Finished: The Meaning of Liff (Adams). Yes, that's Liff. :-) So...some may think it's cheating to read this funny book of Douglas Adams that assigns really funny every day definitions to cities from the UK. However, I just absolutely cannot bring myself to read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which probably put him in the top 100 list. I got true enjoyment from reading all the definitions, though, so I don't consider it cheating. After all, he did author the book, and take great pleasure in doing so, or so it would seem. Co-authored by John Lloyd, here is their description of the book.

In Life, there are many hundreds of common experiences, feelings, situations and even objects which we all know and recognize, but for which no words exist. On the other hand, the world is littered with thousands of spare words which spend their time doing nothing but loafing about on signposts pointing at places. Our job, as we see it, is to get these words down off the signposts and into the mouths of babes and sucklings and so on, where they can start earning their keep in everyday conversation and make a more positive contribution to society.

So, here are some of my favorites. I literally laughed out loud at a few. And, some were just too raunchy to include here. My absolute favs....Berepper, Frolesworth, Glentaggart, Jurby, Scronkey, Shoeburyness, Spittal of Glenshee, and Woking


ABERYSTWYTH (n.)
A nostalgic yearning which is in itself more pleasant than the thing being yearned for.

ALLTAMI (n.)The ancient art of being able to balance the hot and cold shower taps.

BEREPPER (n.)
The irrevocable and sturdy fart released in the presence of royalty, which sounds quite like a small motorbike passing by (but not enough to be confused with one).

CORRIEARKLET (n.)
The moment at which two people approaching from opposite ends of a long passageway, recognise each other and immediately pretend they haven't. This is to avoid the ghastly embarrassment of having to continue recognising each other the whole length of the corridor.

DAMNAGLAUR (n.)
A certain facial expression which actors are required to demonstrate their mastery of before they are allowed to play Macbeth.

DUGGLEBY (n.)
The person in front of you in the supermarket queue who has just unloaded a bulging trolley on to the conveyor belt and is now in the process of trying to work out which pocket they left their cheque book in, and indeed which pair of trousers.

DUNBOYNE (n.)
The moment of realisation that the train you have just patiently watched pulling out of the station was the one you were meant to be on.

DUNCRAGGON (n.)
The name of Charles Bronson's retirement cottage.

DUNTISH (adj.)Mentally incapacitated by severe hangover

EPSOM (n.)
An entry in a diary (such as a date or a set of initials) or a name and address in your address book, which you haven't the faintest idea what it's doing there.

FIUNARY (n.)
The safe place you put something and then forget where it was.

FROLESWORTH (n.)Measure. The minimum time it is necessary to spend frowning in deep concentration at each picture in an art gallery in order that everyone else doesn't think you've a complete moron.

FULKING (participial vb.)Pretending not to be in when the carol-singers come round.

GLASSEL (n.)A seaside pebble which was shiny and interesting when wet, and which is now a lump of rock, which children nevertheless insist on filing their suitcases with after the holiday.

GLENTAGGART (n.)A particular kind of tartan hold-all, made exclusive under licence for British Airways. When waiting to collect your luggage from an airport conveyor belt, you will notice that on the next conveyor belt along there is always a single, solitary bag going round and round uncollected. This is a glentaggart, which has been placed there by the baggage-handling staff to take your mind off the fact that your own luggage will shortly be landing in Murmansk.

GOOSNARGH (n.)Something left over from preparing or eating a meal, which you store in the fridge despite the fact that you know full well you will never ever use it.

HARPENDEN (n.)The coda to a phone conversion, consisting of about eight exchanges, by which people try gracefully to get off the line.

HIGH OFFLEY (n.)Gossnargh (q.v.) three weeks later.

HORTON-CUM-STUDLEY (n.)The combination of little helpful grunts, nodding movements of the head, considerate smiles, upward frowns and serious pauses that a group of people join in making in trying to elicit the next pronouncement of somebody with a dreadful stutter.

HOVE (adj.)Descriptive of the expression seen on the face of one person in the presence of another who clearly isn't going to stop talking for a very long time.

JURBY (n.)A loose woollen garment reaching to the knees and with three or more armholes, knitted by the wearer's well- meaning but incompetent aunt.

KIRBY (n.)Small but repulsive piece of food prominently attached to a person's face or clothing.

KIRBY MISPERTON (n.)One who kindly attempts to wipe an apparent kirby (q.v.) off another's face with a napkin, and then discovers it to be a wart or other permanent fixture, is said to have committed a 'kirby misperton'.

LITTLE URSWICK (n.)The member of any class who most inclines a teacher towards the view that capital punishment should be introduced in schools.

MINCHINHAMPTON (n.)The expression on a man's face when he has just zipped up his trousers without due care and attention.

MOFFAT (n. tailoring term)That part of your coat which is designed to be sat on by the person next of you on the bus.

PLYMOUTH (vb.)To relate an amusing story to someone without remembering that it was they who told it to you in the first place.

QUENBY (n.)A stubborn spot on a window which you spend twenty minutes trying to clean off before discovering it's on the other side of the glass.

SCAMBLEBY (n.)A small dog which resembles a throwrug and appears to be dead.

SCOSTHROP (vb.)To make vague opening or cutting movements with the hands when wandering about looking for a tin opener, scissors, etc. in the hope that this will help in some way.

SCRONKEY (n.)Something that hits the window as a result of a violent sneeze.

SHOEBURYNESS (abs.n.)The vague uncomfortable feeling you get when sitting on a seat which is still warm from somebody else's bottom.

SKETTY (n.)Apparently self-propelled little dance a beer glass performs in its own puddle.

SOLENT (adj.)Descriptive of the state of serene self-knowledge reached through drink.

SPITTAL OF GLENSHEE (n.)That which has to be cleaned off castle floors in the morning after a bagpipe contest or vampire attack.

WOKING (participial vb.)Standing in the kitchen wondering what you came in here for.

Finished: Waiting for Godot (Beckett). I think I'm still waiting for the point. Anyway, hmm. I'm not sure what to say. I went to read a review of the play after I read it, and it was called an "absurdist" piece of literature. I think I would agree with that. :-) I didn't really get it...or why it's considered to be one of the best plays of the 20th century. Oh wait...here's exactly what was said: It was voted "the most significant English language play of the 20th century". Really? Maybe I'm not deep enough. Another reviewer said it was a masterpiece because it was a play about absolutely nothing that holds you spellbound. And, as a matter of fact...the second act is just pretty much a repeat of the first act, so it does it to you twice. Interesting summary, that.

I went to the Broadway database to see who had starred in the play recently, and the only thing that kept me going through the play was picturing Nathan Lane as one of the main characters. I could so see him playing the part. Other than that, I've got nothing. Oh, I did like this exchange:

Vladimir: Is it possible you've forgotten already?

Estragon: That's the way I am. Either I forget immediately or I never forget.

I did like that. :-) Maybe that's the point...I'll never forget reading Waiting for Godot, that's for sure.

Finished: The Odyssey (Homer). I enjoyed this epic tale! :-) I can't remember if I read The Odyssey in high school, but it did not seem familiar. Yet, the mythologies were definitely familiar. I'm thinking maybe I read The Iliad. In any case, I've now read Homer, and much to my surprise, I was not bored or glazing over. I really enjoyed the story of Odysseus' long journey home, and all the players involved. It may have just inspired me to read (re-read?) The Iliad! I loved Telemachus, and Penelope, and all who were loyal to Odysseus....especially Athena. Though, wasn't it always the gods dallying with the mortals who usually started all the problems to begin with?? And...did Odysseus perhaps deserve his ten year exile after the Trojan War? I'd have to really get into the history to formulate an opinion on that, so for now I'll just say, I was rooting for Odysseus in The Odyssey. :-)

I wish I could understand Greek and read the original. You can tell that the poem had many phrases used over and over throughout that were translated charmingly to my eyes. Some of the ones I liked in particular:

"When the early rosy fingered dawn appeared." (probably the most repeated)

"Surely the wine has touched your wits."

"Athena poured sleep upon her eyelids." or "On her lids, Athena caused a sweet sleep to fall."

"His life flew away."

"What word has passed the barrier of your teeth?"

"I will go to my upper chamber and lie on my bed, which has become for me a bed of sorrows, ever watered with my tears since Odysseus went away to see accursed Ilios, --name never to be named."

lol, love that last one. Reminds me of "He who shall not be named." from Harry Potter! Anyway...I definitely enjoyed this Classic and think it deserves to be on the Classics list.

Finished: Lady Susan (Austen). I couldn't resist another Jane Austen. :-) A lively story told in 41 chapters, all written as letters by the characters of the book, to and from each other. Lady Susan is a detestable widow who treats her daughter horribly, and flirts with younger men in hopes of attracting them for either herself, or her daughter....but mostly herself! She's all sugar and spice, of course, to the gentlemen in person, but then writes these scathing letters about them to her best friend, the only person who knows her true intentions. Happily, the truth wins out in the end and her duplicity is uncovered. :-)

Now...more Jane Austen or back to my list of authors??

Finished: Northanger Abbey (Austen). I love Jane Austen! I wish so much that she had written more books before her untimely death. She is one of my favorite authors based on Pride and Prejudice alone, but I relish reading more of her words! Jane Austen is, of course, already an author I've read so I should be concentrating on authors I haven't read, but I couldn't resist. :-)

Northanger Abbey was a delight to read! I loved Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney and their courtship. And, I couldn't stand the vapid Isabella Thorpe or the smarmy John Thorpe. Although it was a little predictable that Catherine and Henry would end up together and happy after overcoming some obstacles, that's one of the things I enjoyed the most after reading so many tragic books of late. And, there's just no beating Jane Austen's prose. Love it, love it, love it!

After Catherine grows up as a tomboy, she finally hits the teen years and starts dreaming of being a heroine, like in the novels:

But from fifteen to seventeen she was in training for a heroine; she read all such works as heroines must read to supply their memories with those quotations which are so serviceable and so soothing in the vicissitudes of their eventful lives.

When Catherine first meets Henry on holiday in Bath. I love this conversation:

Catherine turned away her head, not knowing whether she might venture a laugh.

"I see what you think of me," said he gravely--"I shall make but a poor figure in your journal tomorrow."

"My journal!"

"Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower Rooms: wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings--plain black shoes--appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me with nonsense."

"Indeed I shall say no such thing."

"Shall I tell you what you ought to say?"

"If you please."

"I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; had a great deal of conversation with him--seems a most extraordinary genius--hope I may know more of him. That, madame, is what I wish you to say."

"But, perhaps, I keep no journal."

"Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting by you. These are points in which a doubt is equally possible. Not keep a journal! How are your absent cousins to understand the tenour of your life in Bath without one? How are the civilities and compliments of every day to be related as they ought to be, unless noted down every evening in a journal? How are your various dresses to be remembered, and the particular state of your complexion, and curl of your hair to be described in all their diversities, without having constant recourse to a journal? My dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies' ways as you wish to believe me; it is this delightful habit of journalizing which largely contributes to form the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally celebrated. Everybody allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female. Nature may have done something, but I am sure it must be essentially assisted by the practice of keeping a journal."

Another conversation between Catherine and Henry, where Catherine doesn't want to tell Henry that she was curious about him:

"What are you thinking of so earnestly?" said he, as they walked back to the ballroom; "not of your partner, I hope, for, by that shake of the head, your meditations are not satisfactory."

Catherine coloured, and said, "I was not thinking of anything."

"That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather be told at once that you will not tell me."

"Well then, I will not".

"Thank you; for now we shall soon be acquainted, as I am authorized to tease you on this subject whenever we meet, and nothing in the world advances intimacy so much."

I love this quote about friendship. :-) After their one evening together, Henry does not show up at the local balls for a few days, but Catherine has a new friend (or so she thinks), Isabella.

Catherine was delighted with this extension of her Bath acquaintance, and almost forgot Mr. Tilney while she talked to Miss Thorpe. Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love.

Well, I could go on and on, but I might quote the entire book. All of the above happened in only the first 40 pages! Off to read more...just don't know what yet.

Finished: Madame Bovary (Flaubert). Well, another tragic book, albeit very well written. Emma Bovary is a married mother of one who isn't satisfied with her provincial French life. She has always longed for adventure, white knights, balls, society...but she marries a country doctor who can only offer her the "boring country life" of wife and mother. He is ecstatically happy with her, and she is miserable with him. This leads to her having two devastating adulterous affairs and borrowing her family into ruin to shower herself with material possessions to make herself happy.

I don't really find Emma Bovary to be any more sympathetic than I did Anna Karenina. I don't have sympathy for a woman who puts her own whims and desires before her child...especially when she is living a comfortable life and her whims and desires are not basic needs, but the flowers on the icing on the cake! I do understand that back in the day...back when these characters existed, that many times marriages were arranged or strongly suggested by parents. But, in Emma's case, she went into her marriage willingly, and thinking she was in love with Charles Bovary. A few months and a little boredom later and she was woefully unhappy. She was also very negligent to her baby daughter.

Flaubert is a very good writer and did a very good job of describing Emma's feelings and unfulfilled desires. I even felt sorry for her at one point, knowing how unhappy she was. She was the epitome of the unfulfilled stay-at-home mom. (Side note: I was a stay-at-home mom and was anything BUT unfulfilled!) Instead of diving into her interests, though, like reading and the arts, or heaven forbid...adoring her child, she became so very narcissistic. And when she began to, first, detest everything about her husband, who was a genuine, although, unambitious man, and, second, to let those feelings blossom into adulterous affairs, then she lost my sympathy.

Flaubert kept me turning the pages, though. Besides the three hours I spent yesterday watching my DVR'd episodes of Revenge, so I could be ready for the season finale last night, I could barely put the book down! :-)

I only made note of one passage to include here, but the entire book was really very good. In this passage, Emma Bovary meets the man who will later become her second lover. While her husband, Charles, is busy talking with the town pharmacist at dinner, she strikes up a conversation with a young law clerk from town, Leon. She does at this point become infatuated with Leon, but doesn't act on her feelings. She can't believe, though, that she has actually met someone who is as passionate about reading and romanticism as she. I love his description of reading!

"My wife doesn't care much for it (gardening)," said Charles. "She'd rather, even though she's been recommended to take exercise, stay in her room the whole time, reading."

"That's like me," remarked Leon. "What could be better, really, than an evening by the fire with a book, with the wind beating on the panes, the lamp burning?"

"I do so agree," she said, fixing on him her great black eyes open wide.

"Your head is empty," he continued, "the hours slip away. From your chair you wander through the countries of your mind, and your thoughts, threading themselves into the fiction, play about with the details or rush along the track of the plot. You melt into the characters; it seems as if your own heart is beating under their skin." 

"Oh, yes, that is true!" she said.

"Has it ever happened to you," Leon went on, "in a book you come across some vague idea you once had, some blurred image from deep down, something that just spells out your finest feelings?"

"I have had that," she answered.

"That," he said, "is why I particularly love the poets. I find verse more tender than prose, and it brings more tears to the eye."

"Though rather exhausting after a while," Emma went on, "and at the moment, you see, I adore stories that push on inexorably, frightening stories. I detest common heroes and temperate feelings, the way they are in life."
.....

Without realizing, while he was talking, Leon had put his foot on one of the bars of the chair in which Madame Bovary was sitting. She was wearing a little cravat made of blue silk, that made her tube-pleated batiste collar stick up like a ruff; and, whenever she moved her head, half her face was screened by the fabric or else was pleasingly revealed. So it was, side by side, while Charles and the pharmacist were chatting, they embarked on one of those vague conversations in which every random phrase always brings you back to the fixed centre of a mutual sympathy. Paris theatres, titles of novels, new quadrilles, and the society they knew nothing of, Tostes where she had lived, Yonville where they were, they went through it all, talked it over until the end of dinner.

After meeting Leon, and clearly meeting more of a soul mate, yet not acting on her feelings because of her husband and family, was probably when I had the most sympathy or understanding for Madame Bovary. However, when she then deteriorated into the selfish being she became, then I pretty much just told her character to "talk to the hand", and then I enjoyed the rest of the book for the good writing it put forth!

Finished: An Ideal Husband, The Canterville Ghost, Lord Arthur Savile's Crime, The Young King (Wilde). I got a lovely book with some of Oscar Wilde's works and have spent the last day reading through it. I've decided Oscar Wilde will go on my favorite author's list. :-) When he's funny, writing plays with all kinds of quick wit and/or humorous misunderstandings like The Importance of Being Earnest, Lady Windermere's Fan or An Ideal Husband, he is at his best for me! His short stories were also poignant, yet with a little of the serious or disturbing thrown in. I'd say next on my list to read of Oscar Wilde's will be The Picture of Dorian Gray. I love this line from Lady Windermere in Lord Arthur Savile's Crime...."No, I am not at all cynical, I have merely experience; which, however, is very much the same thing."

I also loved this poem he wrote in honor of his little sister who died at the age of nine:

Requiescat

Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.

All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.

Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.

Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.

Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.

AVIGNON

Finished: The Razor's Edge (Maugham). A good book. A book with several well-developed characters and lots of character interaction and dialogue. I wouldn't put it on the favorites list, but I also wouldn't put Maugham on the list of authors I can check off and never read again. :-) His masterpiece is supposed to be Of Human Bondage, but the summary of this one appealed to me more, so I read it instead. I will probably put Of Human Bondage on the list to read later. I mostly liked the character interactions between Elliott and the narrator, and Isabel and the narrator. I wasn't really taken with the "protagonist" of the book, Larry.

Larry was one of the main characters who would weave in and out of all the others' lives...but he was always on this mission to find out the meaning of and/or existence of God. His own personal journey was certainly his own business, but when he first started out, he was a bit selfish in thinking that his fiance, Isabel, should wait for him while he figured things out, and then later, marry him suddenly and trek with him into poverty as he kept searching for all the answers. I much preferred the realistic and no-nonsense Isabel. And, I also liked her uncle, Elliott...who, though appeared to be all about the surface, was really the best person at heart.

Anyway....here are a couple of passages to show the writing I liked.

The British narrator was discussing with Isabel how, even though she finally married someone else, Gray, and had children and a stable life, she still truly loved Larry:

"Have you never thought of divorcing Gray?"

"I've got no reason for divorcing him."

"That doesn't prevent your countrywomen from divorcing their husbands when they have a mind to."

She laughed. "Why d'you suppose they do it?"

"Don't you know? Because American women expect to find in their husbands a perfection that English women only hope to find in their butlers."

I like that! :-) And, when the incomparable Elliott, in ill health, is contemplating his death, he has a conversation with the narrator:

"I'm getting on, you know, and to tell you the truth I shan't be sorry to go. What are those lines of Landor's? 'I've warmed both hands...' "

Though I have a bad verbal memory, the poem is very short and I was able to repeat it.
      "I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
       Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;
       I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
       It sinks, and I am ready to depart."

"That's it," he said.

I could not but reflect that it was only by a violent stretch of the imagination that Elliott could fit the epigram to himself.

"It expresses my sentiments exactly," he said, however. "The only thing I could add to it is that I've always moved in the best society in Europe."

"It would be difficult to squeeze that into a quatrain."

I'd have to type pages and pages to get the appropriate rhythms of the conversations, but I did enjoy these parts of the book the most. :-)

Finished: Stay Close (Coben). Ahhh, finally I read one of my Harlan Coben's! He's one of my favorite current authors. There's nothing deep or brain-numbing in his books. They are just always page-turners with lots of plot twists, interesting characters, and always a who-done-it to figure out. :-) Half of his books feature sports agent turned detective, Myron Bolitar and his best friend Winn. This one did not. I enjoy both types of his books. I've read them all but one of his very first books which I just ordered, and the book he wrote for "juniors" called Shelter. I may read that one yet too!

I just realized that if I read one more Harlan Coben book that he'll be my most read author. He'll finally edge out all the Nancy Drew books I read as a child...unless I missed some of those titles. Anyway, it was a nice way to spend my day yesterday while my son put together a set of bookshelves to house all our books we had stacked in temporary fold-down shelves. :-)

Finished: Swann's Way (Proust). The first book in Proust's acclaimed "masterpiece", In Search of Lost Time. Hmm, not my favorite book. I kind of felt myself wondering if I'd ever get the lost time back it was taking me to read this book. It's not that I found the writing bad. Proust has an amazing ability to describe something in such detail that you can honestly see it, feel it, smell it. It's just that he describes every single little thing in such detail that each detail develops its own explanatory detail, and then that detail gets another tangent, and so on. When it takes six pages to describe one pane of glass in a church window, you know you're in for a very long read.

I also found the narrator to be so self-absorbed and bordering on obsessive in his longings for his mother to come and say goodnight to him, and then, on his desire to see the little girl he'd "fallen in love with" as a child when they played. It seemed to be so narcissistic, but then on the other hand, those parts of the book were complete details of his innermost thoughts. So, perhaps he wasn't being any more self-absorbed than the rest of us are. He just happened to write it all down.

The middle part of the book, about the other main character's love affair with Odette was a bit more interesting to read, until it too became more about Swann's obsession with Odette and about him expressing his innermost turmoils and thoughts in such minute detail.

I don't know....I had high hopes for reading the entire seven book series since it had been so touted. I think now that I'll just stop with the one book and consider Proust done. I reserve the right to change my mind about that, though, because there were definitely times his writing evoked in me great empathy and emotion, so I have mixed feelings. Here are a few snippets of his writing. :-)

Describing what it was like to get used to being in a hotel room instead of his own bed:

"Habit! That skillful but very slow housekeeper who begins by letting our mind suffer for weeks in a temporary arrangement; but whom we are nevertheless truly happy to discover, for without habit our mind, reduced to no more than its own resources, would be powerless to make a lodging habitable."

Describing his grandmother:

"...and my grandmother would go off again, sad, discouraged, yet smiling, for she was so humble at heart and so gentle that her tenderness for others, and the lack of fuss she made over her own person and her sufferings, came together in her gaze in a smile in which, unlike what ones sees in the faces of so many people, there was irony only for herself, and for all of us a sort of kiss from her eyes, which could not see those she cherished without caressing them passionately with her gaze."

Describing his sadness at his mother not coming up to say goodnight to him because they had company for dinner:

"The region of sadness I had just entered was as distinct from the region into which I had hurled myself with such joy only a moment before, as in certain skies a band of pink is separated as though by a line from a band of green or black. One sees a bird fly into the pink, it is about to reach the end of it, it is nearly touching the black, then it has to entered it. The desires that had surrounded me a short time ago, to go to Guermantes, to travel, to be happy, were so far behind me now that their fulfillment would not have brought me any pleasure. How I would have given all that up in order to be able to cry all night in Mama's arms! I was trembling, I did not take my anguished eyes off my  mother's face, which would not be appearing that evening in the room where I could already see myself in my thoughts, I wanted to die. And that state of mind would continue until the following day, when the morning rays, like the gardener, would lean their bars against the wall clothed in nasturtiums that climbed up to my window, and I would jump out of bed to hurry down into the garden, without remembering, now, that evening would ever bring back with it the hour for leaving my mother."

Finished: Faust (Goethe). Both parts. My brain hurts! I can see why Goethe's Faust is considered a brilliant piece of writing. The entire story is written in poetic form and incorporates so many biblical and mythological references. I had to read many of the passages several times and I'm still not sure I understood everything I read. I can say that it is an incredible work of writing, but I can't really add it to my favorite books. It took Goethe several years to write both parts I and II. I can't even imagine the work that went into all that detail! It's basically the story of Faust, a mortal who is unsatisfied with all the earthly answers to life he has learned through his many degrees. He wants more knowledge. I'm not sure what he's seeking can be found. In any event, the devil makes a bet with God that he can capture Faust's soul by taking him on some pretty wild adventures. In the end, just when you think Faust's entire life has been turned over to the devil and his soul will follow to hell when he dies, God wins out and takes him to heaven. :-)

In the meat of all the stories are some fascinating pieces of poetry. All kinds of objects are brought to life and given thoughts and words. Some of my favorite passages are below:

Faust: "All that you have,
bequeathed you by your father,
Earn it in order to possess it.
Things unused often burden and beset;
But what hour brings forth, that can use it and bless it."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mephistopheles (the devil): "Here to your service I will bind me;
Beck when you will, I will not pause or rest;
But in return when yonder you will find me,
Then likewise shall you be at my behest."

Faust: "The yonder is to me a trifling matter.
Should you this world to ruins shatter,
The other then may rise, its place to fill.
'Tis from this earth my pleasure springs,
And this sun shines upon my sufferings;
When once I separate me from these things,
Let happen then what can and will.
And furthermore I've no desire to hear
Whether in future too men hate and love,
And whether too in  yonder sphere
There is an under or above."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Margaret: "So you don't believe?" (in God)

Faust: "Sweet vision, don't misunderstand me now!
Who dare name Him?
And who avow:
"I believe in Him"?
Who feels and would
Have hardihood
To say: "I don't believe in Him"?
The All-Enfolder,
The All-Upholder,
Enfolds, upholds He not
You, me, Himself?
Do not the heavens over-arch us yonder?
Does not the earth lie from beneath?
Do not eternal stars rise friendly
Looking down upon us?
Look I not, eye in eye, on you,
And do not all things throng
Toward your head and heart,
Weaving in mystery eternal,
Invisible, visible, near to you?
Fill up your heart with it, great though it is,
And when you're wholly in the feeling, in its bliss,
Name it then as you will,
Name it Happiness! Heart! Love! God!
I have no name for that!
Feeling is all in all;
Name is but sound and smoke,
Beclouding Heaven's glow."

Margaret: "That's all quite nice and good to know;
Much the same way the preacher talks of it,
Only in words that differ just a bit."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At a masquerade, a host of  "entities" enter and make their claims after being announced by the Herald.

An Olive Branch with Fruits: "Flowery sprays I do not covet,
Strife I shun, I am above it;
To my nature it is strange.
Yet I am the nation's marrow,
Pledge secure 'gainst spear and arrow.
Sign of peace where men may range.
And today I'm hoping, fleetly
To adorn a fair head meetly."

Rosebuds, a Challenge: "Let fantastic gaudy flowers
Bloom as Fashion oft empowers,
Wondrous-strange and finely moulded,
Such as Nature ne'er unfolded.
Green stalks, gold bells, look entrancing
From rich locks, their charm enhancing!
But we hide from mortal eyes.
Happy he who us espies!
When anew the summer beameth
As the rosebud, kindling, gleameth,
From such bliss who'd be abstaining?
Sweet the promise and attaining
Which in Flora's fair domain
Rule over vision, heart, and brain."

Herald: "Now, if it please you, stand aside a pace,
For what comes now is not your kind or race.
Ye see a mountain pressing through the throng,
Its flanks with brilliant  housings proudly hung,
A head with long tusks, snake-like snout below.
A mystery! but soon the key I'll show.
A dainty woman on his neck is sitting
And with her wand subjects him to her bidding;
Another stands aloft, sublime to see,
Girt by a radiance dazzling, blinding me.
Beside them chained, two noble women near,
Fearful the one, the other blithe of cheer.
One longs for freedom and one feels she's free.
Let each declare now who she be."

Fear: "Lamps and lights and torches smoking
Through this turmoil gleam around;
Midst these faces, shamming, joking,
I, alas, in chains am bound.
Hence, ye throngs absurdly merry!
I mistrust your grins with right;
Every single adversary
Presses nearer in this night.
Friend turned foes would here bewray me,
But his mask I know well. Stay,
Yonder's one who wished to slay me;
Now revealed, he slinks away.
Through the wide world I would wander,
Following every path that led,
But destruction threatens yonder,
Holds me fast twixt gloom and dread."

Hope: "Hail, beloved sisters, hail!
Though today and yesterday
Ye have loved this maskers' play,
Yet tomorrow ye'll unveil.
This I know of you quite surely.
If beneath the torches' flaring
We can't find our special pleasure,
Yet in days of cheerful leisure,
As our will doth bid us purely,
Now in groups, now singly faring,
We'll roam over lovely leas,
Resting, doing, as we please,
In a life no cares assailing,
Naught forgoing, never failing.
Everywhere as welcome guest
Let us enter, calm in mind,
Confident that we shall find
Somewhere, certainly, the best."

Prudence: "Two of man's chief foes, behold them,
Fear and Hope, in fetters mated;
From this crowd I'll keep and hold them.
Room, make room! Ye're liberated.
I conduct the live colossus,
See the burden that it carries,
And the steepest pass it crosses,
Step by step, and never wearies."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Two arguing entities:

Leader of the Chorus: "How ugly, near to beauty, ugliness appears!"

Phorkyas: "How senseless, near to wisdom, seems the want of sense!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Faust falls in love with the goddess, Helena:

Faust: "Astonished, I behold alike, O Queen,
The unerring archer and the stricken one;
I see the bow which hath the arrow sped
That wounded him. Arrows on arrows fly,
Me do they smite. Criss-cross through keep and court
I feel their feathered whirring everywhere.
What am I now? The faithfulest thou mak'st
At once rebellious to me, insecure
My walls, And so my army, I fear now,
Obeys the conquering, unconquered Queen.
What else remains save that I give to thee
Myself and all that I have fancied mine?
Freely and truly let me at thy feet
Acknowledge thee as Queen who by her coming
Acquired at once possession and a throne."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Helena despairs and perishes after her son with Faust dies:

Helena: "Alas, an ancient truth is verified in me:
That bliss and beauty never lastingly unite.
The bond of life is rent no less than that of love;
Bewailing both, I say with sorrow: Fare thee well!
And cast myself once more, once only, in thine arms.
Receive, Persephone, receive the boy and me."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Finished: The Mayor of Casterbridge (Hardy). Good book! :-) I really liked the writing and the story was intricate with some twists and turns. Loved two of the characters, the "Scotchman", Donald Farfrae, and the daughter, Elizabeth-Jane. I had so many emotions about the "mayor" Michael Henchard....loathing, disgust, confusion...and later, pity, and even a squeak of compassion. I think for me to go from loathing to compassion is the sign of a good story all around. Especially when that story starts off with a 21 year old man getting drunk and selling his wife and baby daughter to another man. The story grabbed me there and didn't let go until I was satisfied with the end. And finally, a story where the good, true-hearted people prevailed...even if it took them some bumps in the road to get there.

A few representatives of the writing:

"The chief--almost the only--attraction of the young woman's face was its mobility. When she looked down sideways to the girl she became pretty, and even handsome, particularly that in the action her features caught slantwise the rays of the strongly coloured sun, which made transparencies of her eyelids and nostrils and set fire on her lips. When she plodded on in the shade of the hedge, silently thinking, she had the hard, half-apathetic expression of one who deems anything possible at the hands of Time and Chance except, perhaps fair play. The first phase was the work of Nature, the second probably of civilization."

"The sloping pathways by which spectators had ascended to their seats were pathways yet. But the whole was grown over with grass, which now, at the end of summer was bearded with withered bents that formed waves under the brush of the wind, returning to the attentive ear of Aeolian modulations, and detaining for moments the flying globes of thistle-down."

"Time, 'in his own grey style,' taught Farfrae how to estimate his experience of Lucetta--all that it was, and all that it was not. There are men whose hearts insist upon a dogged fidelity to some image or cause thrown by chance into their keeping, long after their judgment has pronounced it no rarity--even the reverse, indeed; and without them the band of the worthy is incomplete. But Farfrae was not of those. It was inevitable that the insight, briskness, and rapidity of his nature should take him out of the dead blank which his loss threw about him. He could not but perceive that by the death of Lucetta he had exchanged a looming misery for a simple sorrow. After the revelation of her history, which must have come sooner or later in any circumstances, it was hard to believe that life with her would have been productive of further happiness."

"She had learnt the lesson of renunciation, and was as familiar with the wreck of each day's wishes as with the diurnal setting of the sun. If her earthly career had taught her few book philosophies it has at least well practised her in this. Yet her experience had consisted less in a series of pure disappointments than in a series of substitutions. Continually it had happened that what she had desired had not been granted her, and that what had been granted her she had not desired. So she viewed with an approach to equanimity the now cancelled days when Donald had been her undeclared love, and wondered what unwished-for thing Heaven might send her in place of him."

Sigh...good book. I might have to read more Thomas Hardy! :-)

Finished: The Seagull; Uncle Vania; Three Sisters; The Cherry Orchard; and The Proposal (Chekhov). Four plays and a small one-act, all nice reads. :-) I was going to say that The Cherry Orchard was probably my favorite, until I read the one act, The Proposal. It was quite delightful! I could quote the entire thing, but that would be too long. If you get a chance to read it, it's only 17 pages long. One of my favorite quotes from it, "What a job it is, O Lord, to be a grown-up daughter's father!"  :-)

I really enjoy reading Chekhov's work! The four plays were all about families living in the provincial Russian countryside, with various degrees of drama and somewhat bittersweet outcomes. Although each of the plays had their token humorous characters, I didn't find any of the plays to be comedies, as The Seagull and The Cherry Orchard were both billed by Chekhov. Each play had characters who struggled with "meaning of life" questions, while holding together their own "estates" in the face of Russia changing and while living among peasants who bordered on poverty.

I didn't at all see The Seagull as a comedy. Most of the characters ended up unhappy. Sadly, Konstantin loves Nina, but Nina loves Boris. She used to love Konstantin until Boris, the "brilliant" writer came to town, swept her off her feet, took her away to be an actress, had a child with her who died, went back to the affairs with all his other women, and two years later forgot what Nina meant to him in the first place. When Nina comes back to town after two years and has a heart to heart with Konstantin, he declares his love for her yet again, but all she can think about is how she still loves Boris. Konstantin then shoots himself. Hmm....still looking for the comedy!

Three Sisters was very fast paced, and I could see it being a great stage presentation. Three Russian sisters, Olga, Maria and Irena, live with their brother, Andrey, on their country estate. Olga, never married, is the oldest and probably the wise voice of the play. Maria is married to Fiodor, an unexciting man she doesn't love. Irena is the youngest, and even though she is adored for years by Nikolai, is waiting for the perfect man to come along. Andrey has a promising career as a professor ahead of him, but marries Natasha, a young woman none of his sisters like. After two children and "boring" married life,  he gives up his dreams of becoming a professor, works for the district instead, and amasses huge gambling debts that eventually give his wife control of their family home instead of his beloved sisters.  Maria falls in love with the worldly and philosophical Lt. Colonel Vershinin, but does not leave her husband for him. Vershinin leaves town when he and his men are reassigned to another area. Irena FINALLY agrees to marry Nikolai, but the day before they are to be married, he is killed in a senseless duel. Olga become the school headmistress, still longing for a true love. The three sisters embrace at the end of the play knowing they'll always be strong and have each other. Brother-dear is a hen-pecked weakling.

"A Comedy in Four Acts", The Cherry Orchard is about a woman, Liubov, who comes back to her country estate after being gone for six years. She left, unable to live with the sorrow, after her husband died and her seven year old son drowned in the river. Her daughter, Ania, who is now 17, has gone to fetch her from her travelings and affairs in Paris to come home and be with her and her older adopted sister, Varia. Liubov's brother Gayev has a home nearby, and together they own the immense cherry orchard which has been in the family for generations. Yermolai is a peasant whose parents and grandparents worked the land and cherry orchard for all those generations. Yermolai has worked hard, saved his money, and become a successful businessman. When the widow Liubov arrives back in town, Yermolai lets her and her brother know that the entire cherry orchard and estate are in financial ruin and about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. If they would only listen to his plan for them to parcel off tracts of the cherry orchard to be rented by peasants, they could turn a profit and pay off their mortgage debts. Liubov and Gayev poo poo the idea and live in denial, spending money they don't have. When the auction comes, the cherry orchard and the estate are sold.....to Yermolai!! He buys it all rather than have a random stranger do so. Everyone else packs up, says a sad goodbye to each other and the house, and moves away. Yermolai begins demolishing the orchard to parcel up the land. Nope.....not really seeing a comedy here either. But...I did like this play. :-)

Uncle Vania is just about family. A retired professor comes back home with his second, much younger, wife to live with his daughter (Sonia) by his deceased first wife, his first wife's brother (Uncle Vania) and his first wife's mother. The workings of the family estate, as well as the well-established relationships, are thrown into a tizzy when they arrive. The younger wife falls for the family doctor, who is always being called to the estate by the ailing retired professor. Unbeknownst to the doctor, he has also been loved by the daughter, Sonia, for years. Both the doctor and Uncle Vania fall for the younger wife. The professor declares that the estate should be sold, with him receiving most of the proceeds. This, plus the realization that the younger wife loves the doctor and rejects him, sends Uncle Vania into a tailspin. He tries and fails to shoot the professor (in what I envision to finally be one of the few semi-humorous scenes in all four plays I read). In the end, the estate is not sold, the professor and his young wife decide to leave before they cause more upheaval, and Uncle Vania and Sonia stay on at the estate to get it back into decent running order. Here's a snippet of one of Uncle Vania's rantings:

"Just consider this. The man has been lecturing and writing about art for exactly twenty-five years, and yet he understands nothing whatever about art. For twenty-five years he has been chewing over other people's ideas about realism, naturalism and all that sort of nonsense; for twenty-five years he's been just wasting time and energy. And yet, what an opinion of himself! What pretensions! Now he's returned, and not a living soul is aware of him: today he is completely unknown, and that simply means that for twenty-five years he's been occupying a place to which he wasn't in the least entitled. But just look at him - he struts around like a little tin god!"

I'm so glad I found this book of Chekhov's plays among my son's vast collection of Russian books. And, I was tickled to find the corner of The Proposal turned down as if it had already been read! Can't wait to talk to Josh about the nice little story. :-)

Finished: The Good Man Jesus and the Scoundrel Christ (Pullman). Well, hmm. Jesus and Christ are twin brothers born of Mary and Joseph, and so the story continues. Written by self-proclaimed atheist, Pullman, I read the book with the knowledge that that's the viewpoint he'd be writing from. First of all...I can't tell if this book was supposed to be for young readers? It was written very simplistically and with large writing, almost like it would be on a 5th or 6th grader's reading list. It tells, very dryly, the story of the twin brothers and how Jesus went on to be, well, Jesus, and Christ was his brother who followed him around and chronicled his story...embellishing things that happened along the way, leading us to "understand" why most of the miraculous events in the new testament of the bible weren't really recorded history, but written as a more meaningful "truth" that would lead people to believe in Jesus, God, etc. A Stranger encourages Christ to write about his brother's teachings and doings with these passages and similar others:

"In helping me, you are helping to write that history. But there is more, and this is not for everyone to know: in writing about what has gone past, we help to shape what will come. There are dark days approaching, turbulent times; if the way to the Kingdom of God is to be opened, we who know must be prepared to make history the handmaid of posterity and not its governor. What should have been is a better servant of the Kingdom than what was. I am sure you understand me."

"Remember what I told you when we first met," he said. "There is time, and there is what is beyond time. History belongs to time, but truth belongs to what is beyond time. In writing of things as they should have been, you are letting truth into history. You are the word of God."

I think the whole thing left me uncomfortable....especially because the Stranger convinces Christ to betray his brother, Jesus, aiding in his capture for questioning and ultimate death. And...when the Stranger convinces Christ to walk about by Jesus' empty tomb after the Stranger and his men remove Jesus' truly dead body. He convinces Christ this will make believers of the Holy Spirit out of people.

I don't know...all in all...a bit unsettling for me! Maybe I should have read The Golden Compass instead? Pullman is done. Check.

Finished: Lolita (Nabokov). Such gripping writing dedicated to 309 pages of a pedophile's lament. What a travesty! Why is this book about a pedophile's obsession with and conquering of a twelve year old girl at the top of everyone's reading lists?? Not just the critics, or other authors...but even the "reader's top 100" list puts Lolita in the top ten books. Why?? I finally made myself read it and it took me several days because I kept having to put it down. What a shame that someone who can write quite well would squander his talents on such obscenity. Nothing or no one will make me feel one iota of sympathy or understanding towards the pedophile in the book. Ugh...I need to read something totally different to cleanse this taste from my mind.

Finished: Ghosts (Ibsen) & Hedda Gabler (Ibsen). Two not light-hearted plays. Two plays about people who are unhappy in their family situations. People with tragic consequences due to their own actions and those of others. Both were a bit predictable, but both kept me reading.

Ghosts was shorter and sad and a little twisty. I feel certain that Jacob Engstram started the fire because he knew, somehow, that the money would go to him. That is never addressed though. Mostly I felt sorry for the life Mrs. Alving had been stuck in. To send her son away at a young age, risking her relationship with him, just so he wouldn't grow up knowing what a low-life his father was....only to have it profoundly affect him anyway in a way she couldn't have predicted. I was left a little numb by this play!

Hedda Gabler was more tragic in the sense of what goes around comes around. Hedda was herself the catalyst for almost all of the unhappiness in the play, including her own ultimate unhappiness. She was a soulless character who manipulated the puppet strings of all the other characters, edging them on to their own emotional crises. I was so glad when Tesman and Thea were going to work together in the end to restore the manuscript. Tesman deserved someone so much better than Hedda. And then, karma bit Hedda in the rear...or shot her in the temple, I should say. :-)

Overall, again....not much humor or light in these "classics" I'm reading.