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To be honest, Pinocchio is the most insufferable, ungrateful, and gullible brat I've seen so far in children's literature. Poor Geppetto has to sit at home, while the boy runs around and gives up to temptations. All the lies build up, and each time Pinocchio's nose grows longer.
Not too convinced on this one. New characters are introduced only to disappear almost immediately. Didn't understand the point of them, maybe Collodi wanted more pages since it was originally serialized? And oh boy, the amount of ridiculous coincidences!
Anyway, the story was practically a bore. On the plus side, it was even weirder than Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and maybe a touch macabre. Or do you know a modern children's book where almost at the beginning of the story the main character's feet burn into cinders? That really is only the beginning...
Not too convinced on this one. New characters are introduced only to disappear almost immediately. Didn't understand the point of them, maybe Collodi wanted more pages since it was originally serialized? And oh boy, the amount of ridiculous coincidences!
Anyway, the story was practically a bore. On the plus side, it was even weirder than Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and maybe a touch macabre. Or do you know a modern children's book where almost at the beginning of the story the main character's feet burn into cinders? That really is only the beginning...
The mentor of Lewis Carroll, and revered by C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien among others, the severe-looking Scottish author clearly had a knack for creating magical things. Very few authors have said that they don't write for children, "but for the child-like, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five". The Princess and the Goblin is a fully-fledged children's fantasy novel, however, but also much more than a story of rescuing the princess and the kingdom.
Eight-year-old princess Irene lives a very sheltered life in a castle with her nursemaid Lootie and other servants. She has an abundance of toys, but there are so many that they don't satisfy her anymore. Instead she grows frustrated and runs around exploring the castle, eventually finding a mysterious room with an old lady who claims to be her grandmother. Irene also finds out that she has never been told about the goblins who live underground, and who are now plotting against the kingdom.
In a way this feels like a simple fairy tale, but a very bloated one. The straightforward plot is dragged out way too much, leading to a flat and anticlimactic ending. The sense of magic and the possibility to read between lines kept me going even when the text level itself was a letdown. Goblins are always interesting creatures, and here they have an interesting background story. The grandmother represents a more divine power. She is there to guide Irene and is connected to the concept of belief. What to do when you believe in something but others have a hard time doing the same? Some would say this hints at MacDonald's efforts to weave a Christian allegory to the story, but belief isn't exclusive to religion.
MacDonald also deals with transcending your outward place in the world by learning how to become a person who deserves respect. Early on, we learn that a real princess doesn't tell a lie, isn't rude and does what she is told. Being a good girl is a much bigger thing than being a princess, than having a superficial title. When Irene is playing with miner's children despite her status, the reader is reminded that "the truest princess is just the one who loves all her brothers and sisters best, and who is most able to do them good by being humble towards them".
Like in many children's homes even today, the nursemaid Lootie acts as both parents. Irene's mother is dead and her father travels for months on end around his kingdom. Whenever he comes back he is shown as a noble figure, and is almost put on a pedestal by Irene. The king loves his daughter and is moved to tears from the mention of his late wife, but I found it interesting that for most of the time he stays as an absent father, while the story focuses on Irene taking control of her seclusion and saving the kingdom.
Irene indeed shows herself to be a different kind of princess. With the help of a miner boy named Curdie, she is an active agent who, with the encouragement of her grandmother, finds courage and honour in herself. She's the one who follows a thread given to her by the grandmother, and saves Curdie from a cave by clearing away a heap of stones. It's admirable that MacDonald doesn't reduce her to a damsel in distress, but gives her the chance to develop and grow.
"[']We are all very anxious to be understood, and it is very hard not to be. But there is one thing much more necessary.'
'What is that, grandmother?'
'To understand other people.'
'Yes, grandmother. I must be fair - for if I'm not fair to other people, I'm not worth being understood myself.[']"
PS. The cover of this Hesperus Press edition is gorgeous!
Eight-year-old princess Irene lives a very sheltered life in a castle with her nursemaid Lootie and other servants. She has an abundance of toys, but there are so many that they don't satisfy her anymore. Instead she grows frustrated and runs around exploring the castle, eventually finding a mysterious room with an old lady who claims to be her grandmother. Irene also finds out that she has never been told about the goblins who live underground, and who are now plotting against the kingdom.
In a way this feels like a simple fairy tale, but a very bloated one. The straightforward plot is dragged out way too much, leading to a flat and anticlimactic ending. The sense of magic and the possibility to read between lines kept me going even when the text level itself was a letdown. Goblins are always interesting creatures, and here they have an interesting background story. The grandmother represents a more divine power. She is there to guide Irene and is connected to the concept of belief. What to do when you believe in something but others have a hard time doing the same? Some would say this hints at MacDonald's efforts to weave a Christian allegory to the story, but belief isn't exclusive to religion.
MacDonald also deals with transcending your outward place in the world by learning how to become a person who deserves respect. Early on, we learn that a real princess doesn't tell a lie, isn't rude and does what she is told. Being a good girl is a much bigger thing than being a princess, than having a superficial title. When Irene is playing with miner's children despite her status, the reader is reminded that "the truest princess is just the one who loves all her brothers and sisters best, and who is most able to do them good by being humble towards them".
Like in many children's homes even today, the nursemaid Lootie acts as both parents. Irene's mother is dead and her father travels for months on end around his kingdom. Whenever he comes back he is shown as a noble figure, and is almost put on a pedestal by Irene. The king loves his daughter and is moved to tears from the mention of his late wife, but I found it interesting that for most of the time he stays as an absent father, while the story focuses on Irene taking control of her seclusion and saving the kingdom.
Irene indeed shows herself to be a different kind of princess. With the help of a miner boy named Curdie, she is an active agent who, with the encouragement of her grandmother, finds courage and honour in herself. She's the one who follows a thread given to her by the grandmother, and saves Curdie from a cave by clearing away a heap of stones. It's admirable that MacDonald doesn't reduce her to a damsel in distress, but gives her the chance to develop and grow.
"[']We are all very anxious to be understood, and it is very hard not to be. But there is one thing much more necessary.'
'What is that, grandmother?'
'To understand other people.'
'Yes, grandmother. I must be fair - for if I'm not fair to other people, I'm not worth being understood myself.[']"
PS. The cover of this Hesperus Press edition is gorgeous!
I've noticed I have a lot less patience towards these kinds of books than I did when I was a child. Anne was incredibly annoying and her uniqueness was underlined a bit too much for my liking.
The smaller Suvi, who used to climb on the rocks of the nearby forest and build castles with pillows and sheets into our living room, would have probably appreciated this a tad more than 23-year-old Suvi. Absolutely an entertaining story, after all I did kind of forget myself with this instead of studying. However, I didn't have any particular negative or positive feelings one way or the other. One thing though that would have connected these two versions of me, is the complex and multifaceted character of Long John Silver, whose moral isn't quite as black and white as with the patriotic characters of the novel and the pirates. As far as I know, this moral issue is quite rare in children's literature, at least of this time period.
I don't know whether Treasure Island was the first pirate story, but there's a lot of (perhaps stereotypical) conceptions and ideas in here relating to pirates that have survived to this day. The most important of these are at least one legged pirates with a parrot on their shoulder, treasure maps with an X, and buried treasures. The ship Hispaniola sounded familiar, but I have no idea why. There are no wooden legs though, because Silver uses a crutch. Believe it or not, but it doesn't seem he has much difficulties using that on a swaying deck or on a soft sand beach. History buffs might want to know that Israel Hands really existed, and that he was Blackbeard's boatswain.
All in all, an entertaining adventure story and deserving of its status as a classic, although maybe not suitable for the smallest children. In addition to the flickering morality of Silver, I noticed that Stevenson doesn't try to glorify piracy in any way. Still, if I had read this sometime before the age of 12, I'd probably started dreaming of similar pirate adventures that Jim Hawkins got himself into. I already thought about what it would be like to run away with the circus (while considering the good and bad aspects of being a lion tamer), or hide myself into gypsies' wagons.
I don't know whether Treasure Island was the first pirate story, but there's a lot of (perhaps stereotypical) conceptions and ideas in here relating to pirates that have survived to this day. The most important of these are at least one legged pirates with a parrot on their shoulder, treasure maps with an X, and buried treasures. The ship Hispaniola sounded familiar, but I have no idea why. There are no wooden legs though, because Silver uses a crutch. Believe it or not, but it doesn't seem he has much difficulties using that on a swaying deck or on a soft sand beach. History buffs might want to know that Israel Hands really existed, and that he was Blackbeard's boatswain.
All in all, an entertaining adventure story and deserving of its status as a classic, although maybe not suitable for the smallest children. In addition to the flickering morality of Silver, I noticed that Stevenson doesn't try to glorify piracy in any way. Still, if I had read this sometime before the age of 12, I'd probably started dreaming of similar pirate adventures that Jim Hawkins got himself into. I already thought about what it would be like to run away with the circus (while considering the good and bad aspects of being a lion tamer), or hide myself into gypsies' wagons.
Now that my studies are over and I'm free as a bird to read whatever non-fiction I like without feeling bogged down by obligatory exam crap, I've been eyeing a lot of my neglected non-fiction to-read lists and wishlists (yes, I have several, because apparently one would be too easy), particularly the half that has books I've added many many years ago. Of course, I chose the one book that I couldn't seem to find anywhere. In the end, I relied on my trusty friend AbeBooks again and managed to snag the only reasonably priced copy.
Was it worth paying over 40 pounds? I'd say mostly yes. The Satanic Screen has the same problems that these types of overviews generally have: occasionally, too much time is spent in plot descriptions (note: with spoilers), and sometimes some films only get an entry of a few sentences if they are unremarkable but still fit the topic in question.
Then again, Schreck has a real verve for writing and I enjoyed his vivid style immensely. Now, I should mention that he, although currently a Buddhist teacher, has a background in Satanism (and is married to Zeena Schreck, Anton LaVey's daughter and one of the most gorgeous humans on Earth), which obviously gives him a special authoritative stance on the topic. If he says a film captures Satanism particularly well, I trust his opinion.
A word of warning, though: Schreck is very opinionated about how he likes this topic to be portrayed on film. I wasn't bothered because I mostly agreed with everything what he said, but someone else might be annoyed by the subjectivity and his push towards a certain "acceptable" image of the Devil. Aleister Crowley fans might also be irked by the no holds barred rants that basically describe him as a snake oil charlatan.
Schreck's firm opinions also allowed me to finally realize why The Exorcist (1973) and The Omen (1976) have always rubbed me the wrong way. Schreck points out the conservatism (in both these two and others) that paints, for example, sexual behavior that is considered "abnormal" or explicit language as signs of diabolism. Instead of being thought-provoking spiritual journeys or truly terrifying films that take advantage of the anxiety caused by the Devil, they seem trivial, juvenile, and almost like Christian cautionary tales or scare tactics. I'd say The Exorcist is the better constructed story out of these two, but that's about it.
Fortunately, diabolical horror hasn't always been so bland, and I very much look forward to watching some of the discussed films. There's a clear thread going through each decade that lends a useful context for each film, but as with all good cinema-related non-fiction, there are also fresh points of view to some I've already seen and now want to watch again. Even just the fact that Schreck doesn't only discuss mainstream films but also everything between underground cinema and 70s porn is worth keeping this in my bookshelf. Overall, The Satanic Screen made me realize I know absolutely nothing about the Black Arts cinema, so I guess I need to fix that ASAP.
Plus: Jeff Goldblum has played the Devil? Uh, that honestly sounds perfect beyond belief.
Was it worth paying over 40 pounds? I'd say mostly yes. The Satanic Screen has the same problems that these types of overviews generally have: occasionally, too much time is spent in plot descriptions (note: with spoilers), and sometimes some films only get an entry of a few sentences if they are unremarkable but still fit the topic in question.
Then again, Schreck has a real verve for writing and I enjoyed his vivid style immensely. Now, I should mention that he, although currently a Buddhist teacher, has a background in Satanism (and is married to Zeena Schreck, Anton LaVey's daughter and one of the most gorgeous humans on Earth), which obviously gives him a special authoritative stance on the topic. If he says a film captures Satanism particularly well, I trust his opinion.
A word of warning, though: Schreck is very opinionated about how he likes this topic to be portrayed on film. I wasn't bothered because I mostly agreed with everything what he said, but someone else might be annoyed by the subjectivity and his push towards a certain "acceptable" image of the Devil. Aleister Crowley fans might also be irked by the no holds barred rants that basically describe him as a snake oil charlatan.
Schreck's firm opinions also allowed me to finally realize why The Exorcist (1973) and The Omen (1976) have always rubbed me the wrong way. Schreck points out the conservatism (in both these two and others) that paints, for example, sexual behavior that is considered "abnormal" or explicit language as signs of diabolism. Instead of being thought-provoking spiritual journeys or truly terrifying films that take advantage of the anxiety caused by the Devil, they seem trivial, juvenile, and almost like Christian cautionary tales or scare tactics. I'd say The Exorcist is the better constructed story out of these two, but that's about it.
Fortunately, diabolical horror hasn't always been so bland, and I very much look forward to watching some of the discussed films. There's a clear thread going through each decade that lends a useful context for each film, but as with all good cinema-related non-fiction, there are also fresh points of view to some I've already seen and now want to watch again. Even just the fact that Schreck doesn't only discuss mainstream films but also everything between underground cinema and 70s porn is worth keeping this in my bookshelf. Overall, The Satanic Screen made me realize I know absolutely nothing about the Black Arts cinema, so I guess I need to fix that ASAP.
Plus: Jeff Goldblum has played the Devil? Uh, that honestly sounds perfect beyond belief.
Life itself could not be possessed, really, not even a minute of it. She saw it with sudden clarity; life kept slipping away from you, it kept shifting and changing, like the dancing lights in the false stones, shifting and changing and shooting off into the shadows without you. It was all just a reflection. People were only reflections. - - - [W]hile you wandered there in the darkness—then you couldn't even find the shape or the heart of yourself—and that was terrible, and you were afraid...
When my bookshelf is about to crumble down and twenty library books have been standing on the table unopened for weeks simply because I just can't seem to decide what to read next, I've noticed that the only way to get rid of the antsy feeling is to either focus on watching movies (these days I try to watch one at least every other evening before going to sleep) or to read something that feels familiar somehow. The latter choice usually involves Agatha Christie, but this time I wanted to try something that was familiar to me through movies.
You guessed it: What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962) is one of my favorite films and also the tour de force of the psycho-biddy genre. It's creepy, crude, odd, and Bette Davis plays demented old ladies so well. What's not to like? I haven't seen it in a while, but as far as I can tell, it's very faithful to the book. However, sometimes it means that it's pointless to read the book after you've seen the movie, because everything is so by the numbers and over and done with.
Why should you check out the novel in this case, then?
Simply because Farrell is a great writer. To be honest, I was expecting a cheesy pulp classic (not a bad thing), but I don't know where I got that from. When I remember all the boring, clichéd and flat contemporary thrillers I've had the misfortune to come across with, Farrell's writing stands out even more. It's beautiful and insightful, but also sparse and economical in all the right places. Of course, a good thriller needs a good pacing and lots of suspense as well, and WEHBJ passes that test with flying colors. I had a long break in reading because I had to do other stuff, but when I came back I was sucked into the world again and breezed through a hundred pages in a day.
What also helps to elevate WEHBJ above other more pedestrian thrillers is the pinch of unpredictability in the ending. It tips the scale into a more sad territory with the revelation that might potentially get the reader to feel sorry for Blanche, but which will at least cause you to re-evaluate everything that has happened. There's no question that Blanche is unhinged and delusional in thinking that everything she did was only because she was forced into it by other people's actions, but the reason for that massively questionable behavior is left for the reader to decide.
The uncertainty that lingers on after the ending, the fact that everything isn't actually resolved and tied into a neat little bow so that we can move on knowing that everything is alright again, won't appeal to everyone. Personally, I love the symbolic ellipsis that I've seen so many times in horror anthology TV shows and in some Stephen King short stories. That's what horror or suspense is at its best: uncertainty, ambivalence, and the dread of evil squashing your happy ending.