Too much fact, not enough fiction
Acté, also known as Acté of Corinth, originally published in 1838, was the first historical novel written by Alexandre Dumas. The story takes place about AD 54, and opens in the Greek city of Corinth. Greece has fallen from the heights of its classical glory, and is now a colony of the Roman Empire. Acté, a beautiful Corinthian maiden, is gathering wildflowers along the seashore when a boat lands upon the beach. A handsome, dashing Roman steps ashore and is immediately bewitched by the Greek beauty. He has come to Corinth to compete in games of wrestling, chariot racing, and poetry. Over the course of his stay he sweeps the young girl off her feet, and when he departs he carries Acté back to Rome with him. Upon arrival in the imperial capital, she is shocked and dismayed to discover that her lover is none other than the ruler of the world himself, the Emperor Nero.
Acté was a real person, a mistress of Nero’s. In fact, every character in this novel is an actual figure from Roman history, with the possible exception of the most minor servants and soldiers. Dumas’s knowledge of Roman history and mythology is stunning. Each sentence positively drips with references to gods, legends, or historic personages from ancient times. In keeping with the tastes of his day, Dumas presents a Rome that’s relentlessly romanticized, populated by characters that seem as if they were carved out of marble. This picturesque portrayal will prove a bit off-putting to contemporary readers that favor a grittier, bloodier, sexier vision of Rome.
In his desire to accurately detail all the historical facts, Dumas ends up being a slave to the history rather than an interpreter of it. Several of the chapters read like non-fiction and carry about as much drama as a Wikipedia entry. When Acté meets up with a band of Christians, for instance, Dumas feels the need to summarize the entire New Testament. At about the three-quarter mark, Acté disappears from the narrative entirely, and we are provided with a multi-chapter account of the downfall of Nero. What’s lacking throughout is a little poetic license. The cleverly intricate plotting, the emotional drama, and the sense of humor Dumas showcases in masterpieces like The Count of Monte Cristo and the Three Musketeers books are absent from this book. The best chapter of Acté features a gladiatorial exhibition that is absolutely riveting. If the rest of the book had lived up to the standard of that chapter, this would have been a great novel.
This novel was the inspiration for another famous work of literature, the 1895 novel Quo Vadis by Nobel Prize-winner Henryk Sienkiewicz, which tells the story of two fictional Christian characters who suffer Nero’s persecution. Quo Vadis is all around a much better novel than Acté, with a more exciting plot, more engaging characters, and a depiction of ancient Rome that rings truer in the eyes of the contemporary reader.
I’m a big fan of Dumas’s better known novels, and I enjoy stories of ancient Greece and Rome, but here the meeting of the two is hardly a match made in heaven. Though not a bad debut, it bears little resemblance to the excellent novels of the author’s later career. Fans of Dumas or historical fiction in general certainly won’t hate this book. It’s not terrible, merely a bit boring. Overall Acté comes across as a novel that’s competent rather than compelling.
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A wonderful homage to the master of adventure
In the interest of full disclosure, I will start by stating that I’m a middle-aged man who never reads young adult fiction. I made an exception in this case, however, because what I do read a lot of is Jack London. So when I heard about this series so audaciously titled The Secret Journeys of Jack London, I immediately wanted to check it out to see if these books were worthy of bearing the name of their illustrious subject. Once I started reading Book One: The Wild, I was pleasantly surprised by how well written and entertaining this book is. Authors Christopher Golden and Tim Lebbon have crafted a clever coming-of-age tale with all the characteristics of a classic London adventure.
The beginning of the story is loosely based on the actual events of London’s life. Spurred on by the Klondike Gold Rush of the 1890s, teenage Jack and his brother-in-law Shepard venture up to the Yukon Territory hoping to strike it rich. The two make it as far as Dyea, but when the ailing Shepard lays eyes on the grueling Chilkoot pass, he decides to head back to San Francisco, leaving young Jack on his own. Jack, far from disappointed at this unexpected parting of the ways, relishes his newfound independence. He soon hooks up with two companions, and together the three embark on the arduous journey up river to Dawson. From that point the plot departs from the semi-biographical narrative, and the authors take the story in a completely different and unexpected direction.
Though London was a strident Darwinist, atheist, and rationalist, he was not averse to introducing supernatural elements into his work as long as it resulted in a good story. The most obvious examples of this are his novel The Star Rover and the novella “Planchette”. In this book, however, Golden and Lebbon step way beyond London’s paranormal comfort zone and take it to a whole new level. Almost every chapter, much like the lion’s share of young adult literature today, is loaded with supernatural occurrences and superhuman feats. The genre of wilderness adventure has all but disappeared from bookstore shelves in the past few decades, while vampires, werewolves, and zombies have multiplied like rabbits. If introducing a few monsters and spirits into the wilderness is what it takes to breathe new life into this underappreciated genre, then more power to the authors for trying. Golden and Lebbon have done their research well. Not only are they well versed in London’s life and work, they also make creative use of the Native American myth of the Wendigo and the Russian folktale of the forest spirit known as the Leshii. They have created a very original story that definitely departs from London’s familiar territory, yet they still manage to vividly and contagiously convey his spirit of adventure and his love for the wild.
“Young adult” is a good label for this book, as it contains quite a bit of violence and gore, and a hint of sex. It’s probably too mature for a junior high audience. Hopefully this book will succeed in turning some young readers on to London’s classic works like The Call of the Wild and The Iron Heel. I wish the authors the best of luck with this series. This book, by the way, would make an excellent movie. It’s about time Jack London became a household name again.
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Not her best work
The Leaning Tower is a collection of short stories and novellas by Katherine Anne Porter. It was originally published in 1934, sandwiched chronologically between her two other collections of short fiction, Flowering Judas and Pale Horse, Pale Rider. Compared to those excellent books, The Leaning Tower is a bit of a disappointment. While Porter’s prodigious ability to craft realistic settings and render psychologically authentic characters is evidently on display here, the selections tend to be too heavy on description and too light on plot.
The opening novella, “The Old Order,” is composed of a series of chronologically jumbled vignettes in the life of a family in rural Texas, told from the third person perspective of Miranda, presumably the same Miranda featured in Porter’s stories “Old Mortality” and “Pale Horse, Pale Rider.” Miranda recounts memories from her childhood, concerning in particular her grandmother and the family’s black servants. The insights into black/white relations in the changing American South are fascinating, but too much attention is devoted to the imperious grandmother, who treats everyone as a servant, whether black or white, old or young.
This is followed by the short story “The Downward Path to Wisdom,” told from the point of view of a young boy about five years old. It feels a bit pointless, as if the story’s sole purpose is for Porter to prove she can write from this unusual perspective. In “Holiday,” a young city woman decides to spend her spring vacation living with a large farming family in East Texas. There she develops a friendship of sorts with the family’s crippled servant, who carries a dark secret. The story finishes well, but the first two-thirds is spent merely describing in detail the daily life of the family, at times from an overly critical, condescending perspective. The best selection in the book by far is “A Day’s Work.” The Hallorans are an Irish couple in New York whose marriage has devolved into hatred. The husband, unemployed, blames his wife for missed opportunities, while she views herself as a martyr to his sins. It is an excellent story until the final paragraph, in which one character behaves in a manner which seems to be a complete reversal of everything that came before.
The collection ends with its longest piece, the title novella “The Leaning Tower.” Charles Upton, an aspiring painter, lives out a childhood dream by traveling to Berlin, but ultimately finds Germany a disappointing destination. Porter’s depiction of Berlin is about as flattering as a George Grosz cartoon. There is much dwelling upon the myriad ways in which Germany sucks, its people are ugly and rude, etc. The story provides a vivid glimpse into the atmosphere and mindset of a nation licking its wounds from one disgraceful World War while lurching towards another. Once again, however, there’s just too much description and not enough action. When things finally start happening to Charles, it’s too little, too late.
Katherine Anne Porter is one of the best American short story writers of the 20th century, and her brilliant talents do shine forth at moments here and there among these selections, but the entries here never rival masterpieces like “Flowering Judas,” “The Cracked Looking-Glass,” or “Noon Wine.” Flowering Judas and Pale Horse, Pale Rider are much better collections of her work, and should be given higher reading priority over The Leaning Tower.
Stories in this collection
The Old Order
The Downward Path to Wisdom
A Day’s Work
Holiday
The Leaning Tower
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An in-depth examination of a beautiful and historic manuscript
The Codex Bodley is a painted manuscript of the Mixtec people who lived in the highlands of what is now the state of Oaxaca, Mexico. It was created around the early 16th century, shortly before the Spanish Conquest. It is a remarkable example of the beautiful visual language of this ancient culture. Unlike the written literature of the Maya, which utilizes both pictographic and phonetic components, the codices of the Mixtec are rendered in a mostly pictographic form of writing, largely independent of their spoken language. The subject matter of the Codex Bodley covers several centuries of the genealogical history of the Mixtec ruling families in the Oaxacan highlands region.
This book was first published in 2005 by the Bodleian Library at Oxford University, which owns the Codex Bodley, and for which it was named. The first half of the book consists of introductory material which provides valuable historical, cultural, and linguistic context for understanding the Codex. The second half of the book is comprised of photographic reproductions of all 40 pages of the Codex, with English translation running underneath. The book is beautifully designed, illustrated, and printed, and the text examines the history and contents of the Codex in minute detail. This book will no doubt serve as the standard reference on the Codex Bodley for scholars in the field, but it’s also sufficiently accessible to non-scholars with an enthusiasm for the native cultures of Mexico.
In a few spots, it is a book to be admired more than enjoyed. At times the translation makes for a mind-numbing read. At least 90% of the narrative of the Codex is composed of genealogical information, which takes the form of lists of proper nouns. It seems the most efficient and effective way to present this information would have been to “translate” it into the form of genealogical charts, in the modern tree form, rather than into paragraph prose. Doing so would have made it much clearer to see just who is marrying whom, a task made difficult by the intermarriage of close relatives and the repetitive nature of Mixtec names, which are actually the date and month of birth. Yet no such charts exist in the book. The second half of the Codex is less monotonous, as in addition to the genealogy it also features instances of diplomacy, warfare, and religious pilgrimages.
If you’re interested in this subject matter, the excellent reproductions of this beautiful work of art alone are worth the purchase. By comparing the images to the translation, even a novice will to some extent acquire the ability to read the Mixtec pictographs and decipher the names, dates, and places. Despite my reservations in the preceding paragraph, this book is in many ways a model of how historical manuscripts should be presented and explained. Every Mesoamerican codex should receive the same thorough treatment and elegant presentation.
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Deserving of its status as an American classic
The Last of the Mohicans takes place in New York state in 1757, during the French and Indian Wars. A troop of British colonials, led by the young Major Duncan Hayward, travels through the wilderness on their way to Fort William Henry. Accompanying the soldiers are Cora and Alice Munro, the daughters of the general who presides at the fort. By happenstance they encounter the frontiersman known as Hawkeye, his Indian companion Chingachgook, and the latter’s son Uncas. Hawkeye informs the party that their Indian guide, Magua, has been leading them astray, and that he is a member of the Huron tribe who is friendly with the French. Magua escapes, but later returns with a band of Indians who take the two women captive, along with Hayward and David Gamut, a teacher of religious singing who seems to exist in the book only to serve as the Christian antithesis of the stoic Hawkeye. The only hope these four prisoners have for salvation is that Hawkeye and his Indian companions will rescue them from the clutches of their hostile captors.
The settlement and founding of America is such a fascinating period in history, and James Fenimore Cooper brings it vividly to life. Like his idol Sir Walter Scott, Cooper combined his own experiences of the region and its inhabitants with extensive historical research to create a romanticized version of his country’s past. I have read other works by Cooper (The Spy, The Deerslayer), and found his plotting to be too meandering and haphazard in its construction. The Last of the Mohicans, on the contrary, is expertly paced, with frequent moments of intense action and suspense punctuated by interludes of more quiet contemplation. The story is captivating from beginning to end, with the exception of a couple incongruous scenes in which characters don disguises that challenge the reader’s belief. Despite these low points, Cooper’s writing is beautiful throughout. He describes the Adirondack wilderness with the keen observation and lyrical expression of a Thoreau. His depiction of the Native Americans in the book may not be entirely accurate, but he is always very respectful toward them. He has a tendency to portray the Indians as being too cold in their demeanor and too reliant on superstition, though never so much as to the point where his characterizations become insulting. He exhibits great reverence for the land and the traditions of its native inhabitants.
If there’s an obstacle preventing today’s readers from tackling The Last of the Mohicans, it’s the language. While the text does not contain a great deal of archaic words, the sentences are constructed with the complex, convoluted syntax of a bygone era. Everyone in the book, from the highest general to the lowliest fur trapper, speaks with the poetic voice of a Lord Byron. A dictionary is not required, but every sentence does require some thought. After a while Cooper’s narrative voice grows on you, and you’ll come to enjoy the antiquated cadence of his prose. There is a dignity and a gravitas to the language that no longer exists in contemporary literature. Reading The Last of the Mohicans takes you back to a now forgotten time when those who wrote books were smarter than you, and they intended every work to be a masterpiece. To that end Cooper was largely successful. Almost two centuries after its publication this novel still provides a vital and invigorating reading experience.
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Not an easy read, but worth the effort
I came to this book after having read Zola’s twenty Rougon-Macquart novels. I wanted to read the most comprehensive, authoritative biography of the great writer, and I think this book qualifies. The level of detail is tremendous. Frederick Brown not only provides us with the story of Zola’s life, but also the lives of his many contemporaries (including Cezanne, Flaubert, Turgenev, Goncourt, Manet). In addition Brown puts these lives in valuable perspective by thoroughly examining the events of French history, which, during Zola’s life consisted of a very complicated series of wars, revolutions, and political upheavals. (Before reading this biography, it helps the reader to have a basic preliminary knowledge of French history in order to navigate the serpentine rise and fall of governments.)
Brown also examines Zola’s writings from a critical perspective, and draws a complex web of literary influence to and from the author. For every novel that Zola published, Brown provides a detailed synopsis of the story (spoilers included), a critical analysis of the work, and valuable information on the critical and public reception of the book. Brown seems to grow tired of this, however, as books described in the beginning of Zola’s life are more thoroughly examined than his later works. I myself got a little tired of Brown’s constant Freudian analysis. “Zola did this because of his father. He did this because of his mother.” It’s as if Brown lacks confidence in the intelligence of his readers, and feels the need to relentlessly push his thesis on us.
This book is not an easy read. It is a scholarly work, written for an audience of literature professors, not for the casual reader. The beginning of the book is particularly challenging. When discussing Zola’s education and literary influences, Brown rattles off references to a lot of titles that most readers outside academia probably have not read. In every other sentence he’ll throw in metaphors pertaining to obscure classical literature. Once over this intial hump, the reading goes more smoothly and one becomes accustomed to Brown’s particular wordcraft. (He uses the word “tergiversations” about once in every chapter.)
Another problem with the book is that there is a period of Zola’s life that just isn’t very interesting. Brown’s depiction of Zola’s early hardscrabble career as a journalist, critic, and part-time novelist is particularly fascinating, but once Zola strikes it rich the excitement dies down quite a bit. While seclusion in a country house made it possible for Zola to create some of his greatest masterpieces, it doesn’t make for the most exciting narrative. This is rectified late in Zola’s life, however, by the Dreyfus affair. Brown’s relation of the events surrounding the scandal are rewardingly exhaustive, covering at least 150 pages.
Despite my complaints, I’d have to say that I’m glad I read this book. I wanted to read “Everything You Wanted to Know about Emile Zola”, and that’s what I got. Something else I got from this book is a long wish list of books for future reading, by Zola and other authors discussed in the book.
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London’s best and worst
This collection of short stories was originally published in 1911, about the middle of Jack London’s career, when he was branching out from his tried and true Klondike subject matter, and experimenting with new settings and new literary techniques. The stories take place in diverse locales, including San Francisco, Tahiti, Korea, Australia, and the open seas. The quality of the stories also varies greatly, and in many ways the selections represent the zenith and the nadir of London’s writing. Three of these stories, “The Apostate”, “The Chinago”, and “A Piece of Steak” are masterpieces of storytelling, among the best of London’s career. On the other hand, “A Wicked Woman” may be the worst story London ever wrote, and at least two others here, “When God Laughs” and “Created He Them,” could easily vie for that ignominious title.
Rather than waste space discussing the losers, let’s focus on the winners. In keeping with London’s preoccupation with socialist thought and labor issues, “The Apostate” focuses on the oppressive life of a young man who has toiled as a factory wage slave for most of his life. “The Chinago” is likewise concerned with social injustice, relating the tale of a Chinese laborer in Tahiti who is tried under French law for a murder he did not commit. It is a scathing indictment of colonialism, and a stark depiction of the indifference to human life that European exploiters often displayed toward their third-world servants. “A Piece of Steak” is an excellent boxing story featuring an aging fighter, poor and underfed, who, in order to feed his family, must fight an epic battle against a youthful opponent. “Just Meat” is another good offering about two thieves who make a big score. “Make Westing” and “The ‘Francis Spaight’” are both gritty seafaring tales, satisfying but not exceptional by London standards. The most pleasantly surprising discovery for me was “A Curious Fragment”, a futuristic socialist tale, set in the 26th century in a world reminiscent of London’s fascinating novel The Iron Heel. It’s an intriguing sci-fi story which, though all too short, offers plenty of social commentary and suspenseful drama.
Despite some of the stinkers in this collection, overall the scales are tipped in favor of the good. Faithful fans of London will definitely find When God Laughs well worth reading. Those who know London only from his sled dog tales will find in this collection prime examples of how he successfully (and in some cases not so successfully) applied his masterful storytelling skills to an incredibly diverse range of subject matter.
Essays and stories in this collection
When God Laughs
The Apostate
A Wicked Woman
Just Meat
Created He Them
The Chinago
Make Westing
Semper Idem
A Nose for the King
The “Francis Spaight”
A Curious Fragment
A Piece of Steak
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