Finished: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (Hugo). Good book! A little long. Very descriptive and so sad at the end. For some reason I thought someone ended up with a happy ending in this book, but I was wrong. And, I always thought Esmerelda was supposed to be a smart and strong heroine, but she really was not. It was disappointing that she was her own worst enemy because she fell madly in love with a man who she barely knew, and who did not return her feelings.

At times Hugo's writing was just a bit too descriptive for me. I mean...he described everything in such detail that I could practically see every stone that was a part of the Notre Dame cathedral. There were several chapters of just description. However...during the chapter where Hugo described old Paris in detail, I must admit I pulled up a map of Paris on my phone to try and compare streets and bridges, etc.! I purposely chose Hunchback instead of Les Miserables, because Les Miserables was three times longer. I love the stage show, though...so maybe someday I'll try and read that as well.

Speaking of description...I thought this was ageless....ewww, but ageless:

The country-woman held by the hand a big boy, who grasped in his hand a large wheaten cake. We regret that we must add that, owing to the severity of the season, his tongue did duty as a pocket-handkerchief.

To measure a toe, is to measure the giant:

And what we say of the facade, we must also say of the whole church; and what we say of the cathedral church of Paris must also be said of all the Christian churches of the Middle Ages. Everything is harmonious which springs from that spontaneous, logical, and well-proportioned art. To measure a toe, is to measure the giant.

Describing how the invention of printing books changed the way the stones of churches were used to tell stories and history:

     In the fifteenth century everything changed.
     Human thought discovered a means of perpetuation, not only more durable and more resisting than architecture, but also simpler and easier. Architecture was dethroned. To the stone letters of Orpheus succeeded the leaden letters of Gutenberg.
     "The book will destroy the building."
     The invention of printing was the greatest event in history. It was the primal revolution. It was the renewed and renovated form of expression of humanity; it is human thought laying off one form and assuming another; it is the entire and final changing of the skin of that symbolic serpent which ever since Adam has represented intellect.

Nice writing! :-)

Finished: The Complete Sherlock Holmes Volume II (Doyle). I've been working on this for awhile.  :-) My son gave me this book last year and I've read a story here and there between books. I just couldn't read an entire book about Sherlock and Watson's escapades in one fell swoop. Too many of the stories were the same. Anyway, I finally finished and enjoyed the book! You gotta love that Sherlock. Although, he always seems to be one up on everyone because usually there's a detail that's left out of the story that the readers don't know. I like that most of the stories have little illustrations, like The Adventure of the Dancing Men, with all the little stick figures! All in all a fun read done over several months!

Finished: Anthem (Rand). Well, that was freaky. It took us a while to get used to the singular narrator talking in plural throughout the entire book until the end. We purposely picked the shortest Ayn Rand book because we weren't really sure how we'd like her writing. We may later go back and read Fountainhead or Atlas Shrugged. Anthem reminded us so much of Brave New World, published several years before. There were several differences, but the basic dystopian society was similar. It makes us wonder if Rand and Huxley got together at some drug party one night and talked and laughed and made up their "what if" worlds. At least there seemed to be hope for Equality 7-2521/Prometheus and Liberty 5-3000/Gaea in the end as opposed to Brave New World's ill-fated Savage. We will not put this book on the favorites list, but are glad we read it.

Finished: Heartbreak House (Shaw). What a delightful play! :-) Finally something lighthearted, at least on the surface. I know that Shaw intended the play to be a not so kind comment on England's upper crust and politics. I just enjoyed the quick-paced, witty, funny dialogue and characters! :-) I'd love to see this play on the stage! The Captain was a hoot...but a wise old hoot. I may have to read some more George B. Shaw. Here are a few bits of dialogue I enjoyed:

ELLIE [indignant]. No, certainly not. I am proud to be able to say that though my father has not been a successful man, nobody has ever had one word to say against him. I think my father is the best man I have ever known.

THE CAPTAIN. He must be greatly changed. Has he attained the seventh degree of concentration?

ELLIE. I don't understand.

THE CAPTAIN. But how could he, with a daughter? I, madam, have two daughters. One of them is Hesione Hushabye, who invited you here. I keep this house: she upsets it. I desire to attain the seventh degree of concentration: she invites visitors and leaves me to entertain them. [Nurse Guinness returns with the tea-tray, which she places on the teak table]. I have a second daughter who is, thank God, in a remote part of the Empire with her numskull of a husband. As a child she thought the figure-head of my ship, the Dauntless, the most beautiful thing on earth. He resembled it. He had the same expression: wooden yet enterprising. She married him, and will never set foot in this house again.

NURSE GUINNESS [carrying the table, with the tea-things on it, to Ellie's side]. Indeed you never were more mistaken. She is in England this very moment. You have been told three times this week that she is coming home for a year for her health. And very glad you should be to see your own daughter again after all these years.

THE CAPTAIN. I am not glad. The natural term of the affection of the human animal for its offspring is six years. My daughter Ariadne was born when I was forty-six. I am now eighty-eight. If she comes, I am not at home. If she wants anything, let her take it. If she asks for me, let her be informed that I am extremely old, and have totally forgotten her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE CAPTAIN. So much the worse! When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them. But when they are away, we console ourselves for their absence by dwelling on their vices. That is how I have come to think my absent daughter Ariadne a perfect fiend; so do not try to ingratiate yourself here by impersonating her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

MANGAN. Are all women like you two? Do they never think of anything about a man except what they can get out of him? You weren't even thinking that about me. You were only thinking whether your gloves would last.

ELLIE. I shall not have to think about that when we are married.

MANGAN. And you think I am going to marry you after what I heard there!

ELLIE. You heard nothing from me that I did not tell you before.

MANGAN. Perhaps you think I can't do without you.

ELLIE. I think you would feel lonely without us all, now, after coming to know us so well.

MANGAN [with something like a yell of despair]. Am I never to have the last word?

CAPTAIN SHOTOVER [appearing at the starboard garden door]. There is a soul in torment here. What is the matter?

MANGAN. This girl doesn't want to spend her life wondering how long her gloves will last.

CAPTAIN SHOTOVER [passing through]. Don't wear any. I never do [he goes into the pantry].

LADY UTTERWORD [appearing at the port garden door, in a handsome dinner dress]. Is anything the matter?

ELLIE. This gentleman wants to know is he never to have the last word?

LADY UTTERWORD [coming forward to the sofa]. I should let him have it, my dear. The important thing is not to have the last word, but to have your own way.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Loved it all! :-)

Finished: Fathers and Sons (Turgenev). It's always a good book that keeps me thinking and feeling afterwards! I didn't like the "protagonist" of the book, Bazarov. He was cocky, disrespectful, and a nihilist, who believed in nothing...no rules, no authority, no sentimentality. I don't think we were supposed to like him. However...then, he fell in love. He couldn't stand it that he did. The feelings of love, and possibly desiring a future with Anna, went against all he believed in. Then...he even admitted it to her, and :::gasp:::: she slapped him down. She led him right to the slaughter, coaxing, demurring, beguiling the words out of him. When he admitted he loved her, she backed up and said, whoa there...I hope you didn't get the wrong impression that I had the same feelings for you. After that, I felt more than dislike for Bazarov. I felt compassion. Making the characters more than one dimensional in this book made it all the more enjoyable. I loved the young love story that evolved between Arkady and Katya. And, I loved the relationships between the fathers and sons. I've read four Russian authors now...Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Chekhov and now Turgenev. I think Turgenev probably fits in third behind Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Though...he certainly was able to tell his tale and evoke my emotions with alot less tangent-taking. He definitely got right to the point on things. His just wasn't quite so epic a writing piece as the others. Chekhov...I still need to read more of him to rank him justly. A couple of favorite lines:

After Bazarov complains to Anna about her need for the same punctual routine every day for her country manor life, she says:

"There's no living in the country without order, one would be devoured by ennui."

I loved that. :-)

When Bazarov got bored at his parents after only three days, after previously being gone for three years...his poor parents lamented when they found out he would leave again the next day. His mother said to his father:

"There's no help for it, Vasya! A son is a separate piece cut off. He's like the falcon that flies home and flies away at his pleasure; while you and I are like funguses in the hollow of a tree, we sit side by side, and don't move from our place. Only I am left you unchanged forever, as you for me."

I guess my hubby and I are "funguses". At least we have each other. :-) And, of course, our children are not unappreciative scoundrels like Bazarov! Overall, good book!

Finished: The Bell Jar (Plath). Heartbreaking book about a college student's plunge into mental illness. A very good book that is supposed to be somewhat autobiographical for the author, Sylvia Plath. It was so scary to read about this bright young woman who was so successful and accomplished in college falling into the depths of depression and being treated in a psychiatric hospital. The character finally made it out from under the stifling "bell jar", as did the author...but the author did eventually take her own life right after The Bell Jar was published. So sad. It makes me count my blessings, yet still worry at the same time what pressure these young college-aged kids are under to succeed, excel and be the best in these competitive times.

Finished: Eugenie Grandet (de Balzac). I really enjoyed this book! A book with characters to care about, a plot that moves along, and lots of great dialogue. I had never even heard of the author, Honore de Balzac, before, which shows my ignorance. However, I will probably read more of his books when I get a chance. I really loved the title character, Eugenie. Though she didn't end up with her first choice of happiness in the end, the book left me satisfied, yet wanting more, if that makes sense. Eugenie was a young woman who was growing up as the heiress to millions, but she didn't know it. Her father was too miserly and hoarded his money, keeping their wealth from his wife and daughter. She grew up in a modest house in a provincial French town with a sincere nature and a very true heart. Even when she is heartbroken in the end, rather than vengeance, she shows great compassion and love. And, even when she inherits all the millions, she is generous and kind. De Balzac at times used the same characters in some of his books. I'd love to read a sequel with Eugenie, but I think this was the beginning and the end of her story.

Here are a few snippets of his descriptive writing:

The opening paragraph of the book...

"There are houses in certain provincial towns whose aspect inspires
melancholy, akin to that called forth by sombre cloisters, dreary
moorlands, or the desolation of ruins. Within these houses there is,
perhaps, the silence of the cloister, the barrenness of moors, the
skeleton of ruins; life and movement are so stagnant there that a
stranger might think them uninhabited, were it not that he encounters
suddenly the pale, cold glance of a motionless person, whose
half-monastic face peers beyond the window-casing at the sound of an
unaccustomed step."

When Charles found out his father had died...

"In the crucial moments of life our minds fasten upon the locality
where joys or sorrows overwhelm us. Charles noticed with minute
attention the box-borders of the little garden, the yellow leaves as
they fluttered down, the dilapidated walls, the gnarled fruit-trees,
--picturesque details which were destined to remain forever in his
memory, blending eternally, by the mnemonics that belong exclusively
to the passions, with the recollections of this solemn hour."

Charles and Eugenie at the very beginning of falling in love....

"About four o'clock, just as Eugenie and her mother had finished
setting the table for six persons, and after the master of the house
had brought up a few bottles of the exquisite wine which provincials
cherish with true affection, Charles came down into the hall. The
young fellow was pale; his gestures, the expression of his face, his
glance, and the tones of his voice, all had a sadness which was full
of grace. He was not pretending grief, he truly suffered; and the veil
of pain cast over his features gave him an interesting air dear to the
heart of women. Eugenie loved him the more for it. Perhaps she felt
that sorrow drew him nearer to her. Charles was no longer the rich and
distinguished young man placed in a sphere far above her, but a
relation plunged into frightful misery. Misery begets equality. Women
have this in common with the angels,--suffering humanity belongs to
them. Charles and Eugenie understood each other and spoke only with
their eyes; for the poor fallen dandy, orphaned and impoverished, sat
apart in a corner of the room, and was proudly calm and silent. Yet,
from time to time, the gentle and caressing glance of the young girl
shone upon him and constrained him away from his sad thoughts, drawing
him with her into the fields of hope and of futurity, where she loved
to hold him at her side."

So far the French authors I've read, Dumas, de Balzac and Camus, are three for three! OK, Camus was a bit freaky, but still a good book. :-)

Finished: Matilda & The Fantastic Mr. Fox (Dahl). I decided to go for a little lighter reading since Dahl is on the top authors list anyway. :-) Of course, I had no idea that Matilda was a little less than lighter reading. I had no idea she had abusive parents and the horridly abusive schoolmaster! I adored Matilda, though, and Miss Honey. I hadn't ever read any Matilda or seen the movie, so I was pleased with how everything turned out. I loved reading about all the books Matilda was reading!! Also, loved the fun story of the fantastic Mr. Fox. Did I read it with George Clooney's voice in my head? Yes, I'm afraid I did. :-)

Finished: The Stranger (Camus). Now there was a concise and riveting book. Not riveting in the sense that there was excitement...but just that I couldn't stop reading this story about this man, Mersault, who had no apparent emotional attachment to anyone or anything but his basic physical needs. He wasn't a bad man. He had a job and a girlfriend and acquaintances. He just didn't connect emotionally with people. He was content in his life that way, yet it also led to his soon-to-be tragic fate. Although...he didn't even see that as tragic. To him, he was actually happy that the "indifference of the world" as to his fate was so much like himself and his own feelings of indifference that he actually, for the first time, felt a brotherhood to that indifferent world. Hmm...interesting book.

I couldn't figure out why the book was called The Stranger, though, until I read one review that said the man was a stranger to society, i.e., not caring about what society thought of his thoughts or actions, and not striving to fit in with society, while at the same time not doing anything purposely to hurt anyone in society. Here's one excerpt between Mersault and his girlfriend, Marie, that explains how he was:

That evening Marie came by to see me and asked me if I wanted to marry her. I said it didn't make any difference to me and that we could if she wanted to. Then she wanted to know if I loved her. I answered the same way I had the last time, that it didn't mean anything but that I probably didn't love her. "So why marry me, then?" she said. I explained to her that it didn't really matter and that if she wanted to, we could get married. Besides, she was the one who was doing the asking and all I was saying was yes. Then she pointed out that marriage was a serious thing. I said, "No." She stopped talking for a minute and looked at me without saying anything. Then she spoke. She just wanted to know if I would have accepted the same proposal from another woman, with who I was involved in the same way. I said, "Sure." Then she said she wondered if she loved me, and there was no way I could know about that. After another moment's silence, she mumbled that I was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me but that one day I might hate her for that same reason. I didn't say anything, because I didn't have anything to add, so she took my arm with a smile and said she wanted to marry me.

Huh. I am so the opposite of an emotionless person, but I still couldn't put the book down. :-)

Finished: Moby-Dick (Melville). That was the most laborious book to date! I don't know quite what to say about Moby-Dick. Actually, I have alot to say, so if anyone is reading this who doesn't want to know how it ends, then it's best not to read this. :-)

First of all...the book I read was 655 pages. Moby-Dick wasn't sited by Captain Ahab until page 625. The entire book before that was soooooooooooooooo long! There were so many unnecessary chapters that took the longest tangents. Sure, the book started with the infamous line "Call me Ishmael." Ishmael was the narrator of the book, and a participant in Ahab's quest to kill Moby-Dick. And, the only survivor of the quest...other than Moby-Dick, himself.

The first few chapters weren't so bad. Ishmael met his future boat mate, the harpooner, who was also a cannibal, Queequeg. I think my favorite line of the book actually happens when they first meet and have to share a bed together for lack of room at the inn. Ishmael says to himself, "Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian." That just tickled me. But, between those first few chapters and the actual confrontation between Ahab and Moby, I had two major disappointments.

First, as I mentioned, the very long, unnecessary chapters. There was an entire chapter on Cetology, where every whale known to man at that time was described...all so we could know that Moby-Dick was a sperm whale. There were several chapters explaining why whale-hunting was necessary, and even examples of past biblical, royal, mythical, etc. famous whale-hunters. There were chapters on the difference between a sperm whale's head and a right whale's head...whole chapters! There were chapters on ropes, harpoons, and crow's nests. There was a chapter dedicated to each whaling boat they happened to pass along out in the ocean, each with their own long story about some captain, or spurned lover, or lost whaler, or some such. Easily....the book would have been far more page-turning if it had been about 200 pages long instead of 655!

Second. My second problem with all those extra chapters is that I had to read through the horrifying descriptions of five different whale slaughterings before they actually got to Moby-Dick. Of course, they were a whaling ship and their supposed goal was to bring back barrels and barrels of whale oil and such. That, however, was not Ahab's ultimate goal. Anyway, I don't know what I was thinking the story was about...but I didn't reckon on reading in such detail about the massacre of the whales, and the woeful noise they make when they've been finally brought down, and how they pitifully roll over on their backs. :-(  I understand that back in that day, whale blubber was the main source for lamp oil, etc. (There was even a chapter describing how the oil was made right there on the ship!) And, I'm a meat-eater, so I'm not trying to be a hypocrite...however, I just could barely stand to read about the suffering of the whales.

So, we finally get near the big confrontation between Moby-Dick, the huge white whale, and Captain Ahab, the insane captain who had tangled with Moby before and had his leg bitten off. For two days the crews took their smaller boats out from the main ship and chased him and harpooned him and speared him...and for two days he smacked them with his huge tail and sunk all but one of their little boats. On the third day, Moby got really ticked. He decided to heck with the small boats, and turned himself towards the waiting whaling ship. He rammed it with his huge head and it sunk within minutes! Meanwhile, Ahab is exclaiming, "my ship, my ship", and doesn't realize that one of the ropes connected to the whale via harpoon has wrapped around his neck. He's whipped into the ocean and that's the last we see of Ahab. Everyone else is dragged down with the sinking ship and dies....except Ishmael. Ishmael had been tossed out of one of the small boats during one of the fluke-thumpings, completely missing being sucked down to the depths by the sinking ship. He clung to floating wood until another passing whaler picked him up two days later.

I must say....by the end, I was SO rooting for Moby! Ahab had so many chances to call it a day and quit chasing Moby. I'd never heard about the ending of the book, so I didn't know if Ahab finally got his fish. I'm so glad he didn't. Oh, also, the first mate's name...and one of the few with any sense, who tried to talk the captain out of his suicide journey, was named Starbuck. Is that where the coffee place gets its name? Now what can I read to get those poor whales out of my mind??

Finished: The Pact (Picoult). As in, suicide pact. Sad, but compelling story. Finally, I made it back to current day times, or close enough. I haven't read a "current" book since January! A story about two teenagers in love who made a suicide pact, or did they? Lots of twists and turns! However, while I was reading, I determined that I don't see any reason that this author, Jodi Picoult, should be on the top 100 list any more than some of my favorites who aren't, like Harlen Coben, Lisa Gardner or Michael Crichton. All good authors who tell page-turning stories. So, when I make MY top 100 authors list, which I will invariably do when I'm done with all this reading...they'll be on it.     :-)

Finished: The Republic - Books I, II & III (Plato). A huge dose of the philosophy of Socrates via Plato. Plato was a student of Socrates. Plato's biggest work was The Republic, a large piece divided into ten books. I could only bring myself to read three of the ten right now. Basically....Plato wrote a story about a dialogue that Socrates had with several people. Socrates wanted to find out the meaning of justice. There is a whole lot of tangent taking, and repetitive points are constantly made. Basically Socrates gives most of the people who disagree with him a verbal butt-whipping of round-about logic that they either can't contest, or are too tired to contest, once Socrates is done. Kind of like, if A = B and B = Phi and Phi = Zeta and Zeta = 2 and 2 = C, then A = C. Eventually the logic gets there, but not as simply as it could. :-)

  

There were a few gems of dialogue though. I especially like the one that was translated with the word "sillybillies". Only because I can just imagine Plato saying "sillybillies"! Seriously, though, I liked what he had to say in all the snippets below. I didn't know "Necessity is the mother of invention" came from Plato!

"Then, I said, let us begin and create in idea a State; and yet the true creator is necessity, who is the mother of our invention."

 

 

"There is nothing which for my part I like better, Cephalus, than conversing with aged men; for I regard them as travellers who have gone a journey which I too may have to go, and of whom I ought to enquire, whether the way is smooth and easy, or rugged and difficult. And this is a question which I should like to ask of you who have arrived at that time which the poets call the `threshold of old age'--Is life harder towards the end, or what report do you give of it?"

"The truth is, Socrates, that these regrets, and also the complaints about relations, are to be attributed to the same cause, which is not old age, but men's characters and tempers; for he who is of a calm and happy nature will hardly feel the pressure of age, but to him who is of an opposite disposition youth and age are equally a burden."

"He roared out to the whole company: What folly. Socrates, has taken possession of you all? And why, sillybillies, do you knock under to one another? I say that if you want really to know what justice is, you should not only ask but answer, and you should not seek honour to yourself from the refutation of an opponent, but have your own answer; for there is many a one who can ask and cannot answer."

"Now the worst part of the punishment is that he who refuses to rule is liable to be ruled by one who is worse than himself. And the fear of this, as I conceive, induces the good to take office, not because they would, but because they cannot help--not under the idea that they are going to have any benefit or enjoyment themselves, but as a necessity, and because they are not able to commit the task of ruling to any one who is better than themselves, or indeed as good. For there is reason to think that if a city were composed entirely of good men, then to avoid office would be as much an object of contention as to obtain office is at present; then we should have plain proof that the true ruler is not meant by nature to regard his own interest, but that of his subjects; and every one who knew this would choose rather to receive a benefit from another than to have the trouble of conferring one."

"For what men say is that, if I am really just and am not also thought just profit there is none, but the pain and loss on the other hand are unmistakable. But if, though unjust, I acquire the reputation of justice, a heavenly life is promised to me. Since then, as philosophers prove, appearance tyrannizes over truth and is lord of happiness, to appearance I must devote myself."


"And the country which was enough to support the original inhabitants will be too small now, and not enough?

    Quite true.
Then a slice of our neighbours' land will be wanted by us for pasture and tillage, and they will want a slice of ours, if, like ourselves, they exceed the limit of necessity, and give themselves up to the unlimited accumulation of wealth?
    That, Socrates, will be inevitable.
And so we shall go to war, Glaucon. Shall we not?
    Most certainly, he replied.
Then without determining as yet whether war does good or harm, thus much we may affirm, that now we have discovered war to be derived from causes which are also the causes of almost all the evils in States, private as well as public."


"Would not he who is fitted to be a guardian, besides the spirited nature, need to have the qualities of a philosopher?
     I do not apprehend your meaning.
The trait of which I am speaking, I replied, may be also seen in the dog, and is remarkable in the animal.
     What trait?
Why, a dog, whenever he sees a stranger, is angry; when an acquaintance, he welcomes him, although the one has never done him any harm, nor the other any good. Did this never strike you as curious?
     The matter never struck me before; but I quite recognise the truth of your remark.
And surely this instinct of the dog is very charming;--your dog is a true philosopher.
     Why?
Why, because he distinguishes the face of a friend and of an enemy only by the criterion of knowing and not knowing. And must not an animal be a lover of learning who determines what he likes and dislikes by the test of knowledge and ignorance?"


"And therefore, I said, Glaucon, musical training is a more potent instrument than any other, because rhythm and harmony find their way into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful, or of him who is ill-educated ungraceful; and also because he who has received this true education of the inner being will most shrewdly perceive omissions or faults in art and nature, and with a true taste, while he praises and rejoices over and receives into his soul the good, and becomes noble and good, he will justly blame and hate the bad, now in the days of his youth, even before he is able to know the reason why; and when reason comes he will recognise and salute the friend with whom his education has made him long familiar."

OK, I think I need to bring myself back to modern times for awhile....even if only up to the 1700's. :-) I will explore Homer, Virgil and Dante later.

Finished: Hippolytus (Euripides). Oh what snitty little beings those gods and goddesses were! So, just because Hippolytus wouldn't bow down to Aphrodite, goddess of love, she goes and causes a tragedy. Isn't that how most of these mythological stories go? I must say that I enjoyed the writing of Euripides more than Sophacles. Like when Phaedra, who has been struck by Aphrodite to fall helplessly in love with her stepson, Hippolytus, decides to starve herself to death rather than to bring dishonor upon herself by giving into her passion says:

"I am struggling to pluck honor out of shame."

Or, this from the nurse failing in her solution to ease Phaedra's pain:

"I tried to heal your pain. But failed to reach
What I had hoped for. If I had, ah then
How wise you would have called me? Wisdom's credit
Hangs merely on the luck that crowns the issue."

Then, after the nurse tells Hippolytus of Phaedra's desire, is there any sympathy or understanding? Nope there was this declared hatred for women from the chaste and honorable Hippolytus himself. Of course, I found him to be rather prickish, and his honor to be in question if he could feel so disdainfully for women.

"Ah God, why has Thou set beneath the sun
This curse of man, this counterfeit called "woman"?
If Thy will was to multiply mankind,
It should have been by other means than that!
Better if men made offering in Thy temples---
Gold, iron, or massy bronze---and bought thereby
Offspring to match its value. Then their homes
Could have been free from women's tyranny."

Ha! Believe me Hippolytus, we would have found a way to tyrannize a man like you. :-)

Then Theseus, the father of Hippolytus, and husband of Phaedra, returns home to find that Phaedra has killed herself rather than live with the dishonor of this love she doesn't understand. Theseus, thinking that Hippolytus forced himself on Phaedra causing her to take her own life, has this exchange with Hippolytus:

Theseus: Then was the time to weep and fear the future,
When first you dared to shame your father's wife.

Hippolytus: Ah walls of home, could you but cry aloud
In witness whether I am vile or no!

Theseus: Wisely you call to witness speechless things.
But without tongue the facts denounce you guilty.

Hippolytus: Ah, were I you, judging my son before me,
How I should weep for what that son endures!

Theseus: Always self-worship! That you have learnt far better
Than the honour due to those that gave you life!

And, in the end...Artemis, the goddess of the hunt, who loved Hippolytus but could not interfere with another goddess's follies, declared that even though Hippolytus had to die (which he did), she would get her revenge on the next human that Aphrodite loved! Oh those tricksters.

Finished: Oedipus the King (Sophocles). Interesting and tragic, of course. I read this in my same old high school paperback, Eight Great Tragedies, from which I read On Baile's Strand. It is so surreal to be reading the book I had in high school, with all the little notations in the margins in my high school handwriting. Obviously the teacher would tell us to underline a line and then write beside it something like "irony", because there it is in the margin. :-) I'm sure we read Oedipus the King both on our own, and in class, but I don't remember it. I couldn't have been at all interested in the words or story back then. I know I liked boys, friends and being on the volleyball team. English Lit? Not a top priority. Though, I always made good grades. So, I must have memorized it well enough back then to do well on tests.

Anyway....I enjoyed the story today. Well, the story is tragic, but the writing was nice, and sometimes similar to the method of Shakespeare's, which I like. In one scene Oedipus is questioning his brother-in-law, Creon, about whether an oracle has spoken of him (Oedipus). Creon said:

"I know not. Where I am not wise, I speak not."

If only we could all follow those words of wisdom. I must say that Oedipus was truly freaked out to find out that his wife was really his mother, and that she had born his children, hence his brothers and sisters. There wasn't any underlying boy loves his mother Oedipus complex that Freud championed. Oedipus didn't even know his wife was his mother until years later, and then he was so despondent over marrying her and killing his real father, that he put out his own eyes and banished himself from his kingdom. I found a tiny bit of humor in these lines and wondered if we were about to get our first glimpse of a bad word back somewhere in the 300 or 400 BC? But...it didn't happen. The messenger speaks of Oedipus and tells the story to the citizens of Thebes:

"He shouts, and bids open the doors, and show
To all his Thebes this father-murderer,
This mother-.... Leave the word. It is not clean.
He would be gone from Thebes, nor stay to see
His home accursed by the curse he swore;"

I love that....Leave the word. It is not clean. :-)

Off to read some Euripides.

Finished: Poetry by Thomas Moore, Jonathan Swift, John Donne, W.H. Auden, John Keats, Lord Byron, William Blake, John Berryman, William Wordsworth, Charles Baudelaire, and T.S. Eliot. I'm am thoroughly saturated with poetry after today! I've read so much, I don't know where to begin. I think I got all the poets on my list done. :-) Not that I won't go back and read more of their poems, but I think I'm done for now. Of course, I can't drag out my poetry books without reading Yeats' Brown Penny for the umpteenth time; or Frost's The Road Not Taken and Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening; or one of my all time favorites, Byron's She Walks in Beauty. The only samples of poems I'm going to put on the blog are both from Byron. She Walks in Beauty, as I said, one of my favorites and another new favorite from Byron I discovered today...Solitude. I really love everything about it. It completely grasps how I feel about being alone amidst a busy world, more so than when you're by yourself with nature. Anyway....both are below. After them, I'll talk about all the other poets whose poems I read today. :-)

She Walks in Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Solitude

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell,
To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,
Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,
And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;
To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,
With the wild flock that never needs a fold;
Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;
This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold
Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,
To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,
And roam alone, the world's tired denizen,
With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;
Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!
None that, with kindred consciousness endued,
If we were not, would seem to smile the less
Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;
This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

So...might as well start with Lord Byron. I truly enjoy his poetry. I read the above two, plus When We Two Parted, Darkness, A Spirit Passed Before Me, On This Day I Complete My 36th Year (that's as old as he would get, too), Stanzas for Music and So We'll Go No More A Roving. Invariably when reading the poems, I end up reading some or all of their biographies too. I can't say I was overly impressed with the man himself, but who am I to judge? I still really enjoy his poetry. :-)

Charles Baudelaire: He wasn't really on my list, but his name did pop up a few times, so I read one of his poems called Damned Women. At first I thought he was saying, those damned women, but I'm pretty sure it was about two women, Delphine and Hippolyta, who were damned to hell. It was interesting!

William Blake...William Blake...William Blake: I'm not really getting why he's #31 on the list, but I read his two most comprehensive works, Songs of Innocence (a 19 poem compilation) and Songs of Experience (a 26 poem compilation). I think I liked his illustrations more than his poems. Maybe I just don't "get" him? I just don't think he should be so high above Yeats, Byron or Dickinson.

John Keats: I enjoyed his poems, though some of them could be confusing. His epistle to his brother George, who passed away, was really long and confusing, but I had moments of clarity where I could see what he was saying and it became a moving tribute. I read Epistle to My Brother George, On Fame, A Thing of Beauty is a Joy Forever, To Fanny, On the Sea, His Last Sonnet (he died at only 26 of TB.), If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chained, and Lines on the Mermaid Tavern. I liked this one just for the fact that I have quite a mermaid collection, and the poem was nice too. :-)

W.H. Auden: I really enjoyed his poems too! I read Song of the Master and the Boatswain, Lullaby, In Memory of W. B. Yeats (I loved this), Stop All the Clocks and Cut Off the Telephone, and reportedly his most famous one, September 1, 1939, about the first days of World War II. He's one of those poets that I might like to go and read more works from. Definitely, he belongs above William Blake on the list too!

John Berryman: Well, he did these two poetry books called Dream Songs. My notes had told me to be sure and read Dream Song 34, so I looked and looked until I finally found it online. I was underwhelmed. I liked the others that I read better....Dream Songs 14, 52, 132, 191 and 327. In all though....I don't think I'll be seeking out more Dream Songs. I think I can give or take Berryman.

William Wordsworth: I enjoyed his poems OK. He was the 2nd to the last one I read, so I may have been getting tired. I read A Slumber Did My Spirit Seal, By the Sea, Anecdote for Fathers, I Traveled Among Unknown Men, We Are Seven and She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways. I think I'd much rather read more Tennyson. I can't believe Tennyson isn't even on the list!

Thomas Moore: He's not on my list, but I couldn't read through my Mentor Book of Irish Poetry without reading some Thomas Moore. :-) I read At the Mid Hour of Night, The Time I've Lost in Wooing (love this one!), How Oft Has the Banshee Cried, Oft in the Stilly Night, and I Saw From the Beach. OK, I can't resist putting in just a snippet. I love it!

The time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
     The light that lies
     In woman's eyes,
Has been my heart's undoing.

Jonathan Swift: I wonder if I can cross Swift off the list because I've read some of his poetry? I have absolutely NO desire to read Gulliver's Travels. I've even read the first chapter and I just can't get into it. However....his poems were delightful. I read Phillis, or, The Progress of Love and A Gentle Echo on Women. Both were very cute and I recommend reading them. :-)

John Donne: Back when I was reading and writing "romantic" poetry, I really loved John Donne's The Good Morrow, which I read again today. After reading some of his other poems, I wasn't as enthralled over 10 years later. I read The Ecstasy, The Sun Rising, The Good Morrow, The Anniversary (I liked this one!), The Indifferent Song, The Funeral, and then his epic, An Anatomy of the World. I think it was that one that did me in. I really didn't understand it all that much, except that it was a bit depressing. Anyway....I can say I've read enough John Donne.

T. S. Eliot: Last, but not least, I read Eliot's big claim to fame, The Waste Land. It was over 400 lines, most of which I didn't understand. I'm going to have to read up on it more I think and see if it sinks in. There were lines within stanzas that I understood and thought were pretty writing. I just didn't get the poem as a whole entity.

Whew! I'm poetry'd out. :-)

Finished: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Coleridge) and The Charge of the Light Brigade & others (Tennyson). I think I'll spend today reading some of the poetry by the authors on the list, and then get into some of the beginning works by Sophocles, etc.

I really enjoyed the Tennyson poems I read. One of his most famous is The Charge of the Light Brigade, about soldiers who make a charge into a battle due to a mistaken order given. Most of them don't survive. The poem is vivid, and sad in its depiction of the military blindly following orders. The poem has these famous lines in the middle of this stanza that I never knew the origin of 'til now:

"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blundere'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

I also read Tennyson's Crossing the Bar, which is sentimental. We had it read at my dad's funeral. He always told us he'd want to be buried like a Viking...floating out on a funeral pyre in the ocean. We'd always say, yeah, yeah dad...you know that's illegal, right?? The best we could do was a poem about going back to the sea. He spent many a fishing trip in Oregon with my husband and son crossing the bar of the Columbia River Gorge, so I think he would have appreciated the sentiment. I also enjoyed Break, Break, Break, A Farewell, Ulysses, The Poet's Song, Kate and two others that moved me. The first was a happy feeling. I could just see and hear the water in Song of the Brook:

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

And the second, was an ode to days gone by, maybe thinking of the good times from the past that can't really be recaptured, Tears, Idle Tears. I just really, really love this stanza:

Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more.

Next, I read Coleridge's The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. I feel like this poem was one we probably read in high school, but it was not familiar to me. I'm glad I had little notes in the book to explain some of what was going on. I enjoyed the poem, but it wasn't my favorite. My main thought....serves the old mariner right for killing the albatross (who was flying along with their ship) for no reason. After he kills the albatross with his crossbow and the ship starts encountering foul weather, the crew hangs the dead albatross around his neck, blaming him for their dire circumstances. There it stays until he is truly remorseful. He lives to forever tell his tale, but the crew isn't so lucky!

One after one, by the Star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.

The souls did from their bodies fly, --
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!

I decided I better start combining the Top Author lists I've been working off of and make a serious Top 100 Authors List. So, I spent most of today doing that! I have 5 different top 100 lists I've been working from, so quite a variety. I made a spreadsheet today and listed all the authors and their ranking on each of the lists. If authors were on all five lists, then I averaged their rankings on those lists and came up with a number, and put them at the top. Then, I did the same for authors on 4 out of the 5 lists, then 3 out of the 5, then 2 out of the 5, then, finally, authors who were just on one list. Finally, the 100 mark came while I was doing the 1's.

Many authors were left off the top 100! I was surprised. Even some I've read recently didn't make the cut. Authors like...Rudyward Kipling, Margaret Atwood, Margaret Mitchell, Edith Wharton, and some more contemporary authors, Dan Brown, Ken Follet, Frank McCourt and Larry McMurtry. However, my goal has become more than to just read at least one book from each of the Top 100 Authors, because there are so many good books! I've also been making lists of the top novels, and taking serious recommendations from others...so my list of books to read is far more than just 100.

Anyway....below is the final list after combining the five lists. Shakespeare came out on top with a score of 2.2! Only 17 authors made all five lists. And, the authors who made at least 3 of the lists made the top 50 perfectly. So...everything after the top 50 were either on one or two lists. P.S. I don't know why my list is so out of kilter, but I'm not retyping all those names!

1	Shakespeare, William
2	Dostoevsky, Fyodor
3	Dickens, Charles
4	Alighieri, Dante
5	Tolstoy, Leo
6	Faulkner, William
7	Kafka, Franz
8	Proust, Marcel
9	Cervantes, Miguel
10	Chekhov, Anton
11	Melville, Herman
12	Twain, Mark
13	Hemingway, Ernest
14	Woolf, Virginia
15	Poe, Edgar Allan
16	Marquez, Gabriel G.
17	Joyce, James
18	Orwell, George
19	Homer
20	Austen, Jane
21	Nabokov, Vladimir
22	Steinbeck, John
23	Goethe, Johann
24	Camus, Albert
25	Hugo, Victor
26	Bronte, Charlotte
27	Eliot, George
28	Wilde, Oscar
29	Conrad, Joseph
30	de Balzac, Honore
31	Blake, William
32	Tolkien, J.R.R.
33	Milton, John
34	Chaucer
35	Dumas, Alexander
36	Sophocles
37	Hardy, Thomas
38	Doyle, Arther Conan
39	Keats, John
40	Salinger, J.D.
41	Eliot, T.S.
42	Fitzgerald, F. Scott
43	Beckett, Samuel
44	Bronte, Emily
45	Stevenson, Robert L.
46	Flaubert, Gustave
47	Verne, Jules
48	Dickinson, Emily
49	Shaw, George B.
50	Hawthorne, Nathanial
51	Pushkin, Alexander
52	Yeats, William B.
53	Euripides
54	Virgil
55	Rowling, J.K.
56	Lee, Harper
57	Christie, Agatha
58	Adams, Douglas
59	Ovid
60	Lewis, C.S.
61	King, Stephen
62	Molaire
63	Vonnegut, Kurt
64	London, Jack
65	Byron, Lord
66	Woodsworth, William
67	Rand, Ayn
68	Maugham, W. S.
69	James, Henry
70	Turgenev, Ivan
71	Bradbury, Ray
72	Whitman, Walt
73	Heller, Joseph
74	Picoult, Jodi
75	Ibsen, Henrik
76	Swift, Jonathan
77	Huxley, Aldous
78	Morrison, Toni
79	Miller, Henry
80	Pynchon, Thomas
81	Palahiuk, Chuck
82	Ashberry, John
83	Donne, John
84	Aeschylus
85	Coleridge, Samuel
86	Kerouac, Jack
87	Murdoch, Iris
88	Dahl, Roald
89	Pullman, Philip
90	O'Neill, Eugene
91	Wells, H.G.
92	Pope, Alexander
93	Williams, Tennesse
94	Seuss, Dr.
95	Hosseini, Khalid
96	Auden, W.H.
97	Grisham, John
98	Baldwin, James
99	Irving, John
100	Berryman, John

Finished: In Cold Blood (Capote). Well, that was chilling. Not a book I enjoyed reading in the late night hours! I had heard about this book, but never really knew the details. I didn't even know it was based on a true story. It was awful to get to know the family who was so brutally murdered, but to know what was in store for them. Truman Capote was sure to let the reader know as each of the family members was introduced that it was his or her last day on earth. The backstories of the killers were, I guess, supposed to make you feel a little bit of sympathy that they turned out the way they did because of bad childhoods and/or circumstances they couldn't overcome. That doesn't fly with me because I've heard of too many people who have grown up with difficult circumstances who rise above and go on to become productive, good citizens. The last section of the book was about all the legal maneuverings that kept the murderers on death row through endless appeals. It dragged a bit. The rest of the book, which is supposed to be considered the epitome of a crime novel, was good, but it didn't blow me away. Seriously, no pun intended at all.

Finished: The Count of Monte Cristo (Dumas). I loved it! One of my favorites so far! It was so long, but so worth every page. I can't imagine a chapter being left out. Finally, there were some characters to love, as well as the ones who always seem prominent in novels to loath! The characters were rich, the conversations were detailed and lively, the historical references made me actually put down the book and take a small lesson in some French history, the scenic descriptions were vivid, and the emotions evoked were quite worthy.

I don't usually like to read a book, or see a movie, about an innocent person who is unjustly accused and punished by evil people. And, this was no exception in that I hated the suffering that Edmond went through, and that his father and fiance were left so heartbroken at his circumstances. Then, to have him despairing away in prison for so many years was hard to read. However, I just knew that he would somehow get out and take his vengeance. He had to because there were so many pages left to read. :-) And, the vengeance was yummy on all counts!

I wasn't completely satisfied with the ending, and who he ended up with...or with the fact that he made Maximillian wait so long in his grief. But...overall, I do believe this book is going on the favorites list! It would be really hard to pinpoint so many of my favorite snippits of writing, but here is one example of the writing I found so delightful:

"It happened that on that particular night the minister's box was placed at the disposal of Lucien Debray, who offered it to the Comte de Morcerf, who again, upon his mother's rejection of it, sent it to Danglars, with an intimation that he should probably do himself the honour of joining the baroness and her daughter during the evening in the event of their accepting the box in question. The ladies received the offer with too much pleasure to dream of a refusal. To no class of person is the presentation of a gratuitous opera-box more acceptable than to the wealthy millionaire, who still hugs economy while boasting of carrying a king's ransom in his waist-coast-pocket."

Love that! :-)

I'm reading The Count of Monte Cristo and loving it!! I'm on page 910 out of 1462. It's so good and so intricate! I can't even imagine reading the abridged version. I scanned through that to see what chapters were left out and there are so many chapters that are KEY to what's going on! Anyway...I'm loving "The Count"! :-)

Finished: Tender is the Night (Fitzgerald). Eh, it was ok, but not my favorite of the three Fitzgerald's I've now read. All of his characters are so flawed (but then I guess most humans are flawed). But...what I mean is, almost everyone in the Fitzgerald novels I've read is unfaithful to his or her spouse, without too much grappling with guilt. Maybe that was his lifestyle back then? It is said that Tender is the Night might be somewhat autobiographical about his marriage to Zelda, her mental illness and his alcoholism. There was certainly all that! I do love his descriptive writing, though. Like this description of an old dowager returning from a late night party the next morning, who disturbs the serenity of the sunbathing main characters as she walks by telling her tale about the night before:

"The sponsor of the story was a white-haired woman in full evening dress, obviously a relic of the previous evening, for a tiara still clung to her head and a discouraged orchid expired from her shoulder."

I love that..."discouraged orchid expired from her shoulder"! Can't you just picture that lady vividly in your mind? Well, done with Fitzgerald for awhile!

Finished: Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror (Ashbery). It's a poem about what is says...a self-portrait in a convex mirror, but oh so long and complicated. I just read several poems by John Ashbery, actually, including this one, one of his most famous, and included in his Pulitzer Price winning poetry collection of the same name, Self Portrait in a Convex Mirror. As I said, it was long and complicated, and I'm not sure I understand it all. Every so often I would read a section of lines and "get it". I'd get those few lines...but then, the poem would travel off on a wordy tangent I didn't quite grasp. That happened quite a bit. :-)

I went and looked at the actual self-portrait which the poem was about, Italian artist of the 1500's, Francesco Mazzola. It helped me when I read the poem a second time! I also read Ashbery's My Philosophy of Life, Just Walking Around, At North Farm (which I really liked), Glazunoviana, Crossroads in the Past, Paradoxes and Oxymorons, and Sleepers Awake (which I chuckled at).

I've included a few of my favorite lines from Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror and Sleepers Awake, and then the entire short, but sweet, At North Farm below. :-)

From Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror:

The glass chose to reflect only what he saw
Which was enough for his purpose: his image
Glazed, embalmed, projected at a 180-degree angle.
The time of day or the density of the light
Adhering to the face keeps it
Lively and intact in a recurring wave
Of arrival. The soul establishes itself.
But how far can it swim out through the eyes
And still return safely to its nest? The surface
Of the mirror being convex, the distance increases
Significantly; that is, enough to make the point
That the soul is a captive, treated humanely, kept
In suspension, unable to advance much farther
Than your look as it intercepts the picture.
Pope Clement and his court were "stupefied"
By it, according to Vasari, and promised a commission
That never materialized. The soul has to stay where it is,
Even though restless, hearing raindrops at the pane,
The sighing of autumn leaves thrashed by the wind,
Longing to be free, outside, but it must stay
Posing in this place. It must move
As little as possible.

And this from Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror:

As philosophers have often pointed out, at least
This thing, the mute, undivided present,
Has the justification of logic, which
In this instance isn't a bad thing
Or wouldn't be, if the way of telling
Didn't somehow intrude, twisting the end result
Into a caricature of itself. This always
Happens, as in the game where
A whispered phrase passed around the room
Ends up as something completely different.
It is the principle that makes works of art so unlike
What the artist intended. Often he finds
He has omitted the thing he started out to say
In the first place. Seduced by flowers,
Explicit pleasures, he blames himself (though
Secretly satisfied with the result), imagining
He had a say in the matter and exercised
An option of which he was hardly conscious,
Unaware that necessity circumvents such resolutions.
So as to create something new
For itself, that there is no other way,
That the history of creation proceeds according to
Stringent laws, and that things
Do get done in this way, but never the things
We set out to accomplish and wanted so desperately
To see come into being.

From Sleepers Awake:

Cervantes was asleep when he wrote Don Quixote.

Joyce slept during the Wandering Rocks section of Ulysses.

Homer nodded and occasionally slept during the greater part of the Iliad; he was awake however when he wrote the Odyssey.

Proust snored his way through The Captive, as have legions of his readers after him.

Melville was asleep at the wheel for much of Moby-Dick.

Fitzgerald slept through Tender Is the Night, which is perhaps not so surprising,

but the fact that Mann slumbered on the very slopes of The Magic Mountain is quite extraordinary—that he wrote it, even more so.

Kafka, of course, never slept, even while not writing or on bank holidays.

No one knows too much about George Eliot’s writing habits—my guess is she would sleep a few minutes, wake up and write something, then pop back to sleep again.

At North Farm

Somewhere someone is traveling furiously toward you,
At incredible speed, traveling day and night,
Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through narrow passes.
But will he know where to find you,
Recognize you when he sees you,
Give you the thing he has for you?

Hardly anything grows here,
Yet the granaries are bursting with meal,
The sacks of meal piled to the rafters.
The streams run with sweetness, fattening fish;
Birds darken the sky. Is it enough
That the dish of milk is set out at night,
That we think of him sometimes,
Sometimes and always, with mixed feelings?