Hello, my dears! I think the occasion calls for a drumroll.
And perhaps some cymbals would be handy to show that the drumroll finished.
The grand news is... I have finished reading The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins! Alas, it has certainly been a long and arduous journey, and I guess that you've been a bit starved for quotes in bygone times - I admit it's not a terribly quotable book. But anyhow, I sat in bed this morning and devoured the last few chapters.
It starts beautifully, and in the opening chapters, the characters are vibrant and endearing, Pesca, especially, bouncing off the pages in a refreshingly tangible fashion. But somewhere in the following 400 pages, the tension drops so drastically that although the reader is aware of a mystery, the pace isn't quick enough to tighten the slackening thread. It's tolerable reading, every now and again peaking into a spike of renewed suspense, but overall not hugely exciting.
It gradually picks up, and in the last 200 pages or so, the narrative grows back to its original intrigue, until in the last 50 pages etcetera, it's frustratingly suspenseful. And the ending! Well, I think that ending is perfect, and left me with a sense that the whole trudging journey was completely worth while. I suppose it takes a great ending like that to sting you with how deeply you have connected with the characters without even knowing!
I think that the highlight of the book, though, is, pretty well without rival, the character of Count Fosco. I could not possibly describe him to you without snatching the words straight out of the book. Meeting him is really an experience that needs to be lived personally to be fully understood. I certainly don't have time to throw together even a revoltingly crude idea of him! He is horrible but so real, nearly nightmarishly real. Sickly sweet and intense, he is. Wow. I am really biting down the realisation of how incredible the experience was.
Alright, in a nut shell, the book as a whole was amazing, parts of the book were boring, the characters were brilliant, and The Moonstone, Wilkie's second book, is so much better.
Hm. Kind of contradictory.
Uuggh! I don't have the time to explain better! I'm going to get out Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy tomorrow after my exam block so that's obviously exciting. I just hope that even though it's iconic and sounds quirky, it doesn't end up as a face-plant into modern-literature vomit. I can't be bothered! On the bright side, though, the guy who plays Andrew Dent (the main character) in the movie, is Martin Freeman, the guy who plays Watson in the BBC series, Sherlock, and oh how I loved his portrayal of my favourite character! Anyway! Rambling! Time to go. Take care!
Showing posts with label the woman in white. Show all posts
Showing posts with label the woman in white. Show all posts
Monday, June 13
Saturday, May 21
Chalky Impressions
Clad in quiet black or gray gowns, made high round the throat - dresses that she would have laughed at, or screamed at, as the whim of the moment inclined her, in her maiden days - she sits speachless in corners; her dry white hands (so dry that the pore of her skin look chalky) incessantly engaged, either in monotonous embroidery work, or in rolling up endless little cigarettes for the Count's own particular smoking.
Marian Halcombe's narrative, Chapter Two, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Obviously, what I have shown you does not include an awful lot of description appearance wise, but even after this sentence, isn't is such a simple task to piece a picture together of what Countess Fosco would look like? Maybe even smell like? I am immediately repulsed by her. What does you look like to you?
N.B. Just a little wake up call that I feel is due - there haven't been any suggestions for out list of 100 Books to Read Before You Die for ages now. Surely you all have a book that you are passionate about? I don't want to fill up the entire list myself, although I will if you give me the chance!
Marian Halcombe's narrative, Chapter Two, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Obviously, what I have shown you does not include an awful lot of description appearance wise, but even after this sentence, isn't is such a simple task to piece a picture together of what Countess Fosco would look like? Maybe even smell like? I am immediately repulsed by her. What does you look like to you?
N.B. Just a little wake up call that I feel is due - there haven't been any suggestions for out list of 100 Books to Read Before You Die for ages now. Surely you all have a book that you are passionate about? I don't want to fill up the entire list myself, although I will if you give me the chance!
Wednesday, May 11
I've Been Duped!
I take it all back! Oh dear! I'm afraid I've been saying that The Woman in White isn't such a good book at all, but I've just come to a great and sudden revelation!
For 400 pages, I've trotted along through the story, thinking to myself, "well, this is terribly unexciting. When is something worth reading going to happen". Then, on page 420, I got it. Suddenly and painfully, the truth sprung out at me. I've been played! For 400 pages, wonderful Wilkie has been teasing - a move that might have lost some readers, but has claimed my respect and adoration with renewed fervour.
For 400 pages, I've been frustrated by the slowness and the pathetic...ness of certain characters. Well, I now know why. He wanted me to feel just like Marian Halcombe, the narrator at the time. She was in constant suspense, waiting for disaster, afraid for her sister's safety, distrustful of those about her. It was all a long, drawn out build up! I was made to feel just like the Marian, and now that the narrator has changed, and the danger is alive and active, I am emotionally involved on an intense level that I was completely unexpected. Well, he is a very smart one.
Eh bien, I am delighted that Wilkie has proved his ingenuity once again, I am still far from recommending. I honestly don't think that there are very many people who could stand the 400 pages of build up, however great the ultimate effects. Read The Moonstone and be delighted by the swiftest, most suspensesful and intriguing, witty and ingenious story line every woven by mortal mind!
For 400 pages, I've trotted along through the story, thinking to myself, "well, this is terribly unexciting. When is something worth reading going to happen". Then, on page 420, I got it. Suddenly and painfully, the truth sprung out at me. I've been played! For 400 pages, wonderful Wilkie has been teasing - a move that might have lost some readers, but has claimed my respect and adoration with renewed fervour.
For 400 pages, I've been frustrated by the slowness and the pathetic...ness of certain characters. Well, I now know why. He wanted me to feel just like Marian Halcombe, the narrator at the time. She was in constant suspense, waiting for disaster, afraid for her sister's safety, distrustful of those about her. It was all a long, drawn out build up! I was made to feel just like the Marian, and now that the narrator has changed, and the danger is alive and active, I am emotionally involved on an intense level that I was completely unexpected. Well, he is a very smart one.
Eh bien, I am delighted that Wilkie has proved his ingenuity once again, I am still far from recommending. I honestly don't think that there are very many people who could stand the 400 pages of build up, however great the ultimate effects. Read The Moonstone and be delighted by the swiftest, most suspensesful and intriguing, witty and ingenious story line every woven by mortal mind!
Sunday, May 8
No Doozy Here!
Drop by drop, I poured the profaning bitterness of this world's wisdom into that pure heart and that innocent mind, while every higher and better feeling within me recoiled from my miserable task. It is over now. She has learnt her hard, her inevitable lesson. The simple illusions of her girlhood are gone; and my hand has stripped them off. Better mine than his - that is all my consolation - better mine than his.
Chapter 11, 30th , The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Oh dear. I just realized how miserable and bitter this excerpt sounds without the context. I think that I'll have to give it to you before you get all upset and decide I'm much too depressing to waste time reading: Marian Halcombe's half sister, teenager Laura Fairlie, is about to be married off to Sir Percival Glyde, a man she does not love, even to the extent of disliking. Laura wants Marian to continue living with her, but Marian knows that whether or not they would have it this way, their lives will soon be changed for better or worse by the arrangement. As they soon find out, it is for much much worse. It's actually become quite upsetting. Like Wuthering Heights but without the big bang that makes you want to keep reading. What I am desperate for now is some definite action on the plot, but it's just not coming. It's definitely not Wilkie's strongest work. I think that The Woman in White is more like a 'getting the hang of it' type of book for him. It obviously has good ideas, but it's not a magnum opus like The Moonstone. Now that's a reall doozy of a book! Not at all like this! Anyway, I suppose that when I read this part (it was maybe a week ago that I actually read it), my thoughts were that the words used really emphasised a dismal abruptness that was very evocative. I also suppose that I want the book to end because I have some ideas for what I'd like to read next! How is your reading life at the moment?
Chapter 11, 30th , The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Oh dear. I just realized how miserable and bitter this excerpt sounds without the context. I think that I'll have to give it to you before you get all upset and decide I'm much too depressing to waste time reading: Marian Halcombe's half sister, teenager Laura Fairlie, is about to be married off to Sir Percival Glyde, a man she does not love, even to the extent of disliking. Laura wants Marian to continue living with her, but Marian knows that whether or not they would have it this way, their lives will soon be changed for better or worse by the arrangement. As they soon find out, it is for much much worse. It's actually become quite upsetting. Like Wuthering Heights but without the big bang that makes you want to keep reading. What I am desperate for now is some definite action on the plot, but it's just not coming. It's definitely not Wilkie's strongest work. I think that The Woman in White is more like a 'getting the hang of it' type of book for him. It obviously has good ideas, but it's not a magnum opus like The Moonstone. Now that's a reall doozy of a book! Not at all like this! Anyway, I suppose that when I read this part (it was maybe a week ago that I actually read it), my thoughts were that the words used really emphasised a dismal abruptness that was very evocative. I also suppose that I want the book to end because I have some ideas for what I'd like to read next! How is your reading life at the moment?
Monday, May 2
Dead Hopes
I have gotten quite a bit through The Woman in White at this stage in time, but thought I should share a short snippet that I enjoyed right back in the beginning. It goes like this:
The last word went like a bullet to ny heart. My arm lost all sensation of the hand that grasped it. I never moved and never spoke. The sharp autumn breeze that scattered the dead leaves at our feet, came as cold to me, on a sudden, as if my own mad hopes were dead leaves too, whirled away by the wind like the rest.
Chapter 5, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Did you pay proper attention to the last sentence? That last sentence is wonderful, and my only reason for thinking so is that it is crisp and cold and stirs a crisp, cold little image in my mind. Short and sharp. Deap hopes as dead leaves. You can see it, can't you? And it feels cold.
The last word went like a bullet to ny heart. My arm lost all sensation of the hand that grasped it. I never moved and never spoke. The sharp autumn breeze that scattered the dead leaves at our feet, came as cold to me, on a sudden, as if my own mad hopes were dead leaves too, whirled away by the wind like the rest.
Chapter 5, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins (published 1860).
Did you pay proper attention to the last sentence? That last sentence is wonderful, and my only reason for thinking so is that it is crisp and cold and stirs a crisp, cold little image in my mind. Short and sharp. Deap hopes as dead leaves. You can see it, can't you? And it feels cold.
Wednesday, April 27
Frustrated with Fairlie
There have been few times that I have been really truly utterly FRUSTRATED with a character. My first time was in Wuthering Heights, and I was exasperated with Linton Heathcliffe, to the extent that I wanted to scratch his sickly, pathetic eyes out with my fingernails! Even just remembering his little vile words, so full of death and revolting pride and blatant lack of even the tiniest drop of empathy, and I want to clench my fists. Good on Emily Bronte for getting me so emotionally involved. And now, my second and last time to be frustrated, I am hardly involved in The Woman in White at all, (I've been thinking of other things), and I feel that Mr. Fairlie is just the most miserly, pathetic, grovelling old dirtbag ever brought to life! Oh I hate him! I'm sorry, but I really needed to unload some exsasperation!
Tuesday, April 26
An Incredibly Encouraging Scribble
Well tonight my dears, the internet for my laptop, Herbie, is NOT WORKING, and I sincerely do not understand why. Therefore I am writing to you all from the family desktop, which is large, bright and fairly impersonal especially because it is nameless. The point that I am finally getting around to making is that what I would have liked to say was all plotted out on Herbie, and I cannot access it. So tonight I am "winging it", which is a whimsical new phrase I picked up which basically means "improvising". I came across this image a couple of days ago and was immediately interested. If you are at all like me at heart, it will give you shivers, too.
This, my dears, is an extract of the original manuscript of The Woman in White and what's more, it is in Wilkie Collins' handwriting. I think that this single sheet of script is a beautiful confirmation of the humanity of authors. I struggle with writing, and I used to always think that other writers didn't; that they were streaming with vital creative juices - never faltering, always filled to bursting with names, places, phrases, words that bubbled from their consciences and splashed onto their notebooks. But it was a very 'candied' idea, that was. They are absolutely not like that at all. And here is proof. Great Wilkie Collins! Is that an entire sentence I see scribbled out?
This, my dears, is an extract of the original manuscript of The Woman in White and what's more, it is in Wilkie Collins' handwriting. I think that this single sheet of script is a beautiful confirmation of the humanity of authors. I struggle with writing, and I used to always think that other writers didn't; that they were streaming with vital creative juices - never faltering, always filled to bursting with names, places, phrases, words that bubbled from their consciences and splashed onto their notebooks. But it was a very 'candied' idea, that was. They are absolutely not like that at all. And here is proof. Great Wilkie Collins! Is that an entire sentence I see scribbled out?
Monday, April 25
Unforgettable Vegetable Moments
Mrs. Vesey looked the personification of human composure, and female amiability. A calm enjoyment of a calm enjoyment of a calm existence beamed in drowsy smiles on her plump, placid face. Some of us rush through life; and some of us saunter through life. Mrs. Vesey sat through life.
... it will always remain my private persuasion that Nature was absorbed in making cabbages when Mrs. Vesey was born, and that the good lady suffered the consequences of a vegetable preoccupation in the mind of the Mother of us all.
Chapter 8, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, (published 1860).
Which, besides making me smile and laugh a little at the harmless wit of Wilkie’s words, reminds me of something I noted as being very clever in another book. Give me a moment to fetch it from my shelf. This other book is one of my old favourites, bought from the grocery shop for $14 on a day that I felt like going with the flow (thus I also bought a chocolate bar). This other book is James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl, (1961). In Chapter 2 he wrote:
Aunt Sponge was enormously fat and very short. She had small piggy eyes, a sunken mouth, and one of those white flabby faces that looked exactly as though it had been boiled. She was like a great white soggy overboiled cabbage.
Another piece of word wizardry that as a kid stopped me short and made me think. Isn’t it just wonderful when somebody uses exactly the right thing to describe something, and you can’t help but stop and think… “yeah, that’s right – that’s exactly what it’s like”, and it’s so perfect that you burst out laughing and never forget it!
... it will always remain my private persuasion that Nature was absorbed in making cabbages when Mrs. Vesey was born, and that the good lady suffered the consequences of a vegetable preoccupation in the mind of the Mother of us all.
Chapter 8, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, (published 1860).
Which, besides making me smile and laugh a little at the harmless wit of Wilkie’s words, reminds me of something I noted as being very clever in another book. Give me a moment to fetch it from my shelf. This other book is one of my old favourites, bought from the grocery shop for $14 on a day that I felt like going with the flow (thus I also bought a chocolate bar). This other book is James and the Giant Peach by Roald Dahl, (1961). In Chapter 2 he wrote:
Aunt Sponge was enormously fat and very short. She had small piggy eyes, a sunken mouth, and one of those white flabby faces that looked exactly as though it had been boiled. She was like a great white soggy overboiled cabbage.
 |
| Original illustration of Aunt Sponge and Aunt Spiker by Quentin Blake |
Another piece of word wizardry that as a kid stopped me short and made me think. Isn’t it just wonderful when somebody uses exactly the right thing to describe something, and you can’t help but stop and think… “yeah, that’s right – that’s exactly what it’s like”, and it’s so perfect that you burst out laughing and never forget it!
Sunday, April 24
Bad Book Dreams
Well, I think the holidays are starting to get to me. I had this dream last night - in it I knew it was the last day of term, and I was sitting contentedly in my math classroom, waiting for the bell that never rang. Then I realized that everyone was leaving, so I got up and left too, but forgot my bag (which was red for some strange reason, rather than light blue). And when I finally noticed that I no longer had my bag, I went to look for it and couldn't find it anywhere, and so settled for taking a random travelling suitcase which looked just like mine (and actually was meant to be red), and left. I got home, and then was shocked to discover that my book had been in my bag, and my bag was lost, and I wasn't going to be able to read at all in the holidays, and it was just horrifying! Like that scene with the knife and the shower curtain and the peircing, repetitive music! Oh the horror! (I don't watch horror movies, by the way - I know this by watching a parody that involved Nick Park's plasticine sheep.)
Anyway, I woke up this morning, immediately clapped eyes on my book which was lying on the shelf less than a foot from my face, and was happy.
As Joan Didion said: "When I'm near the end of a book, I need to sleep in the same room with it." Well, I'm not too close to finishing The Woman in White any time soon, I guarantee you (something like 500 pages to go!), but I seem to have this need constantly. I wonder why...
Happy Easter to you all.
Anyway, I woke up this morning, immediately clapped eyes on my book which was lying on the shelf less than a foot from my face, and was happy.
As Joan Didion said: "When I'm near the end of a book, I need to sleep in the same room with it." Well, I'm not too close to finishing The Woman in White any time soon, I guarantee you (something like 500 pages to go!), but I seem to have this need constantly. I wonder why...
Happy Easter to you all.
Saturday, April 23
Whims and Wills of Wilkie Collins
I promised you all yesterday that today I would share a little about Wilkie Collins' "unique" style. I could go on and on trying to explain it intelligibly, or you can read his own explaination (extracted from the Preface and Chapter 1 of The Woman in White:
"The story of this book is told throughout by the characters of the book. They are all placed in different positions along the chain of events; and they all take the chain up in turn, and carry it on to the end." And later in Chapter 1, he adds "As the Jusge might once have heard it, so the Reader shall hear it now. No circumstance of importance, from the beginning to the end of the disclosure, shall be related on hearsay evidence. When his [Walter Hartwright's] experience fails, he will retire from the position of narrator; and his task will be continued, from the point at which he has left off, by other persons who can speak to the circumstances under notice from their own knowledge, just as clearly and positively as he has spoken before them. Thus, the story here presented will be told by more than one pen, as the story of an offence against the laws is told in Court by more than one witness - with the same object in both cases, to present the truth always in its most direct and most intelligeble aspect..."
As Wilkie declares in the preface: "An experiment is attempted in this novel, which has not (so far as I know) been hitherto tried in fiction." And as far as I'm concerned, it's never been done again with anywhere near as much success. The Moonstone, Wilkie's second major novel, is constructed in the same style as The Woman in White, and I can tell you right here, right now, that his fresh, vibrant, kicking idea worked brilliantly. Now, returning to his attempt, I very much hope that it will turn out to be as suspensful, intriguing, and stimulating as his final one.
The thing that I loved the most about this idea as used in The Moonstone, was that, being a mystery novel, you were constantly working hard to get an opinion on who was the 'good guy', the 'bad guy' and 'the culprit'. But Wilkie isn't one to leave you alone with your private thoughts. Oh no! By suddenly changing the narrator, you are exposed to a completely new point of view - and consequently, all your thoughts on the situation are changed. You see the characters from a new perspective and you think, "oh, well I don't like them anymore" or "it could be him, it really could!" and the whole process of it is so extremely exciting! It's so stimulating, and I seriously think that it was one of the funnest books to read.
"The story of this book is told throughout by the characters of the book. They are all placed in different positions along the chain of events; and they all take the chain up in turn, and carry it on to the end." And later in Chapter 1, he adds "As the Jusge might once have heard it, so the Reader shall hear it now. No circumstance of importance, from the beginning to the end of the disclosure, shall be related on hearsay evidence. When his [Walter Hartwright's] experience fails, he will retire from the position of narrator; and his task will be continued, from the point at which he has left off, by other persons who can speak to the circumstances under notice from their own knowledge, just as clearly and positively as he has spoken before them. Thus, the story here presented will be told by more than one pen, as the story of an offence against the laws is told in Court by more than one witness - with the same object in both cases, to present the truth always in its most direct and most intelligeble aspect..."
As Wilkie declares in the preface: "An experiment is attempted in this novel, which has not (so far as I know) been hitherto tried in fiction." And as far as I'm concerned, it's never been done again with anywhere near as much success. The Moonstone, Wilkie's second major novel, is constructed in the same style as The Woman in White, and I can tell you right here, right now, that his fresh, vibrant, kicking idea worked brilliantly. Now, returning to his attempt, I very much hope that it will turn out to be as suspensful, intriguing, and stimulating as his final one.
The thing that I loved the most about this idea as used in The Moonstone, was that, being a mystery novel, you were constantly working hard to get an opinion on who was the 'good guy', the 'bad guy' and 'the culprit'. But Wilkie isn't one to leave you alone with your private thoughts. Oh no! By suddenly changing the narrator, you are exposed to a completely new point of view - and consequently, all your thoughts on the situation are changed. You see the characters from a new perspective and you think, "oh, well I don't like them anymore" or "it could be him, it really could!" and the whole process of it is so extremely exciting! It's so stimulating, and I seriously think that it was one of the funnest books to read.
Friday, April 22
Wilkie Welcomes 'The Woman in White'
This is one of the first things that have captured my delight in The Woman in White. The story begins to be told by Walter Hartwright, and the being he refers to in the excerpt is a foreigner named Pesca.
It may be necessary to explain, here, that Pesca prided himself on being a perfect Englishman in his language, as well as in his dress, manners, and amusements. Havinng picked up a few of our most familiar colloquial expressions, he scattered them about over his conversation whenever they happened to occur to him, turning them, in his high relish for their sound and his general ignorance of their sense, into compound words and repetitions of his own, and always running them into eacg other, as if they consisted of one long syllable.
Chapter 3, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, (published 1860.)
Though Pesca is hardly a principle character to the story (at least so far and you never know with Wilkie - things change quickly and unexpectedly with him), he is definitely a hilarious and brilliant minor character. From his introduction to his seperation with Walter Hartwright in Chapter 4, he is just wonderful. I thank Wilkie extremely for having him along. He's great company and much needed comic relief!
For those who are unfamiliar with Wilkie's writing, (although I am only a new acquaintance of Mr. Collins', I feel that I have quickly become very familiar with him and feel disposed to call him by his Christian name), his style is very unique to the era. I'll give you some more on him tomorrow.
It may be necessary to explain, here, that Pesca prided himself on being a perfect Englishman in his language, as well as in his dress, manners, and amusements. Havinng picked up a few of our most familiar colloquial expressions, he scattered them about over his conversation whenever they happened to occur to him, turning them, in his high relish for their sound and his general ignorance of their sense, into compound words and repetitions of his own, and always running them into eacg other, as if they consisted of one long syllable.
Chapter 3, The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, (published 1860.)
Though Pesca is hardly a principle character to the story (at least so far and you never know with Wilkie - things change quickly and unexpectedly with him), he is definitely a hilarious and brilliant minor character. From his introduction to his seperation with Walter Hartwright in Chapter 4, he is just wonderful. I thank Wilkie extremely for having him along. He's great company and much needed comic relief!
For those who are unfamiliar with Wilkie's writing, (although I am only a new acquaintance of Mr. Collins', I feel that I have quickly become very familiar with him and feel disposed to call him by his Christian name), his style is very unique to the era. I'll give you some more on him tomorrow.
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