Finished: The Aeneid (Virgil). I'm in awe of those ancient writers! To read over 300 pages of the free verse epic poem of the journey of Aeneas and enjoy it just shows how brilliant Virgil was. I'm not really into reading about battles and myths and gods, but Virgil kept me reading with The Aeneid just like Homer kept me reading with The Odyssey. There were probably a few too many repetitive battle scenes, considering the last half of the book was all battle, and...far too many names to keep up with amongst all the slain warriors, but it was still a good read. Let's just say....I'd take the journey of Aeneas any day over the journey of Dean Moriarty. :-)

Here are a few passages I liked. I think I quoted the "Rumor" passage from Ovid too:

Then through the cities wide
Of Lybia, all at once flies Rumor forth,---
Rumor: no evil is more swift than her.
She grows by motion, gathers strength by flight.
Small at first, through fear, soon to the skies
She lifts herself. She walks upon the ground,
And hides her head in clouds. Her parent Earth,
In ire, so they say, at the anger of the gods,
Gave birth to her, her latest progeny,
Sister to Coeus and Enceladus;
With nimble feet, and swift persistent wings,
A monster huge and terrible is she.
As many feathers as her body bears,
So many watchful eyes beneath them lurk,
So many tongues and mouths, and ears erect.
By night between heaven and earth she flies, through shades,
With rushing wings, nor shuts her eyes in sleep.
By day she watches from the roofs or towers;
And the great cities fills with haunting fears;
As prone to crime and falsehood as to truth,
She with her gossip multifold now filled
The people's ears, rejoicing---fiction and fact
Alike proclaiming; now that Aeneas, born
Of Trojan blood, had come, who Dido thought
Worthy her hand in marriage; now that they
Were passing the long winter in delight
Of luxury, unmindful of their realms,
Captive to low desires.

And a short one...after Pallas has valiantly fallen to Turnus' sword, Aeneas sends him home to his father to be buried before he continues on in battle:

The chariots of the hero then are led,
Dashed with Rutulian blood. His war-horse next,
Aethon, his trappings laid aside, moves on,
The big tears coursing down his sorrowing face.
And others bear the helmet and the spear;
For all the rest victorious Turnus held.
Then the sad phalanx comes, the Trojans all,
And Tuscans, and Arcadians, following on
With arms reversed. When all the train had passed
In long array, Aeneas paused, and thus
With a deep groan resumed: "War's direful fates
Now call us hence to other tears than these.
Great Pallas, here I greet you but to leave!
Forever hail! forever fare thee well!"
He said no more, but to camp returned.

Then, finally at the end, Aeneas is about to finally slay Thurnus at the end of the epic battle. Thurnus pleads for his life. Aeneas almost gives in to mercy when he sees that Thurnus was irreverent enough to wear the fallen Pallas' belt in battle. Aeneas finishes the job:

...pity, I beg,
My father Daunus' venerable age;
And me, or if you would rather, send back,
Despoiled of life, my corpse unto my friends.
You have prevailed. The Ausonians have beheld
A vanquished enemy stretch forth his hands.
Lavinia is your bride. Stretch not your hate
Beyond what you have done.
   Stern in his arms
Aeneas stood, and rolled his eyes around,
And his right hand repressed; and more and more
those words began to bend his wavering will;---
When, on the lofty shoulder of his foe
The unlucky belt appeared,---young Pallas' belt
Shone gleaming with its studs he knew so well;
Pallas, whom Turnus overpowered and slew,
And now wore on his shoulders the hostile badge.
He, as his eyes drank in the hateful sight,
Those spoils, memorials of that cruel grief,
Inflamed with fury, terrible in wrath,
"And do you think," he cried, "to escape my hand,
Clothed in the spoils you have snatched from my friend?
It's Pallas, Pallas slays you with this blow,
And takes his vengeance with your accursed blood!"
He spoke, and plunged his sword into his breast.
Relaxed, the limbs lay cold, and, with a groan,
Down to the Shades the soul, indignant, fled.

Finished: On the Road (Kerouac). Ugh...really didn't like this book! I think it's so highly overrated and can't understand WHY it's on so many top lists to read. I have no use for shiftless, goalless, selfish losers like the character around which all the action centers, Dean Moriarty. I just don't see the point in glorifying his lifestyle, or justifying, whatsover, his actions by writing a book about it. I can't imagine why this book is such a big deal. It's the late 1940's. Part-time college boy, Sal, meets aimless wanderer and pontificator, Dean, in New York. Sal and Dean cross the country, speeding, mooching off "friends", doing drugs, having sex with whatever girls they can find, sometimes stealing, always stinking (or so I imagine), and end up in Denver or San Fransisco to continue their lifestyles of debauchery. I say "or" because they do this several times throughout the book. Same old, same old...descriptions of their travels, pages of Dean's reaction to them listening to great jazz bands, etc. Dean has three different wives who he marries, divorces, has kids with, goes back to, leaves again, etc. He always ends up leaving Sal behind somewhere. And Sal, usually having got his life somewhat together when Dean shows up again, always drops everything and follows him. For some reason Sal worships him. I think he's scum. End of story. Kerouac, check.

Finished: The Sea, The Sea (Murdoch). An interesting book! It kept me reading anyway. I must say that I think the main character of the book, Charles Arrowby, is going to go on my Least Favorite Characters list. Not because he's evil or a murderer or anything. Just because he's so darn self-centered and egotistical! Of course, the book is basically a memoir or autobiography written by Charles Arrowby, so it would naturally be pretty self-absorbed. Some of his actions drive me crazy though!

Charles Arrowby is a 60ish successful actor and director who decides to retire from work and social life to a cottage by the sea where he will revel in being alone and writing his memoirs. In this small coastal village or northern England, he miraculously sees his first love, who he has not seen in 40 years, and who broke off their "engagement", shattering his heart. He has never been able to love in all the years since, despite his many relationships. Hartley, the woman, is now a 60ish woman, and much dowdier and aged looking than Charles. Charles becomes obsessed and convinces himself that Hartley is in an undesirable, near-abusive marriage, so he kidnaps her! He's sure that she will still be in love with him, as he is with her, and will run away with him. She is shocked and  unhappy and wants to go home, but he keeps her captive for a few days until friends finally convince him to let her go home. The entire thing is so selfish and egotistical! Plus, the many friends, old and new, who come in and out of the story have been victims of Charles' selfishness in one way or the other, but all still seem to love him. Anyway...there were many sad events and in the end, Charles reflects and decides maybe he wasn't still in love with Hartley after all, but just in love with the memory. A compelling book, but a bit sad as well. Murdoch's descriptions of the sea, though, were so wonderful! I think I appreciated them so much because I knew exactly what she was talking about at times....exactly how it feels to be standing on the beach in chilly Oregon and watching the Pacific waves pound! Here are a few snippets of her writing.

Charles' description of his father was so moving to me:

My father was a quiet bookish man and somehow the gentlest being I have ever encountered. I do not mean he was timid, though I suppose he was timid. He had a positive moral quality of gentleness. I can picture him now so clearly, bending down with his perpetual nervous smile to pick up a spider on a piece of paper and put it carefully out of the window or into some corner of the house where it would not be disturbed. I was his comrade, his reading companion, possibly the only person with whom he ever had a serious conversation. I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together. We read the same books and discussed them: children's books, adventure stories, then novels, history, biography, poetry, Shakespeare. We enjoyed and craved for each other's company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone's company you love them.

Charles' friend is analyzing him. Love this. :-)

   "The trouble with you, Charles, is that basically you despise women, whereas I, in spite of some appearances to the contrary, do not."
   "I don't despise women. I was in love with all Shakespeare's heroines before I was twelve."
   "But they don't exist, dear man, that's the point. They live in the never-never land of art, all tricked out in Shakespeare's wit and wisdom, and mock us from there, filling us with false hopes and empty dreams. The real thing is spite and lies and arguments about money."

Charles thinking back on Hartley after she left him, and his first relationship afterwards with Clement:

And I thought of Hartley on her bicycle and of her pure truthful face as it was then, so strangely like and unlike her worn old face which had suffered and sinned away all those years when I was somewhere else with Clement and Rosina and Jeanne and Fritzie. I had invested so much, as the years went by, in my belief  in Hartley's goodness. Yet had I always cherished this icon? And I recalled now, dredged up out of the deep sea caves of memory, a conversation I had had about her with Clement. Yes, I had told Clement about Hartley. And Clement has said, "Put her away in your old toy cupboard now, my dear boy." My God, I could hear Clement's powerful resonant voice saying those words now, as if she were uttering them in the dark room. And I had put Hartley away, for a time. But I did not forget, and Hartley lay like a seed in my heart, and grew again, purified as of old.

Charles describing what it was like to spend the last month of Clement's life with her, both knowing she was dying any day:

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other's pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence.

Sadly, how well I know those feelings! I have such admiration for these writers who can put such emotions into words. Five books to go of my top 100 authors. :-)

Finished: The Epic of Gilgamesh (Anonymous). The Epic of Gilgamesh is an epic poem from Mesopotamia, otherwise known as the "cradle of civilization". The work of an anonymous Babylonian poet written over 3700 years ago, it is considered to be one of the oldest surviving pieces of literature. It is organized into tablets, and the version I read had many lines, at times 40 to 60 lines, missing on any one tablet. It made it a little difficult to read, but I kept a couple of sources open and read each tablet's "plot" before I read the actual tablet. It was interesting! I kept seeing references to Gilgamesh, and it's on the All Time Top 100 Books of the world, so I wanted to read it.

It is the tale of the demi-god Gilgamesh, ruler of the town of Uruk. After Gilgamesh becomes very cocky, always challenging the men of Uruk to tasks they can never win, and always "taking" each town bride on her wedding night, before her husband (which was apparently allowed of a ruler), the gods decide that Gilgamesh needs a friend who is his equal in strength to distract him. They create Enkidu, a man who is found living with the mountain animals. He becomes more humanized and becomes best friends with Gilgamesh. Together they battle and defeat both Humbaba, the mountain monster who guards the great cedar forest, and the Bull of Heaven, sent to wreak havoc on Uruk by the goddess Ishtar when Gilgamesh refuses to marry her. After completing many superhuman feats along with Enkidu, Gilgamesh is distraught when Enkidu dies. The gods had decided that together, the two were too powerful so one must be sacrificed to death. Mourning for Enkidu, Gilgamesh wanders the forest and decides to go and seek immortality. Gilgamesh travels to the ends of the earth to meet Utanapishtim, the Forever, who tells him of the great flood that wiped out most of civilization. (This highly resembles the story of Noah's Ark). Only he and his wife were left and then made immortal by the gods. Utanapishtim asks Gilgamesh, who of the gods will intervene on Gilgamesh's behalf? First, he must stay away for six days and seven nights without sleeping, and then they'll go from there. Gilgamesh sits down and falls right to sleep! After he awakes, Utanapishtim tells Gilgamesh that he cannot help him to be immortal, so he must go back to Uruk and live out his life. Gilgamesh travels back to Uruk.

I'm sure I never could have understood the story without the help of the sources I was reading along side, especially with missing lines at crucial parts! It was neat to read something so old though. :-)

Here are a couple of samples of the writing:

4th Tablet (when Enkidu and Gilgamesh battle Humbaba)

Let your voice bellow forth like the kettledrum, let the stiffness in your arms depart,
let the paralysis in your legs go away.
Take my hand, my friend, we will go on together.
Your heart should burn to do battle
--pay no heed to death, do not lose heart!
The one who watches from the side is a careful man,
but the one who walks in front protects himself and saves his
comrade,
and through their fighting they establish fame'"
As the two of them reached the evergreen forest
they cut off their talk, and stood still.



7th Tablet (when the gods decide Enkidu must die)

My friend, why are the Great Gods in conference?
(In my dream) Anu, Enlil, and Shamash held a council,
and Anu spoke to Enlil:
'Because they killed the Bull of Heaven and have also slain
Humbaba,
the one of them who pulled up the Cedar of the Mountain
must die!'
Enlil said:'Let Enkidu die, but Gilgamesh must not die!'
Bur the Sun God of Heaven replied to valiant Enlil:
'Was it not at my command that they killed the Bull of
Heaven and Humbaba!
Should now innocent Enkidu die!'
Then Enlil became angry at Shamash, saying:
'it is you who are responsible because you traveled daily
with them as their friend!"'
Enkidu was lying (sick) in front of Gilgamesh.
His tears flowing like canals, he (Gilgamesh) said:
"O brother, dear brother, why are they absolving me instead of
my brother"
Then Enkidu said: "So now must I become a ghost,
to sit with the ghosts of the dead, to see my dear brother
nevermore!"

8th Tablet (Gilgamesh's mourning of Enkidu)

 

 

"Hear me, O Elders of Uruk, hear me, O men!
I mourn for Enkidu, my friend,
I shriek in anguish like a mourner.
You, axe at my side, so trusty at my hand--
you, sword at my waist, shield in front of me,
you, my festal garment, a sash over my loins--
an evil demon!) appeared and took him away from me!
My friend, the swift mule, fleet wild ass of the mountain,
panther of the wilderness,
Enkidu, my friend, the swift mule, fleet wild ass of the mountain,
panther of the wilderness,
after we joined together and went up into the mountain,
fought the Bull of Heaven and killed it,
and overwhelmed Humbaba, who lived in the Cedar Forest,
now what is this sleep which has seized you?
You have turned dark and do not hear me!"
But his (Enkidu's) eyes do not move,
he touched his heart, but it beat no longer.
He covered his friend's face like a bride,
swooping down over him like an eagle,
and like a lioness deprived of her cubs
he keeps pacing to and fro.
He shears off his curls and heaps them onto the ground,
ripping off his finery and casting it away as an abomination.
Just as day began to dawn, Gilgamesh ...
and issued a call to the land:
"You, blacksmith! You, lapidary! You, coppersmith!
You, goldsmith! You, jeweler!
Create 'My Friend,' fashion a statue of him.
... he fashioned a statue of his friend.
His features ...
...,your chest will be of lapis lazuli, your skin will be of gold."

11th Tablet (Utanapishtim tells of the flood and makes an offer to Gilgamesh)

The boat was finished by sunset.
The launching was very difficult.
They had to keep carrying a runway of poles front to back,
until two-thirds of it had gone into the water(?).
Whatever I had I loaded on it:
whatever silver I had 1 loaded on it,
whatever gold I had I loaded on it.
All the living beings that I had I loaded on it,
I had all my kith and kin go up into the boat,
all the beasts and animals of the field and the craftsmen I
had go up.
Shamash had set a stated time:
'In the morning I will let loaves of bread shower down,
and in the evening a rain of wheat!
Go inside the boat, seal the entry!'
That stated time had arrived.
In the morning he let loaves of bread shower down,
and in the evening a rain of wheat.
I watched the appearance of the weather--
the weather was frightful to behold!
I went into the boat and sealed the entry.
For the caulking of the boat, to Puzuramurri, the boatman,
I gave the palace together with its contents.
Just as dawn began to glow
there arose from the horizon a black cloud.
Adad rumbled inside of it,
before him went Shullat and Hanish,
heralds going over mountain and land.
Erragal pulled out the mooring poles,
forth went Ninurta and made the dikes overflow.
The Anunnaki lifted up the torches,
setting the land ablaze with their flare.
Stunned shock over Adad's deeds overtook the heavens,
and turned to blackness all that had been light.
The... land shattered like a... pot.
All day long the South Wind blew ...,
blowing fast, submerging the mountain in water,
overwhelming the people like an attack.
No one could see his fellow,
they could not recognize each other in the torrent.
The gods were frightened by the Flood,
and retreated, ascending to the heaven of Anu.
The gods were cowering like dogs, crouching by the outer wall.
Ishtar shrieked like a woman in childbirth,
the sweet-voiced Mistress of the Gods wailed:
'The olden days have alas turned to clay,
because I said evil things in the Assembly of the Gods!
How could I say evil things in the Assembly of the Gods,
ordering a catastrophe to destroy my people!!
No sooner have I given birth to my dear people
than they fill the sea like so many fish!'
The gods--those of the Anunnaki--were weeping with her,
the gods humbly sat weeping, sobbing with grief(?),
their lips burning, parched with thirst.
Six days and seven nights
came the wind and flood, the storm flattening the land.
When the seventh day arrived, the storm was pounding,
the flood was a war--struggling with itself like a woman
writhing (in labor).
The sea calmed, fell still, the whirlwind (and) flood stopped up.
I looked around all day long--quiet had set in
and all the human beings had turned to clay!
The terrain was as flat as a roof.
I opened a vent and fresh air (daylight!) fell upon the side of
my nose.
I fell to my knees and sat weeping,
tears streaming down the side of my nose.
I looked around for coastlines in the expanse of the sea,
and at twelve leagues there emerged a region (of land).
On Mt. Nimush the boat lodged firm,
Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing no sway.
One day and a second Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing
no sway.
A third day, a fourth, Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing
no sway.
A fifth day, a sixth, Mt. Nimush held the boat, allowing
no sway.
When a seventh day arrived
I sent forth a dove and released it.
The dove went off, but came back to me;
no perch was visible so it circled back to me.
I sent forth a swallow and released it.
The swallow went off, but came back to me;
no perch was visible so it circled back to me.
I sent forth a raven and released it.
The raven went off, and saw the waters slither back.
It eats, it scratches, it bobs, but does not circle back to me.
Then I sent out everything in all directions and sacrificed
(a sheep).
I offered incense in front of the mountain-ziggurat.
Seven and seven cult vessels I put in place,
and (into the fire) underneath (or: into their bowls) I poured
reeds, cedar, and myrtle.
The gods smelled the savor,
the gods smelled the sweet savor,
and collected like flies over a (sheep) sacrifice.
Just then Beletili arrived.
She lifted up the large flies (beads) which Anu had made for
his enjoyment(!):
'You gods, as surely as I shall not forget this lapis lazuli
around my neck,
may I be mindful of these days, and never forget them!
The gods may come to the incense offering,
but Enlil may not come to the incense offering,
because without considering he brought about the Flood
and consigned my people to annihilation.'
Just then Enlil arrived.
He saw the boat and became furious,
he was filled with rage at the Igigi gods:
'Where did a living being escape?
No man was to survive the annihilation!'
Ninurta spoke to Valiant Enlil, saying:
'Who else but Ea could devise such a thing?
It is Ea who knows every machination!'
La spoke to Valiant Enlil, saying:
'It is yours, O Valiant One, who is the Sage of the Gods.
How, how could you bring about a Flood without consideration
Charge the violation to the violator,
charge the offense to the offender,
but be compassionate lest (mankind) be cut off,
be patient lest they be killed.
Instead of your bringing on the Flood,
would that a lion had appeared to diminish the people!
Instead of your bringing on the Flood,
would that a wolf had appeared to diminish the people!
Instead of your bringing on the Flood,
would that famine had occurred to slay the land!
Instead of your bringing on the Flood,
would that (Pestilent) Erra had appeared to ravage the land!
It was not I who revealed the secret of the Great Gods,
I (only) made a dream appear to Atrahasis, and (thus) he
heard the secret of the gods.
Now then! The deliberation should be about him!'
Enlil went up inside the boat
and, grasping my hand, made me go up.
He had my wife go up and kneel by my side.
He touched our forehead and, standing between us, he
blessed us:
'Previously Utanapishtim was a human being.
But now let Utanapishtim and his wife become like us,
the gods!
Let Utanapishtim reside far away, at the Mouth of the Rivers.'
They took us far away and settled us at the Mouth of the Rivers."
"Now then, who will convene the gods on your behalf,
that you may find the life that you are seeking!
Wait! You must not lie down for six days and seven nights."
soon as he sat down (with his head) between his legs
sleep, like a fog, blew upon him.
Utanapishtim said to his wife:
"Look there! The man, the youth who wanted (eternal) life!
Sleep, like a fog, blew over him."
his wife said to Utanapishtim the Faraway:
"Touch him, let the man awaken.
Let him return safely by the way he came.
Let him return to his land by the gate through which he left."

Finished: The Crying of Lot 49 (Pynchon). Totally confusing book. I'm still not sure what I spent the last few hours reading. It's the 1960's. The protagonist, Oedipa Maas, gets notice that she's the executor of her former boyfriend's rich estate. Oedipa heads to St. Narcisco, CA where former boyfriend, Pierce Inverarity lived, and owned most of the businesses in the town. She stumbles upon a postal service conspiracy when she finds evidence of a clandestine postal organization, the Trystero, complete with secret symbol, mysterious history, and everything. She spends days trying to unravel the mystery, as her own life unravels as well. Her husband back home, Mucho Maas, starts taking LSD. Her psychotherapist, Dr. Hilarius, turns out to have been a Nazi who performed experiments on people in the Nazi camps. He goes crazy. She meets a stamp expert named Genghis Cohen, an apparent underground mail supporter named Mike Fallopian, and a band of four American teenagers who sing in British accents with Beatles haircuts who call themselves The Paranoids. In the end...she'd not sure if it's all an elaborate joke set up by her former ex-love, or the truth. It's all so nonsensical, I'm not sure it matters. Pynchon, check.

Finished: Lullaby (Palahniuk). Verrry disturbing, but verrry good! I'd never read a Chuck Palahniuk book before, but I knew he was the author of Fight Club. Having seen Fight Club the movie, I didn't want to read that book. So...I picked Lullaby, which was part thriller, part moralizing, part disturbing, and wholly entertaining! It is about a reporter who is supposed to be doing a story about Sudden Infant Death Syndrome...why do babies die unexpectedly? In reality, he thinks he already knows why. There is a poem in an old lullaby book called a culling song which in ancient times was read to terminal people as they were dying...it helped speed the process and aided in a peaceful death. The reporter unknowingly read this poem to his infant daughter and his wife twenty years before, and they were dead by the next morning. In current times, he recites the poem to his newspaper editor (who he's not very fond of) to test his theory...and the next morning the editor is dead! He realizes what power can come from being able to kill whoever you want at any time. Or, the horror of the poem floating out in society being read to untold number of children in schools, etc. He discovers a realtor who also accidentally killed her child twenty years before, who knows about the culling song. There are only 500 copies of the book in the U.S. They go on the road, together with two other characters, in hopes of destroying the rest of the books. At least that's his hope...the realtor wants to find the original source of the book in hopes there is a reverse spell. She wants to bring her baby back, who she's kept alive (I think in a cryogenic facility??) Anyway, the other two characters have their own plans as well....and another former friend of the reporter's who figures it out and uses the culling spell for his own creepy devices. Lullaby kept me turning the pages once again, with several twisty surprises at the end. It reminded me alot of a good Dean Koontz book. :-) I may read some more Palahniuk down the road!

Finished: a mercy (Morrison). A very intense, moving book about a slave girl given by her slave mother to a different owner, hoping to make her life better. The girl, Florens, is so young when it happens, though, she never realizes her mother was trying to make things better for her. She just thinks her mother chose to keep her baby brother over her. The reader might not even realize it until the last few heartbreaking sentences of the book. I'm really glad I read this book by Toni Morrison. I tried three different times to start her big hit, Beloved, and I just couldn't get into the rhythm of it at all. This book grabbed me and didn't let go. It's hard to put into words, but there are just some writers who have that rare gift of keeping you engaged, while showing you the inner thoughts of each character, with well-balanced dialogue and interaction between characters, as well as vivid descriptions of conditions and surroundings. In a mercy, Morrison certainly did all that.

In 1662, Florens is only eight when she's given to Jacob Vaark, a Virginia farmer and trader who accepts her as payment when the sleazy tobacco farm owner who owes him money can't pay. Jacob doesn't trade in human flesh, but when he sees the pleading look on the face of Florens' mother, he takes Florens home thinking she can be of some comfort to his wife who has lost all her children. Jacob has taken in two other "orphans" since his marriage, a native American girl, Lina, and another  slave girl, Sorrow. And, Jacob himself was an orphan as a child, so sympathizes with their circumstances. They become this rather misfit family, even though it's clear that Jacob is "Sir" and his wife is "Mistress". In other words, I'm not at all downplaying that the two slaves are still slaves.

The book is told from the perspective of each of the main characters and you feel for each one of them as you come to understand them and what motivates them. When Jacob dies, and it looks like his wife may die, then Lina (who helps to run the house) comes to realize that she, Sorrow and Florens will have no where to go. There are no heirs to the property, which would be auctioned off and they would all probably be auctioned off as well. The wife survives the illness, and they all stay on, for a time anyway.

A couple of my favorite passages. Sorrow is named Sorrow because of her horrific childhood before she comes to Jacob. She has even created an imaginary Twin who she talks to all the time, so most everyone at the farm thinks she's a little crazy. After they all go through the death of Jacob, and Sorrow has a baby girl of her own, she gives herself a new name: 

Twin was gone, traceless and unmissed by the only person who knew her. Sorrow's wandering stopped too. Now she attended routine duties, organizing them around her infant's needs, impervious to the complaints of others. She had looked into her daughter's eyes; saw in them the gray glisten of a winter sea while a ship sailed by-the-lee. "I am your mother," she said. "My name is Complete."

Gosh I love that! Then, the very last chapter of the book is from the viewpoint of Florens' mother eight years after she gave her up. When the mother had first arrived at her slave owner's farm, she'd been taken to the shed and "broken in" which resulted in the birth of Florens. Her mother could see the slave owner eyeing Florens in that same way as she was getting older, and so to prevent her from that fate, she begged Jacob Vaark to take her as payment. Here's the passage, and from here comes the name of the book:

   You caught Senhor's eye. After the tall man dined and joined Senhor on a walk through the quarters, I was singing at the pump. A song about the green bird fighting then dying when the monkey steals her eggs. I heard their voices and gathered you and your brother to stand in their eyes.
   One chance, I thought. There is no protection but there is difference. You stood there in those shoes and the tall man laughed and said he would take me to close the debt. I knew Senhor would not allow it. I said you. Take you, my daughter. Because I saw the tall man see you as a human child, not pieces of eight. I knelt before him. Hoping for a miracle. He said yes.
   It was not a miracle. Bestowed by  God. It was a mercy. Offered by a human. 

Finished: The Time Machine (Wells). Before Brave New World, 1984, and Anthem there was The Time Machine. Hmm...interesting little book. Written in 1895, it seems to be a sort of grandfather to those futuristic books. The Time Traveler creates a machine that takes him to 802,701 A.D. He discovers, or assumes, that mankind has split into two forms of beings, the Eloi and the Morlocks. The Eloi are happy, light, unintelligent creatures who love flowers and eat only fruit. They live above ground and seem to be provided for with clothing, etc. They are terrified of the dark. The Morlocks live in a subterranean world full of machinery. It is assumed they keep the Eloi in their clothing, etc. They are meat-eaters...when the dark comes, they eat Eloi.

The Time Traveler decides that the Morlocks are the part of mankind that used to be the working class, and the Eloi used to be the upper class. Neither seem to have keen intelligence, so he postulates that mankind finally succeeded in becoming so technically superior, with no more disease, war, etc., that mankind had no more need for intelligence, strength or ingenuity...the things needed to make those accomplishments. So, mankind evolved into the slap-happy Eloi and the base-needing Morlocks. After the Morlocks steal his time machine, The Time Traveler has an adventure getting it back. He is nearly killed by the Morlocks and his one little Eloi friend, Weena, is presumed to perish as The Time Traveler is escaping the Morlocks. The Time Traveler takes off in his machine, and goes all the way to the end of time, stopping in a few more "times" along the way...watching as the earth evolves into a lifeless nothing. Frightened and discouraged, he sets the switch back for his current time and makes it back home. It has only been a few hours in real time. Of course, none of his friends believe him. He decides to set off again, and this time take some supplies and a camera (duh!!). After three years, he has still never been heard of. The End.

I'm not a SciFi fan at all, but it has been interesting to read each of these books and see how each of the authors viewed mankind turning out. Of course, The Time Machine went further in time than the others, so I wonder what H.G. Wells' in between time period of a Brave New World or a 1984 would have been. Anyway...yay...I think I'm done with SciFi. :-) Although...after I finish reading all the other books I want to read, I may give one of the longer Ayn Rand books a try...maybe. I don't know if they're SciFi or what though.

Finished: A Farewell to Arms (Hemingway). Gosh, that was a good book...sad, but good! I generally don't like to read books about war, but this one kept me turning the pages. I didn't know anything about the story, so I never knew what to expect. The narrator, Lt. Henry,  was an American who joins the Italian army as an ambulance driver in World War I. He meets a British nurse, Catherine, right before he goes out on an ambulance run and is severely injured. He's sent to a hospital further from the  front lines in Italy, and so is Catherine. While he recuperates and she tends to him and the other wounded, they fall in love and before he is sent back to the front line, she lets him know she's pregnant. When he gets back to the front line, within a couple of days the battle conditions are terrible and the Italian army and civilians are all in a mass retreat. The Italian police go crazy and start executing any officers who are not with their regiments. Lt. Henry is taken to be executed. He sees what's going on, jumps in the river, hops a train, goes back to Catherine, and they escape into Switzerland. Hemingway is so good at describing the horrific details of the war, and the harsh, rainy conditions of the retreat...and the mental stress that the soldiers are under, yet also the camaraderie of the soldiers who become like family. It's heartbreaking. :-(  He's so capable of writing that good mix between sharp, quick dialogue and authentic descriptions. It's like you can just hear Lt. Henry narrating the story. Once in Switzerland, Lt. Henry and Catherine have an idyllic life for a few months until the baby is born. They are truly in love and in such sync with each other and plan to marry after the baby is born. Things take a tragic turn, however, when the baby is still born and then Catherine dies of hemorrhaging. Lt. Henry is left to walk back to his hotel in the rain by himself. Sigh, heart wrenching.

As of today I have read 100 books, plays and novellas, and 109 poems in 2012! Ten more authors to go to finish my top 100 list: Virgil, Morrison, Miller, Pynchon, Palahuik, Kerouac, Murdoch, Wells, Baldwin and Irving. I have my ten books all lined up and ready to go! After I finish them, then I look forward to all the other books I have ready to go that are author repeats, like War and Peace, Crime and Punishment, East of Eden, As I Lay Dying, Othello, Mansfield Park, Jude the Obscure, David Copperfield, etc. And, I have a list of books by authors that didn't make the top 100, but are highly recommended like Invisible Man (not to be confused with THE Invisible Man), The Age of Innocence, Things Fall Apart, A Handful of Dust, I, Claudius, etc.

I have read 90 of the top 100 authors, plus a few authors more, some who were on the original top 100 list and some who weren't. Of the top 100 authors, several I had read before 2012, but I've reread any authors whose work I feel I may have forgotten, i.e., I probably read it in high school. :-) I have not reread Twain, Dickens, Joyce, Dante, Hawthorne, Poe or King. I remember the books I've read by those authors vividly (Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer, A Tale of Two Cities, Ulysses, The Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, Dante's Inferno, The Scarlett Letter, The Tell-Tale Heart, Annabelle Lee, and Cujo). :::shuddering at Cujo::: I never read another King book!

I didn't NEED to reread Shakespeare or Austen, but I have because I love them so much. I'm now reading A Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway, and so far I really, really like it! I'm rereading Hemingway because even though I remember reading The Old Man and the Sea, it is not very vivid in my mind. For that matter....Dante's Inferno probably isn't THAT vivid in my mind, but I definitely remember reading it. Weird how I can't just call that The Inferno...but I must say Dante's Inferno.

Anyway....the countdown is on. I'll probably read a few more books after the top 100 before I decide on MY favorite 100 authors, but I've been making a preliminary list.

Happy reading to me! :-)

Finished: Washington Square (Henry). A book I couldn't put down! I picked this Henry James book because somewhere I read it was similar to de Balzac's Eugenie Grandet, which I loved. It didn't disappoint. I really enjoyed reading this book, even though I felt so sorry for the heroine, Catherine. She was a "plain and simple" girl and young lady, described much more callously by her own father, Dr. Sloper. When a handsome, very charming man, Morris, begins to court her, her father can only imagine he's after their wealth...especially when he wants to marry her. Of course, it ends up being true. :-( Even though Morris encourages Catherine to run away and marry him, when he finds out Dr. Sloper will cut off her money if she does, he balks. Meanwhile, Catherine doesn't care about the money, but she does care about disappointing her father. She ends up brokenhearted and as the years go by, becomes a respected citizen of the New York community....never marrying. After her father dies twenty years later, Morris, who never went out and made anything of himself, comes back wanting a second chance (more so wanting the money finally after all these years.) I'm so proud of her when she shows him the door! I enjoyed reading a good old-fashioned story...and for once it was set in the United States and not England or France. I didn't really mark any quotes. I had one I was going to include from early on which described the father's disappointment with his average-intelligence, plain-looking, non-charming daughter, but I just don't want to now, because I love how Catherine defied that description and persevered without compromising her own morals!  I will definitely read more from Henry James. :-)

Finished: The School for Wives and Tartuffe (Moliere). Loved both plays! :-) I will definitely be putting Moliere on the "read more from this author" list. Both plays were witty, funny, fast-paced, and had twists at the end. One I didn't see coming at all. :-)

The School for Wives was about a man, Arnolphe, who had a caregiver raise an orphaned young girl he knew, Agnes, so that she would eventually become his wife. He didn't believe that women being smart could do men any good, so she was raised in seclusion, in complete ignorance and with the utmost simplicity. It definitely all comes back to bite him in the rear when she comes of age and innocently falls in love with someone else, Horace, right when the Arnolphe is about to make her his wife. I loved how, despite his best efforts and his own set of wifely rules, he still fell in love with her and was willing to throw it all to the wind and let her be the boss of him, hee hee. My brother played Horace in a production of The School for Wives in Summer Stock one year. Oh, how I would have loved to see him in that. I remember him saying how funny the play was. I can only think of him and imagine him as the younger man in love. :-) Here are a couple of passages, including the rules.

 Here are his reasons for keeping her stupid: 

I cannot do better than make her my wife. I shall be able to mould her as I please; she is like a bit of wax in my hands, and I can give her what shape I like. She was near being wiled away from me in my absence through her excess of simplicity; but, to say the truth, it is better that a wife should err on that side. The cure for these faults is easy; every simple person is docile; and if she is led out of the right way, a couple of words will instantly bring her back again. But a clever woman is quite another sort of animal. Our lot depends only on her judgment; nought can divert her from what she is set on, and our teaching in such a case is futile. Her wit avails her to ridicule our maxims, often to turn her vices into virtues, and to find means to cheat the ablest, so as to compass her own ends. We labour in vain to parry the blow; a clever woman is a devil at intrigue, and when her whim has mutely passed sentence on our honour, we must knock under.

And, here are his rules:

Agnès(reads). “The Maxims of Marriage; or the Duties of a Wife; together with her Daily Exercise.

“First Maxim.

“She who is honourably wed should remember, notwithstanding the fashion now-a-days, that the man who marries does not take a wife for anyone but himself.’’

Arnolphe. I shall explain what that means, but at present let us only read.

Agnès(continues)—

“Second Maxim.

“She ought not to bedeck herself more than her husband likes. The care of her beauty concerns him alone; and if others think her plain, that must go for nothing.

“Third Maxim.

“Far from her be the study of ogling, washes, paints, pomatums, and the thousand preparations for a good complexion. These are ever fatal poisons to honour; and the pains bestowed to look beautiful are seldom taken for a husband.

“Fourth Maxim.

“When she goes out, she should conceal the glances of her eyes beneath her hood, as honour requires; for in order to please her husband rightly, she should please none else.

“Fifth Maxim.

“It is fit that she receive none but those who visit her husband. The gallants that have no business but with the wife, are not agreeable to the husband.

“Sixth Maxim.

“She must firmly refuse presents from men, for in these days nothing is given for nothing.

“Seventh Maxim.

“Amongst her furniture, however she dislikes it, there must be neither writing-desk, ink, paper, nor pens. According to all good rules everything written in the house should be written by the husband.

“Eighth Maxim.

“Those disorderly meetings, called social gatherings, ever corrupt the minds of women. It is good policy to forbid them; for there they conspire against the poor husbands.

“Ninth Maxim.

“Every woman who wishes to preserve her honour should abstain from gambling as a plague; for play is very seductive, and often drives a woman to put down her last stake.

“Tenth Maxim.

“She must not venture on public promenades nor picnics; for wise men are of opinion that it is always the husband who pays for such treats.

“Eleventh Maxim…’’

Arnolphe. You shall finish it by yourself; and, by and by, I shall explain these things to you properly, word for word. I bethink myself of an engagement. I have but one word to say, and I shall not stay long. Go in again, and take special care of this volume. If the notary comes, let him wait for me a short time.

And finally, he comes full circle and will agree to anything if she'll just love him instead of Hector. Score!

Arnolphe. Poor little darling, you can if you will. Just listen to this sigh of love. See this dying look, behold my person, and forsake this young coxcomb and the love he inspires. He must have thrown some spell over you, and you will be a hundred times happier with me. Your desire is to be finely dressed and frolicsome; then I swear you shall ever be so; I will fondle you night and day, I will hug you, kiss you, devour you; you shall do everything you have a mind to. I do not enter into particulars; and that is saying everything. (Aside). To what length will my passion go? (Aloud). In short, nothing can equal my love. What proof would you have me give you, ungrateful girl? Would you have me weep? Shall I beat myself? Shall I tear out one half of my hair? Shall I kill myself? Yes, say so if you will. I am quite ready, cruel creature, to convince you of my love.

In Tartuffe, Orgon, a father and husband, is completely blinded by a destitute, false religious zealot, Tartuffe, even taking him into his house and preferring his company, and more importantly, believing his word over his closest family members! I love the dialogue in this play! It takes some clever maneuverings by the household to get the father to see the error of his ways....but not before he's signed over all his worldly possessions to the hypocrite Tartuffe. Love the twist at the end. And, I loved the daughter's maid, Dorine, the most! She had the best lines. In this passage below, Orgon has returned home from a trip and is asking Dorine how everyone in the house was while he was gone. Even though Dorine tries to tell him of his wife's illness, he truly only cares how his new friend Tartuffe got along:

Scene V.—Orgon, Cléante, Dorine.

Orgon. Ha! good morrow, brother.

Cléante. I was just going, and am glad to see you returned. The country is not very cheering at present.

Orgon. Dorine … (to Cléante). Pray, one moment, brother-in-law. Allow me to inquire the news here to ease my mind. (To Dorine). Has everything gone on well these two days? What are they doing, and how are they all?

Dorine. The day before yesterday my mistress had an attack of fever until evening, accompanied by an extraordinary headache.

Orgon. And Tartuffe?

Dorine. Tartuffe! He is wonderfully well, stout and fat, with a fresh complexion, and a ruddy mouth.

Orgon. Poor fellow!

Dorine. In the evening she felt very sick, and could not touch a morsel of supper, so violent was still the pain in her head.

Orgon. And Tartuffe?

Dorine. He supped by himself in her presence; and very devoutly ate two partridges, and half a leg of mutton hashed.

Orgon. Poor fellow!

Dorine. The whole night she did not close her eyes for a moment. She was so feverish that she could not sleep, and we were obliged to sit up with her until morning.

Orgon. And Tartuffe?

Dorine. Pleasantly overcome with sleep, he went to his room when he left the table; and jumped into his cozy bed, where he slept undisturbed until morning.

Orgon. Poor fellow!

Dorine. We at length prevailed upon the mistress to be bled; and she was almost immediately relieved.

Orgon. And Tartuffe?

Dorine. He picked up his courage again as he ought to; and, to fortify himself against all harm, he drank four large draughts of wine at breakfast, to make up for the blood that the mistress had lost.

Orgon. Poor fellow!

Dorine. At present, they are both well; and I shall go and inform the mistress how glad you feel at her recovery.

Loved it! I'm off to see who has perhaps played these characters on Broadway!

Finished: The Call of the Wild (London). Short, but very sweet. :-) At first I thought it would break my heart too much to read....especially when Buck, the dog, is stolen from his owners in California to be taken and turned into a sled dog in Alaska. However, the book being from the dog's point of view quickly shows his strength, courage and adaptability. He suffers terrible hardships, but finally finds that true love between man and dog when John Thornton rescues him from his last sled master, a stupid and cruel man. The wild calls to Buck, in the form of his semi-brethren, the wolves...yet Buck doesn't want to leave Thornton. When John Thornton perishes, then Buck is finally free to answer the "call of the wild". I'm pretty sure I read this book years ago, but I'm not sure if I did. In any event, I liked it and loved Buck!

Here Buck finally realizes what it is to be truly loved by a human, and to love back:

For the most part, however, Buck's love was expressed in adoration. While he went wild with happiness when Thornton touched him or spoke to him, he did not seek these tokens. Unlike Skeet, who was wont to shove her nose under Thornton's hand and nudge and nudge till petted, or Nig, who would stalk up and rest his great head on Thornton's knee, Buck was content to adore at a distance. He would lie by the hour, eager, alert, at Thornton's feet, looking up into his face, dwelling upon it, studying it, following with keenest interest each fleeting expression, every movement or change of feature. Or, as chance might have it, he would lie farther away, to the side or rear, watching the outlines of the man and the occasional movements of his body. And often, such was the communion in which they lived, the strength of Buck's gaze would draw John Thornton's head around, and he would return the gaze, without speech, his heart shining out of his eyes as Buck's heart shone out.

And at the end, after Thornton is gone and Buck has proven his superiority to the wolf pack, he goes to the wild with his wolf brothers:

Then an old wolf, gaunt and battle-scarred, came forward. Buck writhed his lips into the preliminary of a snarl, but sniffed noses with him, Whereupon the old wolf sat down, pointed nose at the moon, and broke out the long wolf howl. The others sat down and howled. And now the call came to Buck in unmistakable accents. He, too, sat down and howled. This over, he came out of his angle and the pack crowded around him, sniffing in half-friendly, half-savage manner. The leaders lifted the yelp of the pack and sprang away into the woods. The wolves swung in behind, yelping in chorus. And Buck ran with them, side by side with the wild brother, yelping as he ran.

Finished: Metamorphoses (Ovid). 313 pages of myths, all run together! I'm so glad to finally be done. Don't get me wrong...I appreciate a good myth or two, but this book was a tedious read. I know it is supposed to be one of the greatest books on mythology, and I'll give it to Ovid that he was able to write in such a way so, so long ago. I'm sure the work was considered brilliant by many back in the day. I just found it to be one myth right after the other, with not much sense in how they were ordered. Sometimes a myth would take up a few pages, and then other times, one I was more familiar with might be handled with just a few sentences. I had to have Wikipedia open the entire time...checking out who was who. And, Ovid couldn't stick with just one name for each god or goddess. Noooooooooo, that would be way too easy. So, everyone had their name like Jupiter (Zeus in the Greek myths), then their nickname, "Jove" for Jupiter, and finally...their familial relation name, "son of Saturn" for Jupiter. These names were all used interchangeably...some even having "daughter of" names AND "son of" names. Acck!

Anyway...I did enjoy some of the myths. Like, the age old story of Apollo pursuing Daphne until she could run no more and turned into a laurel tree, per her prayer request to the gods for some kind of help. Or...like the tragic love story of Pyramus and Thisbe, from whence Romeo and Juliet derived. Or...the story of Apollo's son stupidly being allowed to drive his father's chariot. And, so on and so on. I saw very quickly why this book was called Metamorphoses...no one ever stayed in their original form! Basically, the book was page after page of gods or goddesses falling in love with mortals, either chasing them down or changing themselves into something innocent and unsuspecting, then raping them, having children by them, or poutingly turning them into trees, birds or other animals if they didn't get exactly what they wanted. And let's not forget the jealous god/goddess spouses who also turned the poor pursued mortals into trees, birds or other animals out of spite. I can't tell you how many different species of birds and types of trees are out there in our yards right now that are really some poor old unlucky mortal! :-)

I did learn a few things I'd never heard. For instance...the fair maiden Arachne was turned into a spider because she could weave with her loom better than the goddess Minvera, i.e., Greek Athena, i.e., Pallas, i.e., Daughter of Jupiter. And, when Perseus cut off the head of Medusa, Pegasus the winged horse sprung from her neck! I probably knew that in high school, but didn't remember it.

I liked this one line from Phoebus, also better known as Apollo, son of  Latona and Jupiter. When Latona was insulted by the maiden Niobe who put herself above the goddess and refused to worship her, Latona lamented to her children to punish Niobe. Phoebus, tired of the long diatribe, said, "Have done! A long complaint is but a delay of punishment."  I liked that. :-)

So....not to be unfair to Ovid, here is a sample of his writing that I enjoyed.

A description of how rumors get started in the dwelling place of the goddess, Rumour, who I couldn't help picturing looking like Adele for some reason. :-)

   There is a place in the middle of the world, between land and sea and sky, the meeting-point of the three-fold universe. From this place, whatever is, however far away, is seen, and every word penetrates to these hollow ears. Rumour dwells here, having chosen her house upon a high mountain-top; and she gave the house countless entrances, a thousand apertures, but with no doors to close them. Night and day the house stands open. It is built all of echoing brass. The whole place resounds with confused noises, repeats all words and doubles what it hears. There is no quiet, no silence anywhere within. And yet there is no loud clamour, but only the subdued murmur of voices, like the murmur of the waves of the sea if you listen afar off, or like the last rumbling of thunder when Jove has made the dark clouds crash together. Crowds fill the hall, shifting throngs come and go, and everywhere wander thousands of rumours, falsehoods mingled with the truth, and confused reports flit about. Some of these fill their idle ears with talk, and others go and tell elsewhere what they have heard; while the story grows in size, and each new teller makes contribution to what he has heard. Here is Credulity, here is heedless Error, unfounded Joy and panic Fear; here sudden Sedition and unauthentic Whisperings. Rumour herself beholds all that is done in heaven, on sea and land, and searches throughout the world for news.

That was a nice piece of writing. I wish the entire book had been quite so eloquent.
 

Finished: Eugene Onegin (Pushkin). I loved this book! I haven't been disappointed with any of the Russian authors so far, and Pushkin is no exception. Eugene Onegin is billed as a "novel in verse", and so it was. I thought at first it might be difficult to read another novel written in blank poetry form, but it flowed so nicely. I read the version which was translated by Nabokov. He had criticized an earlier version which was translated to English, sticking very strictly to the rhyming schemes of the original Russian poem, but in the process, losing more precise meaning and clarity. The Nabakov translated version didn't rhyme at all, but was truly exquisite.

The narrator (a thinly veiled Pushkin himself) tells the story of Eugene Onegin, a 26 year old Russian man who has put his society ball days and womanizing ways behind him and moved to the country. He was bored with the society life, yet he also doesn't want to settle down with a wife and family. He just wants to live and do what he pleases, avoiding social crowds at all costs. He meets his country neighbor, 18 year old  Lenski, a poet and dreamer, and they become inseparable friends. Lenski is engaged to the more beguiling of two sisters, 16 year old Olga. She's a bit more shallow than her older sister (whose age they don't give, but probably 18 or 19), Tatiana. Tatiana is deep and bookish, thoughtful and naive. Lenski takes Eugene with him to dinner one night to meet his fiance, and though the shy Tatiana sits in a corner and barely speaks, she falls irreparably in love with Eugene! He charms both sisters and their mother. (Father is deceased).

Tatiana naively writes Eugene a love letter pouring out her love for him. He arrives for dinner again and tells her that if he were to ever fall in love or get married, she'd be just the one he would fall for...but, he has no intention of doing any such thing. However, he warns her not to be so forthcoming with her feelings to other men. Tatiana is heartbroken and mortified and doesn't see Eugene again for awhile. A few weeks later Lenski convinces Eugene to go back with him to Tatiana's "name day" celebration, insisting that the gathering will be just the two gentlemen, the two sisters and the mother. Instead, there is a huge ball going on, and this infuriates Eugene. Much to Lenski's and Tatiana's horror, to get back at Lenski for lying to him, Eugene flirts and dances with Olga all night. Incensed, Lenski challenges his good friend to a duel. Male pride, of course, will allow neither one to forgive the situation and the duel ensues. Lenski is killed. Heartbroken Eugene leaves to travel for a couple of years. Tatiana mourns her near-brother's death, and the fact that the man she loves killed him. Olga mourns for six months and then marries someone else. Lenski lies nearly forgotten in the grave.

The next year, Tatiana's mother insists on taking her to society in Moscow where a general, who's a prince, falls in love with her. She marries and is still her down-to-earth, lovely self, but is now in the habit of giving balls and galas with her husband. Who should arrive at one of their balls a couple of years down the road? Eugene! He is an old friend of the generals. He realizes that the lovely wife is Tatiana, and she acknowledges him as an old neighbor and friend. Not a spark of her old love is revealed on her face. Eugene falls instantly and irreparably in love with Tatiana, just like she did with him two years before. He comes to all their balls, but she rarely gives him more than polite conversation. He starts to whither away in despair and writes HER a love letter! He pours out his heart, and never hears a reply from her. When he goes to the next ball, she barely speaks to him. Heartbroken, he closes himself up in his house for six months. At that time, he finally bursts out the door, goes to Tatiana's house, goes through the door, and finds her alone, weeping, and reading his old letter. He sees that she has let her guard down and she actually DID still love him. He falls at her feet, but she gives him a lecture mirroring the one he gave her before. In the end, she tells him she loves him but would never be unfaithful to her husband. The end. :-)

So...imagine all that written, not in novel form, but in this amazing poem. At times, Pushkin goes off on tangents and maybe writes several lines about nature...or about the details of a ball....or about a few events of the times...but he always gets back to the main story, which is written so beautifully. Of course, I will include some favorite passages. I'm just not sure where to leave off on each one!

I'll start with a part of Tatiana's very long letter to Eugene:

Why did you visit us?
In the backwoods of a forgotten village,
I would have never known you
nor have known bitter torment.
The tumult of an inexperienced soul
having subdued with time (who knows?),
I would have found a friend after my heart,
have been a faithful wife
and a virtuous mother.
Another!...No, to nobody on earth
would I have given my heart away!
that has been destined in a higher council,
that is the will of heaven: I am thine;
my entire life has been the gage
of a sure tryst with you;
I know, you're sent to me by God......

......But so be it! My fate
henceforth I place into your hands,
before you I shed tears,
for your defense I plead.
Imagine: I am here alone,
none understands me,
my reason is breaking down,
and, silent, I must perish.
I'm waiting for you: with a single look
revive my heart's hopes,
or interrupt the heavy dream
alas, with a deserved rebuke!

Eugene finds Tatiana in the garden and responds to her letter:

Now we'll flit over to the garden
where Tatiana encountered him.

For a few seconds they were silent;
but up to her Onegin went
and quoth: "You wrote to me.
Do not disown it. I have read
a trustful soul's avowals,
an innocent love's outpourings;
your candidness is dear to me,
in me it has excited
emotions long grown silent.
But I don't want to praise you---
I will repay you for it
with an avowal likewise void of art;
hear my confession;
unto your judgement I commit myself.

"If life by the domestic circle
I'd want to limit;
if to be father, husband,
a pleasant lot had ordered me;
if with the familistic picture
I were but for one moment captivated;
then, doubtlessly, save you alone
no other bride I'd seek.
I'll say without madrigal spangles:
my past ideal having found,
I'd doubtlessly have chosen you alone
for mate of my sad days,
in gage of all that's beautiful,
and been happy---as far as able!

"But I'm not made for bliss;
my soul is strange to it;
in vain are your perfections:
I'm not at all worthy of them.
Believe me (conscience is thereof the pledge),
wedlock would be anguish to us.
However much I loved you, I,
having grown used, would cease to love at once;
you would begin to weep; your tears
would fail to move my heart---
and would only enrage it.
Judge, then, what roses
Hymen would lay in store for us---
and, possibly, for many days!

"What in the world can be worse
than a family where the poor wife
broods over an unworthy husband
and day and evening is alone;
where the dull husband, conscious of her merit
(yet cursing fate),
is always scowling, silent,
cross, and coldly jealous?
Thus I. And it is this you sought
with a pure flaming soul
when with so much simplicity,
so much intelligence, to me you wrote?
Can it be true that such a portion
is by stern fate assigned to you?

"For dreams and years there's no return;
I shall not renovate my soul.
I love you with a brother's love
and maybe still more tenderly.
So listen to me without wrath:
a youthful maid more than once will exchange
for dreams light dreams;
a sapling thus its leaves
changes with every spring.
By heaven thus 'tis evidently destined.
Again you will love; but...
learn to control yourself;
not everyone as I will understand you;
to trouble inexperience leads."

Eugene puts his plan into action to get back at Lenski for bringing him to the crowded affair:

Monotonous and mad
like young life's whirl,
the waltz's noisy whirl revolves,
pair after pair flicks by.
Nearing the minute of revenge,
Onegin, chuckling secretly,
goes up to Olga, rapidly with her
twirls near the guests,
then seats her on a chair,
proceeds to speak of this and that;
a minute or two having lapsed, then
again with her he goes on waltzing;
all in amazement are. Lenski himself
does not believe his proper eyes.

The unnecessary duel goes on, and Lenski is shot:

Gently he lays his hand upon his breast
and falls. His misty gaze
expresses death, not anguish.
Thus, slowly, down the slope of hills,
in the sun with sparks shining,
a lump of snow descends.
Deluged with instant cold,
Onegin hastens to the youth,
looks, calls him....vainly:
he is no more. The youthful bard
has met with an untimely end!
The storm has blown; the beauteous bloom
has withered at sunrise;
the fire upon the alter has gone out!

Stirless he lay, and strange
was his brow's languid peace.
Under the breast he had been shot clean through;
steaming, the blood flowed from the wound.
One moment earlier
in this heart had throbbed inspiration,
enmity, hope, and love,
life effervesced, blood boiled;
now, as in a deserted house,
all in it is both still and dark,
it has become forever silent.
The window boards are shut. The panes with chalk
are whitened over. The chatelaine is gone.
But where, God wot. All trace is lost.

The narrator wonders if Lenski is aware of Olga remarrying:

My poor Lenski! Beyond the grave,
in the confines of deaf eternity,
was the dejected bard perturbed
by the fell news of the betrayal?
Or on the Lethe lulled to sleep,
blest with insensibility, the poet
no longer is perturbed by anything,
and closed and mute is earth to him?
'Tis so! Indifferent oblivion
beyond the sepulcher awaits us.
The voice of foes, of friends, of loves
falls silent suddenly. Alone over the estate
the angry chorus of the heirs
starts an indecent squabble.

Part of Onegin's long love letter to Tatiana when he meets her again later:

......By chance once having met you,
a spark of tenderness having remarked in you,
I did not venture to believe in it:
did not let a sweet habit have its way;
my loathsome freedom
I did not wish to lose.

Another thing yet parted us:
a hapless victim Lenski fell....
From all that to the heart is dear
then did I tear my heart away;
to everyone a stranger, tied by nothing,
I thought: liberty and peace
are substitute for happiness. Good God!
What a mistake I made, how I am punished!

No---every minute to see you;
follow you everywhere;
the smile of your lips, movement of your eyes,
to try to capture with enamored eyes;
to hearken long to you, to comprehend
all your perfection with one's soul;
to melt in agonies before you,
grow pale and waste away...that's bliss................

...........But let it be: against myself
I've not the force to struggle any more;
all is decided: I am in your power,
and I surrender to my fate.

Tatiana has a long, eloquent response, which I will only repeat part of:

"Even today---good God!---blood freezes
as soon as I remember your cold glance
and that sermon...but you
I don't accuse; at that terrible hour
you acted nobly,
you in regard to me were right,
to you with all my soul I'm grateful..........

............"But as to me, Onegin, this pomp,
the tinsel of a loathsome life,
my triumphs in the vortex of the World,
my fashionable house and evenings,
what do I care for them?...At once I would give gladly
all this frippery of a masquerade,
all this glitter, and noise, and fumes,
for a shelfful of books, for a wild garden
for our poor dwelling,
for those haunts where for the first time,
Onegin, I saw you,
and for the humble churchyard, too,
where there's a cross now and the shade of branches
over my poor nurse.

"Yet happiness had been so possible,
so near! ...But my fate
already is decided. Rashly
perhaps, I acted.
With tears of conjuration, with me
my mother pleaded. For poor Tatiana
all lots were equal.
I married. You must,
I pray you, leave me;
I know: in your heart are
both pride and genuine honor.
I love you (why dissimulate?);
but to another I've been given away:
to him I shall be faithful all my life."

She has gone. Eugene stands
as if by thunder struck.
In what a tempest of sensations
his heart is now immersed!
But a sudden clink of spurs has sounded,
and Tatiana's husband has appeared,
and here my hero,
at an unkind minute for him,
reader, we now shall leave
for long...forever.

Whew...I guess this is one of those books where I could have quoted the entire thing. :-) The mixture of the story with the poetry was so unique and lovely. A good read! As a matter of fact...I'm adding it to the favorite books list!!!

Finished: The Rape of the Lock; Eloisa to Abelard; An Unfortunate Lady; and Ode on Solitude (Pope). Loved reading these poems! I'd never read the history of Alexander Pope, or what an esteemed, yet controversial, poet he was. The book I have, The Best of Pope, is my son's. I believe he got it at an old book sale. It IS very old. Inside the cover is written W. D. Durden, Jr.; KA House; Emory. I love that! I was a KA little sister, a Southern Belle, so it is neat to read a book that belonged to an old KA. His syllabus for the class, English 204, is still in the back of the book as well. :-) I googled his name and it looks like W. D. Durden, Jr. wrote many medical journal articles in the 1960's. His wife was referenced in one article as having been class of '54 at University of Tennessee. Just thought that was neat to look up. :-)

Anyway...back to the poems....I absolutely loved The Rape of the Lock! And, Eloisa to Abelard broke my heart. It makes me want to read an entire novel about the unfortunate lovers. I've never seen the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but I've heard of it. I was so surprised to see that very line in Pope's poem from the 1700's! It was Eloisa's lament that she'd rather have her feelings for Abelard wiped from her memory than to remain in love with someone she can no longer have.

How happy is the blameless Vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot:
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned;
Labour and rest, that equal periods keep;
"Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep;"
Desires composed, affections ever even;
Tears that delight, and sighs that waft to heaven.

In The Rape of the Lock, Pope wrote an almost 1000 line poem dedicated to the feud between a Lady and the Lord who cut off a lock of the Lady's hair! It is a really delightful poem, complete with airy spirits called Sylphs, and the like, who attend to all of the Lady's moods, outer appearances, etc. I'd recommend reading the entire poem, but here are a few of my favorite passages. :-)

Love the imagery of this one:

   Sol through white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day:
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knocked the ground,
And the pressed watch returned a sliver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow prest,
Her guardian SYLPH prolonged the balmy rest:
'Twas He had summoned to her silent bed
The morning-dream that hovered o'er her head...

Talking about the beauty of Belinda, and first describes her locks of hair:

Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide:
If to her share some female errors fall,
Look on her face, and you'll forget 'em all.
   This Nymph, to the destruction of mankind,
Nourished two Locks, which graceful hung behind
In equal curls, and well conspired to deck
With shining ringlets the smooth iv'ry neck.
Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains,
With hairy springes we the birds betray,
Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey,
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.

Ariel, the chief Sylph, calls the others Sylphs and Fairies to guard Belinda against doom he feels will happen:

    Our humbler province is to tend the Fair,
Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care;
To save the powder from too rude a gale,
Nor let th' imprisoned essences exhale;
To draw fresh colours from the vernal flowers;
To steal from rainbows e'er they drop in showers
A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs,
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,
To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow.
   This day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair,
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care;
Some dire disaster, or by force, or sight;
But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night,
Whether the nymph shall break Diana's law,
Or some frail China jar receive a flaw;
Or stain her honour or her new brocade;
Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade;
Or lose her heart, or necklace, at the ball;
Or whether Heaven has doomed that Shock must fall.
Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge repair:
The flutt'ring fan be Zephyretta's care;
The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign;
And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine:
Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite Lock;
Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.

The Baron, who had many female conquests, decides he must have a lock of Belinda's hair, no matter what:

   Th' advent'rous Baron the bright locks admired;
He saw, he wished, and to the prize aspired.
Resolved to win, he meditates the way,
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray;
For when success a Lover's toil attends,
Few ask, if fraud or force attained his ends.

The Baron gets the help of one lady love, Clarissa, and, despite the efforts of the Sylphs, snips the lock of Belinda's hair:

   But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
How soon they find fit instruments of ill!
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace
A two-edged weapon from her shining case:
So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight,
Present the spear, and arm him for the fight.
He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends
The little engine on his fingers' ends:
This just behind Belinda's neck he spread,
As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her head.
Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprites repair,
A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair;
And thrice they twitched the diamond in her ear;
Thrice she looked back, and thrice the foe drew near.
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought
The close recesses of the Virgin's thought;
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined,
He watched th' Ideas rising in her mind,
Sudden he viewed, in spite of all her art,
An earthly Lover lurking at her heart.
Amazed, confused, he found his power expired,
Resigned to fate, and with a sigh retired.
   The Peer now spreads the glitt'ring Forfex wide,
T' inclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide.
Even then, before the fatal engine closed,
A wretched Sylph too fondly interposed;
Fate urged the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain,
(But airy substance soon unites again)
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!
   Then flashed the living lightning from her eyes,
And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast,
When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their last;
Or when rich China vessels fall'n from high,
In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments lie!

Belinda laments her snipped lock:

   "For ever cursed be this detested day,
Which snatched my best, my fav'rite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen!...

...A Sylph too warned me of the threats of fate,
In mystic visions, now believed to late!
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!
My hands shall rend what even thy rapine spares:
These in two sable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck,
The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;
Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands,
And tempts once more, they sacrilegious hands.
Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize,
Hair less in sight, or any hairs but these!"

And, the poem continues on. I could really just copy the whole thing hear, but I'll probably re-read and enjoy it again. :-)

Finished: Gulliver's Travels (Swift). OMG, one of the most tedious books I've read yet! I just did not enjoy this book AT ALL. I thought maybe coming off of reading one adventurous book, I'd be in a mindset for another, but this book was just inane. I know it is supposed to be some big joke on the English classes, and politics, and the law, and such at the time, but I just couldn't get into it.

I never realized that Gulliver's Travels entailed more than him living amongst the little people of Lilliput. Gulliver had many more adventures...never being happy to stay home for more than a few months after each trying, at times life-threatening, journey. He was BMOC in Lilliput, but then was tinier than the Lilliputians were to him when he journeyed to the giants of Brobdingnag. He also made stops at a floating island where the inhabitants were all mathematically inclined, to a wizardly place who could call dead people back from the dead to chat with you for twenty-four hours, and to an island where the superior species was the horse, and the human-like creatures were called Yahoos.

I suppose my favorite of the lands was the horse-land, Houyhnhnms. I enjoyed the nature of the horses, and their way of life. Of course, this is the part of the book where Swift really let loose on how horrible the human species is in moral and character when he was describing his native land and fellow human beings to the chief of the Houyhnhnms. Anyways....honestly....this book was just not my cup of tea. I'm so glad to be able to check Jonathan Swift and Gulliver's Travels off my list. I hate to say that about any book, though. :-(

Finished: Journey to the Center of the Earth (Verne). A fun read. :-) And now...I've read the top 50 authors of my 100! Generally this is not my type of book at all, but this was a fun read. I thought I would have to drag through it, but even though the premise is outlandish, it kept me turning the pages! I (like Axel) kept wondering...how are they ever going to get out?? The deeper they go, they'll never make it. Anyway, I liked the "new world" they found...and how they named each new large landmark after themselves, lol. And...it was clever how they eventually got out, even though highly unlikely. I suppose that's the idea with science fiction though!! I doubt I'll read more Jules Verne, but I'm so glad this project of mine is making me read authors I would have never looked at before. I do have an appreciation for each of their works! My favorite quote from the book, when Axel is arguing with his uncle about continuing their journey, the uncle convinces him (or bullies him) to continue because a theory of his is correct..."Once science has spoken, one should remain silent." Hee hee. :-)

So...as I said, I've now read the top 50 authors on my list! Yay! Of course, some I had read before this endeavor, but most I've read since I started! I only have 17 authors left to go in my top 100 and there are so many books I still want to read...repeats of different authors. Here's the list of the top 50:

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 W. von
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