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Nearly every chapter in this book has something to offer the reader, but I have found his discussion of the difference between flat and round characters to be especially useful in reading other novels. In Forster's view, a round character is one that can develop and change over the course of a novel's story. They adjust, grow, and react to events and people around them. They are fuller, and therefore more lifelike. A flat character, on the other hand, is essentially the same character at the end of the tale as at the beginning. They do not grow, do not alter with time, do no admit of development. Flat characters are not necessarily bad characters. As Forster points out, correctly, I think, nearly all of Charles Dickens's characters are flat characters. Not even major characters such as David Copperfield change during the course of their history.
I have found this distinction to be quite helpful in reading the work of various novelists. Some authors have almost nothing but round characters. Anthony Trollope is a premier example of this. All of his characters develop and change and are effected by events around them. Some authors have a mix of flat and round characters, like Jane Austen. As Forster points out, she is even capable of taking a flat character like Mrs. Bennet, expand her suddenly into a round character, and then collapse her back into a round one. And her round characters are very, very round indeed. Compare Elizabeth Bennet or Emma Woodhouse with any character in Dickens, and the difference is obvious. On the other hand, someone like Hemingway tends to have round male characters and flat female characters, or Iris Murdoch, who has round female characters but flat male characters.
The book is filled with marvelous, frequently funny sentences. "Books have to be read . . . it is the only way of discovering what they contain." "Neither of them has much taste: the world of beauty was largely closed to Dickens, and is entirely closed to Wells." "The intensely, stifling human quality of the novel is not to be avoided; the novel is sogged with humanity." "The human mind is not a dignified organ, and I do not see how we can exercise it sincerely except through eclecticism." And one could go on and on.
If one wants a systematic and exhaustive history and discussion of the novel, one ought to turn, perhaps, to another book. But if one finds a pithy, impressionistic reaction to the form by one of its better 20th century practitioners, one could not do better than this find book.
I liked this collected series of lectures on what makes for good novel writing much better than almost any of the novels that Forster actually wrote (A Passage to India being the lone exception). Forster treats seven different aspects--the story, people, plot, fantasy, prophecy, pattern, and rhythm--in a breezy conversational style. Along the way, he offers examples, both good and bad, from literary history. I found myself agreeing and dissenting about equally, but the whole thing was immensely interesting and entertaining.
Here are some of the observations that I agreed with and why:
A story "can only have one fault: that of making the audience not want to know what happens next."
One inevitably thinks of James Joyce's Ulysses, which by now has surely retired the title of "the book most likely to remain unfinished". No matter how revolutionary the technique, how insightful the observations or how compelling the characters, a book that you can put down and not care what happens next has failed in its most basic task. ----------------------
The constant sensitiveness of characters for each other--even in writers called robust, like Fielding--is remarkable, and has no parallel in life, except among those people who have plenty of leisure. Passion, intensity at moments--yes, but not this constant awareness, this endless readjusting, this ceaseless hunger. I believe that these are the reflections of the novelist's own state of mind while he composes, and that the predominance of love in novels is partly because of this.
Forster elsewhere sites DH Lawrence favorably, but he seems to me to be an author whose characters are so obsessed by passion as to be too novelistic, if not completely unrealistic. But, the example I would site here actually is not a case of love predominating to excess, but rather Crime and Punishment , where the characters' constant awareness of the philosophical and moral implications of their every thought and deed is such that it could only be the product of an author in intellectual overdrive. If real people truly lived their lives this way, nothing would ever get done. ----------------------
In the losing battle that the plot fights with the characters, it often takes a cowardly revenge. Nearly all novels are feeble at the end. This is because the plot requires to be wound up. Why is this necessary? Why is there not a convention which allows a novelist to stop as soon as he feels muddled or bored? Alas, he has to round things off, and usually the characters go dead while he is at work, and our final impression of them is through deadness.
Anyone who's ever read one of his books will instantly call to mind James Clavell. I recall the jarring sensation of finishing his great novel Tai-Pan when, many hundreds of pages into the book, unwilling to see it conclude, but obviously noticing that their were a dwindling number of pages; I could not imagine how he would conclude the main plot line so quickly, let alone tie up all of the remaining loose ends. And then, BOOM!, our hero is dead and the book is over. And why? I was ready to read on for as long as he wanted to keep writing. Or, at worst, he could have just stopped in mid story and said: "To be continued..." But Forster is right; the conventions of the novel almost require authors to
let the tiger out of the cage at the end, and, more often then not, it leaves a bitter taste in the reader's mouth, regardless of how much we'd enjoyed the book up until that point.
There is much food for thought of this kind in this witty, opinionated, fascinating survey of the novel. Add to that a really fine hammer job on Henry James and the fact that said hammering upset Virginia Woolf and we're talking big thumbs up here.
GRADE: A-
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This story has generated intense discussions as to whether or not they believe the animals consciously helped the barefoot escape the heavy boots, or whether the occurrences were merely coincidental. The students embrace the tone of the book and will often discuss how they originally did not care for the illustrations because they were too dark and made it difficult to see the details, but soon realized that they mimic what the barefoot is seeing -- a potent tool in immersing them in the story.
The students were so enthralled by the way the point of view of the story was presented that they asked to write their own stories based on the point of view of our classroom pet, S'mores the Guinea Pig. Some choose to write from their own pet's point of view. Each and every one of the stories were wonderful to read, and though some may have been lacking in conventions and spelling, EVERY one of them shouted with an author's voice that was astounding.
From the first page, students will be fascinated by the story and the pictures. As I shared it with students in the school library, they sat in suspense. Who is Barefoot? Where is he going? Why is is running at night? What are the noises he hears? Will the house be safe? How will be know?
I highly recommend that the book be used by an adult who can answer the questions which may arise when the book ends. This is a book which should be on the shelves in every schol library in the country.
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It is one of those rare works of history that manages to be factual, straightforward, and still read like a novel. The writing is crisp, the imagery moving, and the detail satisfying. I admit to being biased -- don't we all have fond memories of books read when we were young? -- but I cannot think of any flaws.
Here's a historical nugget I first recognized reading "The Big E." Only two US fleet carriers survived WWII. The first was the Saratoga, which survived by being heavily damaged seemingly everytime she left port, and spent the war safely in drydock being repaired. The second was the Enterprise, which was engaged in nearly every major battle in the Pacific, and was arguably the "luckiest" large ship in the Navy.
Given the resurgence of interest in WWII (see Stephen Ambrose and Tom Hanks) I cannot imagine why someone does not reprint this book. If you can find a copy, buy it. If you live in western Washington I might loan you my copy, but you have to promise to take good care of it and return it promptly.
One of the few books I have bought that were worth the money!
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Everything he writes is very true historically and that makes the book even more enjoyable. His sense of humor and the story made me feel almost being there with Sir Nigel. The story itself is simple but full of surprises. If you are a kid or if you are one of those grown up kids like me you will love this book.
Or maybe you're a science-fiction or fantasy nut. The books you love best are those in which a very imaginative author conjures up a remarkable, detailed, complex world, puts human-type characters in it, and sets them in motion, reacting to the forces around them. You'd crawl through mud to find a book like this.
So why oh why oh why don't you give this neglected masterpiece, this Sir Nigel--and with Doyle as the author--the acclaim it so richly deserves? No, it's not fantasy or science-fiction, but it begins in England in 1348, and can you possibly imagine a time and place more foreign than that?
To briefly summarize, the story is about a young squire, Sir Nigel, and his quest to perform noble deeds so that he can win the hand of his love, who waits patiently for him to complete them. If you want nothing more than adventure, this book has it. He begins by rescuing a damsel from a scoundrel who would besmirch her honor; there is a small then a large sea battle against the Spanish; there is a journey to a cruel, pirate-infested island, and the revenge exacted on its leader; there are jousts, one on one and thirty on thirty; and in final there is a large, desperate battle between huge armies of French and English where much glory and blood is to be found. Large and small, adventures abound, and I haven't even mentioned half of them. And nothing here stretches credibility. Yes, Nigel is a hero, but he suffers setbacks also--some really embarrassing--and in fact misses most of a set-piece battle he was looking forward to when he almost gets his brains bashed in at the beginning of it.
Like all of Doyle's creations, this novel is rich in small details also. For example, forks hadn't been invented yet. It was considered good manners to hold your meat with your thumb and middle finger while cutting it; to do otherwise was bad form. When you're done with the meat, you toss the bone behind you for the dogs. Once a week, the whole mess was swept out and more hay is laid on the floor. He shows a great knowledge of weaponry as well, talking about the relative merits of the bow and the arbalest, the heavy stones heaved by mangonels, and of course the use of swords and shields and lance. These are just a couple of examples. Practically every page reveals insights as to the way of life in those times, not the least of which is the portrayal of the chivalraic code by which they all lived.
Lastly, it is beautifully written, almost lyrical. Nigel comes upon the fair Edith, "whose face had come so often betwixt him and his sleep." Is there a more economical or descriptive way to put this? And later, marching in war-torn Brittany: "As the darkness deepened there came in wild gusts the howling of wolves from the forest to remind them that they were in a land of war. So busy had men been for many years in hunting one another that the beasts of the chase had grown to a monstrous degree, until [even] the streets of the town were no longer safe . . ." Descriptive? Indeed, chilling.
This is exciting, informative, first-class fiction, and warrants a much larger audience than it has apprarently been getting over the years. Do your part!
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Who can really add to all that has been written over the years about this classic? The reader cannot help but be struck with Doyle's writing style. Its economy is a marvel. It is crisp and crackling, not to mention spellbinding. Even a straightforward introduction is masterly handled. Here, for example, is Watson telling us about the crime scene we are about to enter: "....I will.... describe events which occurred before we arrived on the scene by the light of knowledge which came to us afterwards."
Of course Doyle can establish a new scene with the same economy, but turn up the atmospheric temperature a good deal higher. He begins his retrospective "Scowrers" section in the snowbound Gilmerton Mountains, where a single track railroad leads us through a "long, winding tortuous valley," which is part of the "gloomy land of black crag and tangled forest."
This book is really two books woven together by the mysterious history of the central crime victim. The first is set in England, the second in the United States. Keep a sharp ear out for Doyle's deft handling of the King's English and then its transformation into the 19th Century Americanized version. The King's English is all about civility and civilization. In the American tongue, Doyle takes us to the fringes of civilization, to a Western mining town, where cruelty -- not civility -- is the order of the day.
I suppose one could argue that Holmes' deductive reasoning is the ultimate bulwark against chaos and violence. Perhaps for another Sherlock Holmes book. But I can't help but cite one example of Watson's obvious English sense of what is proper. Holmes' companion/narrator takes a stroll in an old-world garden surrounded by ancient yew trees, where he accidentally overhears the murder victim's wife laughing. Worse, she is laughing with her just murdered husband's faithful male companion. As Watson the narrator puts it, "I bowed with a coldness which showed, I dare say, very plainly the impression which had been produced upon my mind......I greeted the lady with reserve. I had grieved with her grief in the dining room. Now I met her appealing gaze with an unresponsive eye." Good ol' Watson!
May I suggest to the reader that, after this classic, you turn to R.L. Stevenson's, "The Master of Ballantrae"? Stevenson's masterpiece also jumps from the old world to the new, and like "The Valley of Fear" the new world for Stevenson also represents murder and mayhem. Something to ponder from these two great Scottish novelists.
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The book is divided up by topic (subject or artist), these being: Fashions in Body Type, The Cult of Thinness, The Goodness of Zaftig, Eve, Venus, Other Goddesses, Women as Symbols and Personifications, Cleopatra, Bathsheba, Hilda, Rembrandt van Rijn, Pieter Paul Rubens, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Boris Kustodiev, Aristide Maillol, Gaston Lchaise, Reginald Marsh, Pablo Picasso, An Opulent Age, Opera Divas, The Stage, On the Beach, Youthful Plumpness, Motherhood, Confidently Voluptuous, and Women's Bodies in Other Cultures.
As an aside, which is more just a comment than a criticism: with all of its pictures celebrating size, it must be admitted that most of them are of fair, white women; women that have pale skin and women of "other cultures" are fit into the last chapter, and they are mostly other cultures through the European gaze (Italian, French, Swiss). While St. Paige argues that most people and most cultures have preferred heavier women to thin ones, can we also not argue that many people prefer paler people too, as evidenced by the images in the book. But I'm glad that there is an attempt to put people of colour in the book.
The author puts a lot of emphasis on the idea that women are naturally curvy, and that thinness is freakish. While I agree that women tend toward curviness, not all women can be a size 20 either, just like not everyone can be a size 2. And the argument of "naturalness" doesn't sit well with me, as it has been used to justify many unpleasant things. I am not a zaftig woman, but I appreciate the beauty on these pages.
My only quarrel is that the pieces mostly show full, plump women who don't fit the definition of "fat", and there are few black women, although the author seemed to be trying to focus on classical paintings, so it can only be expected since it is no doubt difficult to find classic works of art where the subject is a person of African descent.
But overall, I love this book and flip through it's pages often, it's a great mood lifter. Believe me, this is more likely to make you feel good about yourself than any diet pill claims to.
Her 10 year quest to share the feelings and images of those personal experiences was a gift to the rest of us. I found myself moved to tears at times, by the images and stories she has introduced us to in her book. I am richer for having had the experience of reading this book.