

The Magic of the garden and Dickon's influence changes all that though.

And there you have The Secret Garden in a nutshell.

My lovely Penguin Threads edition was designed by Jillian Tamaki. It's hand-stitched, then sculpt-embossed - front and back - to create a gorgeous tactile, aesthetically pleasing cover. I confess, the cover, ultimately, had more lasting appeal than the story.

The Secret Garden is one of those books I was sure that I had read as a child, but as the years went by I felt less and less certain about this. I knew what the book was about in general, but it didn't feel familiar or known.

Now that I have really and truly read it, I'm pretty sure that this was my first time.

The Indian section at the start and the finding of the garden were vaguely familiar, but I suspect I gave up on the book as a kid at this point. As an adult I loved the descriptions of the moors and the garden coming to life after winter, but as a kid I would have got bogged down by the exuberant and somewhat excessive garden love.

The preachy part of Burnett's voice, I could push into the background as an adult, but as a child, her obvious attempts to tell me how to be a good child got up my nose!

My thoughts and feelings about this book are more ambiguous now.

As an adult I could appreciate Burnett's use of perspective and how this led to her character's developing self-awareness and personal growth.

I thoroughly enjoyed the early sections that read like a homesick homage to English weather and seasons. I loved how she explored the healing nature of nature. I loved learning about 'wuthering' and the Yorkshire moors (a lovely nod to the Bronte's, I thought). The smells and textures and sounds of the moors were described beautifully - she made me want to go a wandering across the heather on the misty morn.

I was pleased to see an unlovely, unlikable, spoilt child as protagonist.

I felt uncomfortable with the racist attitudes towards the Indians, but could accept them as being of their times, reflecting the attitudes and assumptions of Victorian England. I felt a little weird about the miraculous cure of Colin, but of course, the only real malady he suffered from was hypochondria.

Mrs Sowerby, Dickon's mother, was a lovely, warm, generous character, but she also felt too good to be true most of the time. A mother of 12, living on the edge of the Yorkshire moors in grinding poverty being so cheerful and helpful and wholesome? Really?

I very definitely felt that the heavy handed 'magical' parable that the ending morphed into was evangelical and prissy. The only 'magic' involved in this story though, is the magic of mother nature doing her thing in the garden and some children discovering that keeping busy and active is better for you than sitting around bemoaning your aches and pains and only thinking about yourself. I'm not sure how this book has ended up with a magical realism tag in wikipedia.

I have since found out that Burnett embraced the tenets of Christian Science which believes that illness is an illusion that can only be cured by prayers. She also dabbled in the occult after the death of her son, Lionel. We can read The Secret Garden as being a tribute to Lionel and as a way for her to work through her depression and grief.

This explains the strong element of 'healing' via nature and 'beautiful thought', as Burnett called it, throughout the book.

I'm the first to acknowledge that being in nature and thinking positive thoughts are beneficial to one's health and well-being. A lovely story could have been crafted with this idea in mind. Colin's smug Magic lectures at the end could have happily been left out.

How did you find The Secret Garden when you reread as an adult?

The Tragedy of the Korosko by Arthur Conan Doyle

I first discovered that Arthur Conan Doyle had written books other than his Sherlock Holmes ones earlier this year when Carol @Journey and Destination reviewed The Tragedy of the Korosko.

It's a contemporary (for Doyle) fiction full of high drama and tension with political undertones. Global communities, religious freedom and personal responsibility are debated by Doyle's characters, with the fairly predictable 'winner' being good old England and Christianity.

First published in 1898, it follows the trials and tribulations of a group of very Victorian tourists cruising down the Nile who suddenly find themselves kidnapped by a group of 'desert warriors'.

Doyle captures the fear of the kidnapped group as they are led through the desert on camels perfectly. You can almost taste the sand and feel the heat and thirst.

Some reviewers have commented on the offensive racial stereotyping that Doyle's characters resort to, making allowances for the attitude of the times but calling it dated.

However, as I was reading these comments I couldn't help but note that the comments were far from dated. Yes, they were offensive and ignorant, but similar comments have been spouted in much more recent times by US Presidential hopefuls, Australian senators and too many newspapers and shock jocks to mention. These stereotypes and racial profiling comments are all too modern, and sadly, only serve to highlight how little the world has actually changed in over a hundred years.

The Tragedy of the Korosko is a quick, easy read with a fabulous cover!

18/20 Books of Summer (winter)

Joan of Arc: The Story of Jehanne Darc by Lili Wilkinson

I haven't read anything about Joan since I studied George Bernard Shaw's Saint Joan for my HSC. I'm now tempted to reread the play as well as search out any other stories that fictionalise her life.

The facts that did exist about Joan's life are scarce and sometimes conflicting. They are now also so clouded in all sorts of religious mystery and fervour that the real Joan will probably never be fully realised ever again.

But that's part of what makes her story so fascinating generation after generation.

How did a poor, uneducated young girl from the country command her king's attention and then lead her country's army into battle against the English?

After reading Wilkinson's Joan of Arc I still don't really know the answer to that question.

But I'm not sure we ever will.

There are simply not enough primary sources.

Jehanne couldn't read or write and therefore left no personal journal or letters. Most of the testimony given by family and friends was done so twenty years after she died. Twenty years during which the facts of her real life could be revised and edited to fit into the rehabilitation process. Let alone what happened to the facts four hundred years later when the church decided to beatify her on the road to becoming a saint!

At the end of her fascinating, well researched bio for young people, Wilkinson says,

The extent of her involvement in the strategy and implementation of the battles is something that is hotly debated amongst historians. But the one thing they all agree on is that Joan inspired people. She inspired the French to fight back, when hope seemed lost.

How and why she did this may be obscured for all eternity.

One of Wilkinson's primary sources was the translated verbatim report on the proceedings of Joan's 1431 trial. This is available from the International Joan of Arc Society along with other links to papers and earlier works.

Have you read any other historical books about Joan that attempt to reveal her real life? I'd love to know where to continue my journey.

Louise @ A Strong Belief in Wicker listened to the audio version of this book here.

14/20 Books of summer (winter)

Jo's Boys by Louisa May Alcott

Jo's Boys is the final instalment in Louisa May Alcott's Little Women series.

It's an odd mix of nostalgia, religion and morality.

It's probably the least satisfying of the four stories, but somehow indispensable for its heart-warming conclusion.

We see our original little women all grown, married with children of their own. We see the little men approaching adulthood, establishing careers and falling in love.

Trials and tribulations are met with stoic understanding, forgiveness and patience. Mistakes are made, wrongs turns taken and embarrassments, small and large afflict all our favourites.

Throughout all, the comforts of family life, natural living and unswerving belief reigns supreme.

The morality tales are laid on pretty think in Jo's Boys and one gets the feeling that Alcott was keen to be done with the March family by the end of this book. The adult relationships are not as convincingly drawn as are those of her younger people, which alienates us a little from the grown-up Jo, Meg and Amy.

Jo's Boy's, perhaps more than the other three books, heavily reflects many of the events and philosophies of Alcott's own upbringing and life.
A chapter is devoted to the trials of being a famous writer and many sections discuss the rights of women and the purpose of education.

But, ultimately, like Alcott, we are relieved to come to the end of this sweet series. There were times when the sweetness was overdone and almost tipped over into preaching.
It was time to finally bid a fond farewell to these much loved characters.

My Little Women review
My Good Wives review
My Little Men review

This post is part of my Women's Classic Literature Challenge.

The Secret Chord by Geraldine Brooks

Fictionalised biographies are one of my favourite form of literature, and although the historical evidence for David and Solomon is very slight, there have been a couple of recent archaeological finds that suggests that a unified governing system was actually in place during this time in this particular region.

So few facts are a blessing for such a master storyteller as Brooks. She is able to weave a modern day story from the existing biblical tales about these two powerful men. She takes the rather black and white, straight up and down biblical versions of the David and Solomon stories and fleshes them out. She creates nuance, complexity and many, many shades of grey.

Instead of a simple parable about good and evil, The Secret Chord takes us on a journey to discover the man.
Early on David instructs his seer, Natan to document his rise to power. He doesn't just want to be a name in history, he desires "to be known as a man."

Part of the success here, is Brook's device of putting David's history into the hands of various 'witnesses' to retell. His mother provides s sympathetic view, his brother a less flattering version. His first wife shines a light on his character flaws and the power imbalance between men and women of that time. Another wife allows us to see his more thoughtful, generous side.

I thoroughly enjoyed this story, even as it highlighted just how volatile, factional and war-torn this area has been for thousand and thousands of years.

This post is part of #AusReadingMonth and the Australian Women Writers Challenge.