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More like a collection of various Christmas activities than a cohesive plot or a series of vignettes, but Wikland's illustrations are as warm and nostalgic as always.
Findus's little toes and striped pants are the cutest, just like him napping in front of the fireplace or eating meatballs.
The family saga of Forsytes, who at the beginning smell an intruder amongst them (Bosinney the architect, engaged to June), examines how the far-reaching consequences of a certain love affair molds each person and generation in its own way.
The solicitor Soames considers his wife Irene as his property, the way you do with beautiful paintings that you parade in front of others. The couple's marriage suffers from Irene's indifference, which Soames of course doesn't understand, because he doesn't see the desire to be free lurking behind her eyes. The elder Jolyon feels lonely and tries to patch things up with his son with the same name, who separated himself from the Forsyte family by leaving his wife and marrying another woman. The younger Jolyon seems different from the rest of the Forsytes, since he doesn't consider life as a matter of business.
People are mostly cold and selfish, but nature continues its peaceful existence. London and its surroundings are mostly described through nature: lovers embraced by the stunning fragrance of flowers, starry sky spread above the buildings on an evening of dancing, Robin Hill's lush environment etc. The eternal essence of nature makes you hope that the Forsytes would finally realise what's really important in life, but of course their practical blindness cannot be cured with beauty.
The atmosphere of the novels is delicate and lingering. Galsworthy describes perceptively the family's intertwining to the changes of the society, from the Victorian era to the energetic and modern 1920s. Old-fashioned ideals are dusted, but certain people peristently grab into the narrow-minded perception of the priorities of humanity. At first you want to feel sorry for Soames, but after a certain event it's impossible. He has been brought up in a certain kind of way in a certain kind of society, but you still want to slap him, real hard, and shake him up so that he would wake up into the reality.
In a long saga like this, some members of the family are naturally lost, but the desire to possess and taking care of own interests remain. Forgiveness, blindness, aging, women's rights... There are a lot of themes, but they form into a balanced bigger picture. A few years ago I saw the newer 21st century miniseries, but after reading this I'm no longer entirely sure that it was actually as good as I remember it to be. How can anyone capture Galsworthy's melancholic family saga into the frames of television or film?
I could endlessly try to define the effect this had on me, but I still wouldn't be able to put my feelings into words. After the last page I feel distressed, sad, relieved, wistful. Despite the many flaws the characters had it's extremely difficult to say goodbye after so many weeks of spending time with them. I can always read the whole thing again, but it will not be like it was the first time.
The solicitor Soames considers his wife Irene as his property, the way you do with beautiful paintings that you parade in front of others. The couple's marriage suffers from Irene's indifference, which Soames of course doesn't understand, because he doesn't see the desire to be free lurking behind her eyes. The elder Jolyon feels lonely and tries to patch things up with his son with the same name, who separated himself from the Forsyte family by leaving his wife and marrying another woman. The younger Jolyon seems different from the rest of the Forsytes, since he doesn't consider life as a matter of business.
People are mostly cold and selfish, but nature continues its peaceful existence. London and its surroundings are mostly described through nature: lovers embraced by the stunning fragrance of flowers, starry sky spread above the buildings on an evening of dancing, Robin Hill's lush environment etc. The eternal essence of nature makes you hope that the Forsytes would finally realise what's really important in life, but of course their practical blindness cannot be cured with beauty.
The atmosphere of the novels is delicate and lingering. Galsworthy describes perceptively the family's intertwining to the changes of the society, from the Victorian era to the energetic and modern 1920s. Old-fashioned ideals are dusted, but certain people peristently grab into the narrow-minded perception of the priorities of humanity. At first you want to feel sorry for Soames, but after a certain event it's impossible. He has been brought up in a certain kind of way in a certain kind of society, but you still want to slap him, real hard, and shake him up so that he would wake up into the reality.
In a long saga like this, some members of the family are naturally lost, but the desire to possess and taking care of own interests remain. Forgiveness, blindness, aging, women's rights... There are a lot of themes, but they form into a balanced bigger picture. A few years ago I saw the newer 21st century miniseries, but after reading this I'm no longer entirely sure that it was actually as good as I remember it to be. How can anyone capture Galsworthy's melancholic family saga into the frames of television or film?
I could endlessly try to define the effect this had on me, but I still wouldn't be able to put my feelings into words. After the last page I feel distressed, sad, relieved, wistful. Despite the many flaws the characters had it's extremely difficult to say goodbye after so many weeks of spending time with them. I can always read the whole thing again, but it will not be like it was the first time.
Between 1920 and 1943, Tolkien wrote these letters to his children as Father Christmas. Because they were published posthumously and most likely never intended to be published at all, it can feel strange to give a star rating to such a personal glimpse into Tolkien's family life. At the same time, however, they are so well thought out and enjoyable that you can easily imagine the joy the children had when they received a beautifully written letter in an envelope.
There are so many adventures and fun incidents, whether it's the North Polar Bear falling asleep in the bathtub and flooding a gift room or fights with nasty little goblins, and the illustrations capture the magic of the north perfectly. Reading the Finnish translation kind of loses the effect of the Finnish names Tolkien uses, but as a whole, these letters are the kind of magic I wish every child had in their lives.
It's also worth noting that although Tolkien mentions gifts, there's no sign of the frantic commercialism that is currently the absolute worst aspect of Christmas. Instead, he reminds his children that others might be worse off.
There are so many adventures and fun incidents, whether it's the North Polar Bear falling asleep in the bathtub and flooding a gift room or fights with nasty little goblins, and the illustrations capture the magic of the north perfectly. Reading the Finnish translation kind of loses the effect of the Finnish names Tolkien uses, but as a whole, these letters are the kind of magic I wish every child had in their lives.
It's also worth noting that although Tolkien mentions gifts, there's no sign of the frantic commercialism that is currently the absolute worst aspect of Christmas. Instead, he reminds his children that others might be worse off.
5.12.2021
Although I said two years ago that these stories aren't Saki's best, they can handle another read (and the gorgeous white and gold cover is just too pretty to be left on the shelf forever). Not warm Christmas stories that are usually suitable for this time of year, but instead, they're funny, witty, mischievous, and cheeky, but never in a mean and nasty sort of way. They're like fluffy meringue you have after a heavy meal or something you dive into between festive chores.
17.12.2019
I already own a book that contains all of Saki's short stories, but Daunt Books's festive white and gold edition, which I knew would be juxtaposed with sly and witty humor, was too beautiful to disregard. Not his best, but the dealing with dull relatives, the complicated logic of how to write thank you notes etc. were a great accompaniment for listening to Christmas carols and eating cider pears with whipped cream.
Although I said two years ago that these stories aren't Saki's best, they can handle another read (and the gorgeous white and gold cover is just too pretty to be left on the shelf forever). Not warm Christmas stories that are usually suitable for this time of year, but instead, they're funny, witty, mischievous, and cheeky, but never in a mean and nasty sort of way. They're like fluffy meringue you have after a heavy meal or something you dive into between festive chores.
17.12.2019
I already own a book that contains all of Saki's short stories, but Daunt Books's festive white and gold edition, which I knew would be juxtaposed with sly and witty humor, was too beautiful to disregard. Not his best, but the dealing with dull relatives, the complicated logic of how to write thank you notes etc. were a great accompaniment for listening to Christmas carols and eating cider pears with whipped cream.
"Thank you very much for the ham; not such a good flavour as the one you sent last year, which itself was not a particularly good one. Hams are not what they used to be."
(3.5 stars) Die Hard (1988), Gremlins (1984), Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984), Black Christmas (1974)... If you think any of these are just as acceptable Christmas entertainment as the more traditional ones, then maybe Updike's cynical (and often reasonable) musings and Gorey's creepy drawings about the different side of this holiday is for you. Whether you're wondering why Santa Claus is allowed to break in, or you hate the incessant push of trying to make people buy piles of more stuff, it's likely that everyone can relate to one or two thoughts.
The Twelve Terrors of Christmas is the tick in Rudolph's fur, the deadly icicle falling from a roof, the screaming ill-behaving spoiled kid at the department store, and the endless dark winter. Retro Christmas songs will sound even better after reading it. Bring it on, Bing Crosby and fuzzy Christmas socks!
The Twelve Terrors of Christmas is the tick in Rudolph's fur, the deadly icicle falling from a roof, the screaming ill-behaving spoiled kid at the department store, and the endless dark winter. Retro Christmas songs will sound even better after reading it. Bring it on, Bing Crosby and fuzzy Christmas socks!
"THE DARK: Oh, how early it comes now! How creepy and green in the gills everyone looks, scrabbling along in drab winter wraps by the phosphorous light of department store windows full of Styrofoam snow."
Spirits of the Season is only the second book of British Library's Tales of the Weird series that I've read, but it's even better than the first one. Apart from the baffling inclusion of The Christmas Shadrach (1891) by Frank R. Stockton (not creepy in any sense of the word nor interesting), there's no actual weak link that short story collections such as these usually have.
All of these could handle multiple readings, but most importantly: they're perfect for a cold winter night and can make you double-check the shadows in the room. The absolute best of the best:
The Kit-Bag by Algernon Blackwood (1908): An old favorite that really managed to creep me out the second time around as well. It can be hard to imagine that a ghost story concerning a bag could do that, but it's very intense.
The Snow by Hugh Walpole (1929): Beautifully written revenge story, an eerie atmosphere, and an excellent ending.
The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance by M. R. James (1913): The master of horror whose imagery in the nightmarish Punch and Judy show always gets me.
Smee by A. M. Burrage (1929): A game of hide and seek takes a chilling turn. There's something about lighting a match and seeing something you don't want to see, or coming into a slow realisation that there's something wrong with the group you're spending time with.
All of these could handle multiple readings, but most importantly: they're perfect for a cold winter night and can make you double-check the shadows in the room. The absolute best of the best:
The Kit-Bag by Algernon Blackwood (1908): An old favorite that really managed to creep me out the second time around as well. It can be hard to imagine that a ghost story concerning a bag could do that, but it's very intense.
The Snow by Hugh Walpole (1929): Beautifully written revenge story, an eerie atmosphere, and an excellent ending.
The Story of a Disappearance and an Appearance by M. R. James (1913): The master of horror whose imagery in the nightmarish Punch and Judy show always gets me.
Smee by A. M. Burrage (1929): A game of hide and seek takes a chilling turn. There's something about lighting a match and seeing something you don't want to see, or coming into a slow realisation that there's something wrong with the group you're spending time with.
Around Christmastime, I figured it'd be nice to start a tradition and read something light and Christmasy (but not fluffy), and Christie knocked on my door again. Because the collections have a confusing publication history, I noticed I had actually read some of the stories before in another collection, but I couldn't remember the murderers anymore, so a reread was in order.
The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding was the only one set during Christmas, and in her foreword Christie explains how her childhood Christmases spent in Abney Hall inspired the story, and why she wanted to dedicate the book to its memory. The story does feel very nostalgic prior to things starting to get awry (the description of the Christmas feast made my mouth water), and thanks to the conclusion it's also one of the best ones. It really turns on its head all the expectations one has of a crime story.
The other one I liked was The Dream, where an eccentric millionaire needs Poirot's help, because he has been having a concurring dream where he shoots himself. Soon enough, the man is found dead. The whole case is a little bizarre and mystical, and the conclusion is fantastic. So much so, that this was my absolute favorite story of the collection.
The Under Dog is slightly drawn out and boring, but as for the rest, they're pretty decent with great twists. In all six stories, hints are spread throughout and some of them are even so obvious when you notice them afterwards, that you feel kind of stupid not to have seen them. Christie takes the idea of secrets behind one's demeanor even further, and it's a recurring theme of the collection. The tiny tidbits about the social realities of the era aren't absent either, as is evident from Poirot's ponderings about the butler:
"'This Parsons, then, he will have the characteristics of his class, he will object very strongly to the police, he will tell them as little as possible. Above all, he will say nothing that might seem to incriminate a member of the household. A house-breaker, a burglar, he will cling to that idea with all the strength of extreme obstinacy. Yes, the loyalties of the servant class are an interesting study.'"
We also learn that Poirot likes curvy women. Actually, "[h]e liked them lush, highly coloured, exotic. There had been a certain Russian countess – but that was long ago now. A folly of earlier days". Really? Tell me more. The fact that something this substantial is revealed about Poirot's past, or that he doesn't mind being kissed under the mistletoe by Bridget, caught me off guard. Is this the Agatha Christie Christmas spirit we're seeing?
The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding was the only one set during Christmas, and in her foreword Christie explains how her childhood Christmases spent in Abney Hall inspired the story, and why she wanted to dedicate the book to its memory. The story does feel very nostalgic prior to things starting to get awry (the description of the Christmas feast made my mouth water), and thanks to the conclusion it's also one of the best ones. It really turns on its head all the expectations one has of a crime story.
The other one I liked was The Dream, where an eccentric millionaire needs Poirot's help, because he has been having a concurring dream where he shoots himself. Soon enough, the man is found dead. The whole case is a little bizarre and mystical, and the conclusion is fantastic. So much so, that this was my absolute favorite story of the collection.
The Under Dog is slightly drawn out and boring, but as for the rest, they're pretty decent with great twists. In all six stories, hints are spread throughout and some of them are even so obvious when you notice them afterwards, that you feel kind of stupid not to have seen them. Christie takes the idea of secrets behind one's demeanor even further, and it's a recurring theme of the collection. The tiny tidbits about the social realities of the era aren't absent either, as is evident from Poirot's ponderings about the butler:
"'This Parsons, then, he will have the characteristics of his class, he will object very strongly to the police, he will tell them as little as possible. Above all, he will say nothing that might seem to incriminate a member of the household. A house-breaker, a burglar, he will cling to that idea with all the strength of extreme obstinacy. Yes, the loyalties of the servant class are an interesting study.'"
We also learn that Poirot likes curvy women. Actually, "[h]e liked them lush, highly coloured, exotic. There had been a certain Russian countess – but that was long ago now. A folly of earlier days". Really? Tell me more. The fact that something this substantial is revealed about Poirot's past, or that he doesn't mind being kissed under the mistletoe by Bridget, caught me off guard. Is this the Agatha Christie Christmas spirit we're seeing?
