Read “Finis”
This is one of Jack London’s lesser known short story collections. Despite the exotic title, none of the stories take place in Tasmania or the South Seas. Five of the stories take place in northern California, two in the Klondike, and one in an undisclosed location during the paleolithic era. London is primarily famous as an author of wilderness adventure tales and of stories imbued with socialist political ideas. While there are a couple examples of the former, the latter genre is curiously absent from this volume. No politics at all. As an overall body of work, this collection is weak by London’s standards, but a few gems shine out from among the rest.
In the opening story, “By the Turtles of Tasman,” Frederic Travers, a responsible man of high standing, gets a visit from his dying brother Tom, a globetrotting vagabond. It’s a study in contrast between the two men, who each embody opposing aspects of London’s character: the successful workaholic vs. the wandering adventurer. The writing is very mature and insightful, indicative of some of the more accomplished work of London’s later career.
Another noteworthy story is “Told in the Drooling Ward,” a first-person narrative as told by a feeble-minded inmate of a mental institution. London does an admirable job with the narrator’s voice and treats the character with sensitivity and respect.
A story I had never heard of that really blew me away was “Finis.” A starving man, stranded along the Yukon River in winter, waits to prey upon an unsuspecting traveler in order to save himself. It is as bleak and visceral as London’s famous story “To Build a Fire.” Suspenseful and skillfully told, it’s an excellent story that deserves to be better known.
The other five stories in the collection are “The Eternity of Forms,” “The Prodigal Father,” “The Hobo and the Fairy,” “The First Poet,” and “The End of the Story.” These range in quality from the disappointing to the forgettable. Like many of London’s collections, you have to sift through a few pans of dirt to find the gold nuggets.
Stories in this collection:
By the Turtles of Tasman
The Eternity of Forms
Told in the Drooling Ward
The Hobo and the Fairy
The Prodigal Father
The First Poet
Finis
The End of the Story
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The epitome of swashbuckling adventure
Few titles signify the thrill of romantic adventure as much as The Three Musketeers. Originally published in 1844, this historical novel by Alexandre Dumas established an archetype for all subsequent adventure literature. From that point on, any swashbuckling hero to grace the printed page or silver screen must be judged against the benchmark set by these three titular gentlemen and their protégé. Very few heroes, indeed, have been able to measure up to their dashing, their daring, and their devil-may-care attitude. While the Musketeers may be a household name in popular culture, today’s audience, desensitized by countless action movies and paperback thrillers, may wonder if the original novel is still worthy of reading. The answer, without hesitation, is a resounding yes.
Young d’Artagnan leaves his home village in Gascony to seek his fortune in Paris. His dream is to become one of the King’s Musketeers. Though possessed of the swordsman’s skill and cavalier disregard for his own life required for the position, d’Artagnan is nonetheless a wet-behind-the-ears provincial who needs guidance in the workings of big-city society. Though his initial encounters with the renowned Musketeers Athos, Porthos, and Aramis are clumsy and contentious, the four companions soon form an inseparable bond of friendship sealed by the vow, “All for one and one for all!” When the Prime Minister of France, Cardinal Richelieu, employing as his henchmen the cold-blooded swordsman the Comte de Rochefort and the beautiful but diabolical Milady de Winter, schemes against the Queen’s honor, our heroes must valiantly come to her rescue.
In this novel, Dumas ably demonstrates his mastery at creating complex and intriguing characters. Not only does each of the four main heroes possess a unique and memorable personality, each and every character from the King himself down to the lowliest, briefly mentioned innkeeper is a singular, fully fleshed out creation. Milady de Winter is hands down one of the greatest femme fatales in literature. To his credit, Dumas unflinchingly makes her as dastardly and nefarious, if not more so, than any masculine villain would be in her place.
If there is a flaw to The Three Musketeers, at times it is the plotting. Dumas demonstrates his usual deftness at juggling a large ensemble cast in a variety of interlocking adventures, but there are several dragging moments amidst all the capers, talky interludes in which the swordsmen gamble, mooch their way into free meals, or swindle their mistresses out of some coin. These scenes help to enhance character development, but nonetheless slow the momentum. Toward the end of the book there is a series of 10 or 12 chapters when Dumas abandons the Musketeers entirely, in order to concentrate on the scheming of the villainess. This proves too long an absence from such beloved heroes. As good as this book is, its sequel, Twenty Years After, is actually even better and more skillfully plotted. And though he may be more famous for his Musketeers, Dumas’s greatest work is undoubtedly The Count of Monte Cristo, an absolute masterpiece.
The most surprising thing about The Three Musketeers is its remarkable change in tone from beginning to end. It starts out a slapstick comedy and ends about as dark and shocking as a swashbuckler can get. It is a testament to Dumas’s skill as a storyteller that such a drastic transition feels not only natural but necessary. Along the way the reader is treated to one heck of a roller coaster ride that, despite being crafted over a century and a half ago, is still incredibly fresh, exciting, and fun.
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The big-city detective and the small-town murder
In the tiny provincial village of Saint-Aubin-les-Marais, a young man is found dead on the railroad tracks, having been run over by a train. Despite the seemingly obvious cause of death, rumors start to float around the small town that the young man was murdered by Etienne Naud, whose daughter Geneviève was rumored to have been having an affair with the now deceased young man. Troubled by these rumors, Naud seeks help from his brother-in-law, Victor Bréjon, a magistrate in Paris. Bréjon turns to his colleague Jules Maigret, Superintendent of the Police Judicaire, and asks him, as a personal favor, to go to Saint-Aubin, uncover the facts of the case, and dispel these rumors before they do further harm to his brother-in-law’s reputation.
Once Maigret arrives in the small town and takes up lodging in the house of Naud, he feels like anything but a welcome guest. The town appears to be divided into two factions. The higher class citizens, consisting of the Naud family and their friends, simply want to forget about the unfortunate death and write it off as a mere train accident. But a small group of laborers, the victim’s peers and coworkers, insist the death was murder and demand that justice be done.
I have read a few of the earliest Maigret novels, and have always found the character of Maigret to be somewhat of a blank slate. This novel, originally published in 1944 under the French title of L’Inspecteur Cadavre, is the 47th installment in the series. Unlike the earlier books of the 1930s, this novel provides a great deal more insight into Maigret’s personality. Though written in the third person, most of the novel follows Maigret’s train of consciousness, allowing the reader access to the detective’s innermost thoughts, with the exception, of course, that none of the vital secrets of the mystery are revealed until the end.
The “rival” mentioned in the title is Justin Cavre, nicknamed Inspector Cadavre, a disgruntled former employee of Maigret’s. Now a private investigator, Cavre shows up in Saint-Aubin on the very same train as Maigret, and his actions seem to indicate that he is bent on thwarting Maigret’s investigation. Unfortunately, we don’t get to see much head-to-head intellectual dueling between the two. For most of the book, Cavre is offstage somewhere. We only really learn about him through Maigret’s thoughts. Mostly we see Maigret interacting with the citizens of Saint-Aubin, slyly coaxing out their closely guarded secrets. It is a joy to watch Maigret function in this small-town setting, where he is clearly a fish out of water, or perhaps rather a bull in a china shop.
The final chapter of the book is somewhat disappointing. Few surprises are revealed, and the guilty parties don’t receive the comeuppance they deserve. Yet the journey that leads up to this unsatisfying conclusion is an enjoyable ride, replete with the noir atmosphere and psychological authenticity characteristic of Simenon’s writing. Maigret’s Rival is not the detective’s most remarkable case, but it’s still a worthy read.
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Stoic philosophy in a nutshell
Epictetus, despite being born a slave in Greece, went on to become an influential philosopher of ancient Rome. Today he is considered one of the foremost thinkers of the Stoic school of thought. His teachings were oral; he wrote no books himself. In AD 108, however, a student of his, Arrian, transcribed and collected his lectures into a multi-volume work known as the Discourses. About two decades later, shortly before the death of Epictetus, Arrian compiled another, briefer work know as the Enchiridion (a.k.a. Manual or Handbook), the purpose of which was an attempt to popularize Epictetus’s teachings and gain a wider audience for Stoic thought.
The Enchiridion is divided into 52 chapters or sections, most of which are less than a page long. Some are little more than aphorisms. Each section is filled with helpful pearls of wisdom applicable to facing the trials of everyday life. Stoicism advocates living one’s life in accordance with nature. The only things we really have control of in life are our judgments, opinions, and desires. All else is beyond our control, and handed to us by the universe. The key to tranquility and happiness is to resign ourselves to fate and form our opinions such that we cease desiring or fearing those things which are beyond our control. It is in man’s nature to be a rational animal, and it is only by using our faculty of reason that we can live up to our potential as human beings and live a life free of anger, fear, grief, frustration, and shame. The Enchiridion essentially offers a code of conduct which, when practiced, can allow us to live such a life. Modern readers can still find much use for the ethical code of living that Epictetus prescribed almost two millennia ago.
As good as the Enchiridion is, it is by no means a substitute for reading the Discourses, which are the truly authoritative compendium of Epictetus’s thought. The Enchiridion can be useful to two main types of readers. The first type is the reader who is curious about Stoicism, but not ready to invest the time and energy into tackling the Discourses. For this reader, the Enchiridion offers an accessible introduction to Stoic concepts. The brevity of the Enchiridion, however, requires a much more dogmatic tone—“You must do this. You must not do that.”—that may be off-putting to the newcomer. It lacks the nuance and detail that the Discourses provide in explaining these lofty goals and instructing the student in how to achieve them.
The second type of reader for whom the Enchiridion will prove useful is one who has already read the Discourses. For this reader, the Enchiridion serves as a cheat sheet or crib notes to the Discourses’ complicated contents. Each brief passage provides a reminder of the lessons that were more fully covered in the more extensive work. The Enchiridion can be utilized as an inspirational text for the disciple of reason, a simplified encapsulation of Stoic thought that can easily and frequently be consulted for ethical guidance.
Regardless of your reasons for approaching the Enchiridion, you really can’t go wrong in reading this brief but powerful work. For a minimal investment of your time, it just might change your life.
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Adventures in indolence
Omoo, originally published in 1847, was Herman Melville’s second book and the sequel to his smash hit Typee. Like Typee, Omoo is an autobiographical though somewhat fictionalized account of Melville’s own adventures in the South Pacific. This book picks up exactly where Typee left off, with Melville being rescued in the Marquesas by a whaling ship, the “Julia.” He agrees to serve on its crew until they reach the next port, but his injured leg prevents him from taking much of an active part in the sailing duties. There is a great deal of unrest among Melville’s crew mates on the “Julia.” Conditions are poor on the run-down vessel, the captain is a weak leader, and the mate maltreats the men. When the captain falls ill and must go ashore for medical attention, the crew sees his absence as legitimate grounds for releasing them from their contracts of service. The mate disagrees, and wants to continue the whaling voyage under his own command. The dispute is brought before a British consul, who rules that the crew must remain with their ship. When they refuse, they are branded mutineers and confined to a Tahitian prison.
These are but the first few links in a chain of events that Melville relates in the book. I use the word “events” rather than “adventures” because there’s little action or suspense in the book. Melville and his newfound companion Dr. Long Ghost wander the villages of Tahiti and its neighboring islets, their sole goal being to impose on the hospitality of the natives as much as they can while doing as little work as possible. If they happen to catch the eye of a few of the native damsels, so much the better. The romance of traveling through exotic, unspoiled locales is often lost in the daily monotony of trying to fill one’s belly. At times the chapters read like a string of dinner menus, and the villages tend to blend into one another indistinguishably.
As in Typee or Moby-Dick, Melville breaks up the primary narrative by inserting periodic essays on diverse subjects related to the tropical islands of the Pacific, such as geography, botany, or politics. For a white man writing over a century and a half ago, Melville displays an astonishingly enlightened attitude toward the Pacific islanders. He expresses great admiration for the natives, and thinks they would have been much better off had they never encountered white men. However, the point is not pressed as strongly here as it was in his first book. In Typee, the corruption and exploitation of the natives is a major theme; in Omoo, it is merely an accepted fact lurking in the background.
The lazy ramblings of Melville and his physician sidekick would be a total bore were it not for Melville’s prodigious talents as a storyteller. Those hoping for a rollicking tale of adventure on the high seas will be disappointed by the lack of action, but there is a definite pleasure derived from living vicariously through these two tropical vagrants. Melville peppers his stories with bits of arcane knowledge and a wry sense of humor. Reading Omoo is like listening to the dubious recollections of the resident windbag at your local pub. The entertainment value of the tale comes not so much from its vitality or its veracity, but from the amusing eloquence with which it is told.
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A mixed bag of the good, the bad, and the ugly
The Night-Born contains ten short stories by Jack London, first published together as a collection in 1913. These writings take place in diverse settings and belong to various genres. The quality of the selections ranges considerably as well. The title comes from a quote by Thoreau which figures prominently in the book’s first story, also entitled “The Night-Born,” in which a woman relates her epic odyssey in the wilds of the North, fueled by the innate and irresistible wanderlust within her. This particular tale is not an exceptional example of London’s work, but it satisfies.
“The Benefit of the Doubt,” “Winged Blackmail,” “Bunches of Knuckles,” and “To Kill a Man” are all crime stories, a genre at which London did not excel, therefore they’re far from his best work. In many cases there’s a lightheartedness to the violence—slapstick fist fights and so forth—that undermines any attempt at suspense or gravity. “The Benefit of the Doubt” is a courtroom story that satirizes the judicial system, but it’s too absurd to be either relevant or funny. Two stories, “To Kill a Man” and “Under the Deck Awnings,” feature femme fatales in prominent roles, but unlike many thrillers in which such ladies appear as empowered women, these female characters just come across as evil harpies. The whole purpose of the stories in which they star seems merely to express an open hatred toward women. Thankfully, that’s a stance uncharacteristic of London, who usually shows a lot of respect for his women protagonists.
Now for the bright side. The best story in the book, simply entitled “War,” is also the shortest. A cavalry scout in an unnamed war rides through the countryside, ever vigilant, for death my strike anywhere, at anytime. Written with a stoic detachment that denies any honor or glory to battle, it pithily encapsulates the tension, the danger, and the universal senselessness of war. The longest story in the book, “The Mexican,” is another masterpiece. A mysterious youth joins a band of Mexican revolutionaries in Los Angeles, displaying an ardor for the cause so intense he frightens even his fellow believers. In order to aid his comrades south of the border with guns and ammunition, he must come up with five thousand dollars, and he’s willing to fight for it. Another well-crafted story is “The Madness of John Harned,” in which an American watches a bullfight in Quito, Ecuador with some local acquaintances. As the spectacle progresses, Harned, as London’s surrogate, condemns the bullfight as cowardly, and contrasts it with the honorable, manly sport of boxing. Lastly, “When the World Was Young” is a fun sci-fi piece in which London indulges his obsession with human evolution and primitive man. Little more can be said about that one without spoiling its surprises.
So to recap, the good/bad factor overall is half and half. Unless you’re a London fanatic, you’d probably be best served by reading the five good stories and leaving the others alone.
Stories in this collection:
The Night-Born
The Madness of John Harned
When the World Was Young
The Benefit of the Doubt
Winged Blackmail
Bunches of Knuckles
War
Under the Deck Awnings
To Kill a Man
The Mexican
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A lackluster prequel to The Last of the Mohicans
Originally published in 1841, The Deerslayer was the last book written by James Fenimore Cooper in his series of five novels known as the Leatherstocking tales. In terms of the narrative sequence of the series, however, it is chronologically the first installment in the story line. The five historical adventure novels which comprise the Leatherstocking saga all relate episodes in the life of Nathaniel Bumppo, a hunter and trapper in colonial America who, though a white man, lives among the Native Americans. Bumppo is known by many names throughout the five books, but in this first volume he is primarily referred to by the appellation of Deerslayer.
The novel takes place in the early 1740s in New York State. Deerslayer and his traveling companion “Hurry Harry” arrive at a secluded, placid lake where resides the Hutter family. Thomas Hutter has built a house on piles in the center of the lake, known as the “castle,” where he lives with his two daughters—Judith, who is renowned for her incomparable beauty, and Hetty, who is considered simple-minded. The family also travels the lake’s waters in a sort of houseboat called the “ark”. While Hurry has come to the lake to court Judith, Deerslayer has come to rendezvous with his friend Chingachgook, a Delaware Indian. At this early point in Deerslayer’s life, he is renowned for his hunting skills but has never killed a man. As war has been recently declared between the British and French, along with their Indian allies, the two young friends have come together to embark on their first warpath, in hopes of proving themselves as warriors.
The lake is besieged by a band of Huron Indians, who are loyal to the French. They capture members of Deerslayer’s party, and he and his remaining companions strive to rescue them. The scope of the story never expands beyond the lake. Characters move back and forth from the castle to the ark to the shore as characters are captured, rescued, or recaptured. It reads very much like an action movie—a sort of 18th century Die Hard—yet its one of the slowest, most tedious adventure tales you’ll ever encounter. The action sequences consist of Cooper delineating the trajectory of every boat and bullet with a fastidious attention to detail that dulls much of the excitement. Such scenes are interspersed with long conversations between the characters, which mostly serve the purpose of contrasting their personal philosophies. The last half of the book focuses on an impending doom which threatens Deerslayer, yet, since this is a prequel, the fact of his survival is never really in question.
The colonial period of American history is a truly fascinating time, and Cooper is our best literary chronicler of the era. His narrative voice is an enjoyable combination of the skillfully crafted prose of a distinguished man of letters and the campfire tales of a rugged frontiersman. Unfortunately, one wishes he were a better plotter. Unlike his masterpiece The Last of the Mohicans, this novel shows little sign of a preconceived structure. It seems as if Cooper just started with chapter one and made it up as he went along. The result is an awful lot of boring passages and redundant dialogue.
Though not a great book in its own right, the true value of The Deerslayer lies in its position within the Leatherstocking saga. Much is revealed about the character of Natty Bumppo—how he fared in his first experience with combat, how he earned the name of “Hawkeye,” and how he acquired his famous rifle Killdeer. Cooper deeply delves into the Deerslayer’s personal moral philosophy, which resembles a sort of frontier Samurai code. The five Leatherstocking books unquestionably constitute a monumental achievement in American literature. The Deerslayer is certainly not the best book in the series, but in light of its being part of a greater whole it does deserve to be read.
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