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Proof that education and the recession need not be antonyms: I scanned this from a history book I bought from Amazon for 2$.
“It was the worst of time. It was the best of times.”
Spectacular is one word that comes to mind when thinking about Charles Dickens’ revered historical novel. Heartbreaking is another.
The French Revolution has been called the most important event in history. Like all history students, I learnt from textbooks. I committed to memory horrifying events yet still struggled to grasp the raw reality of the horror and the terror of the Revolution.
As an aspiring historian, I can tell you: It is one thing to memorize dates. Its is another altogether to have the fury of the French Revolution brought to life through Dickens’ pen. Whatever you will say about the ideals and intentions of the revolutionists, there is one thing that simply cannot be denied: the rage, the blood and the madness was inexplicably gruesome. Behind each death and behind each number is a story, a person and a face.
It is easy to forget how dreadful and dire history truly is. Just as our descendants will be horrified with the wars and genocides our century bore, so Dickens was horrified by the French Revolution* . His novel is a warning, a severe warning to Aristocratic Britain. I like to think that his warning trancedes time and applies to our century as well.
To learn history is not to justify or make excuses for the horrors that our ancestors have perpetuated. To learn history is to take the first of many steps in understanding our present and applying lessons history yearns to teach us. Greater men and women have failed abundantly and left records of these errors so that we do not have to repeat them. The torch has been passed on, it is our task now to learn from it and bequeath it to what is hopefully a more deserving generation.
In spite of all this, there are things you simply cannot learn in school. When learning about the Revolution, there are sentiments that one simply cannot express in textbooks. That is when I turn to classics. More often than not, its authors express more about human triumph and human agony than a scheduled hour of class time ever will… When it comes to teaching about the human heart, one often learns best from one’s own readings and sentiments.
For these reasons (and many more I cannot reveal without stealing from the plot), I wholeheartedly recommend A Tale Of Two Cities to all. It is a chilling admonition… Lest we forget…
“Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious licence and oppression over again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind”.
*even though he sympathized with the persecuted poor, having been “forced to work in a factory as a child” (wiki).
If you are interested in learning more about the Revolution, I suggest the History Channel’s documentary, available on YouTube.
Once in a lifetime, there comes along a novel that is so touching, so innocently poignant, that just by reading it, you feel your heart shatter and soar at the same time. The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Éxupéry is the apotheosis of all such novels. Published in 1943, it has become one of the bestselling novels of all time, sold more than 80 million copies and been translated into more than 180 languages¹. Some would classify it as a childish story. Perhaps it is. Yet to categorize it as such would be to deny the fundamental philosophical truths it hides behind the simplicity of the narrative.
In 2006, I was blessed with the opportunity to visit France. One of my first reactions to the old continent was how deeply engraved The Little Prince was in french culture*. It seemed the philosophical lessons of this short novel were everywhere, to be read or to be bought. The Little Prince has morphed into a capitalist’s dream: his notebooks, postcards, bookmarks can be bought everywhere. I should know… I bought a few myself.
Do not let that stop you. Do not judge this book by how commercially successful it is. There is a reason behind the fervor. Do not reduce it to “children’s literature”. It would be reducing the human heart to a mere muscle. Do not judge it by its cover… Antoine de Saint-Éxupéry has achieved the seemingly impossible: he has illustrated (both linguistically and visually) all that is beautiful about love.
Reader, whoever you are, I urge you: let the little prince seduce you. He will break your heart in the best way possible.
“What makes the desert beautiful,” says the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides a well.”
*Literally; on my first or second day, I saw a carving of the Prince on a sidewalk.
Dracula
How one word can inspire so many emotions is the basis for The Historian. Three different characters in three different yet overlapping time frames explore Eastern Europe in search of the historical Drakulya. This is a novel about how Vlad Tepes (or Vlad the Impaler) and his legend shaped Europe’s history in a frighteningly fascinating way.
Elizabeth Kustova’s debut novel is both tedious and thrilling. Some parts of it seem to advance at a breathless pace. Others are sluggish. I must admit my interest in the novel varied with the tempo… Though I dreaded about 100 of the 656 pages, in the two or three weeks since I have completed the novel I have found myself curiously missing it. You see, I liked it the novel. Very much. However, as gripping as it was, there were times when I just couldn’t summon the strength to delve in the annals of Mediaeval History once more.
Overall, it is an excellent debut novel. To keep a reader interested every step of the way requires incredible skill. It is a feat I shouldn’t expect of authors. Because I do, my experience with The Historian was diminished. However, if your expectations about literature are more realistic than mine, by all means, read this book. The truth behind the legend of the vampire will haunt you long after you have read the last sentence.
“She reached out and touched the crucifix, at first hesitantly, then took it in her hand.”
“Human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line. That is why man cannot be happy: happiness is the longing for repetition.”
I will not lie. When I first picked up Kundera’s The Unbearable Lightness of Being, I did it because I had been told it was a good novel, but mostly because I wanted to look intellectual, cultivated and somewhat unapproachable while taking the 42 home. I went to the bookstore before work and grabbed its shiny Folio cover with a feeling of accomplishment. Once again, my face wore this expression of feigned boredom and excitement, the same it wore on the day I brought Proust’s In Search of Lost Time home, when the cashier handed me the plastic device that takes your money away.
I cannot clearly recall when I started reading it, but I perfectly remember being brought close to tears in public transportation, thirty pages later. Outside it was dark; my confusing feelings were written there, right in front of me, in a way that I would have never dared to express them. Thomas was wondering if he should call her back and questioning the veracity of what motivated him to feel so much for her without even knowing her.
Thomas, to some extent, was me.
The writing has nothing superfluous to it, only reflecting the force of primitive emotions, primitive actions. Moreover, Kundera’s straight-to-the-point style does not neglect the suffering and the contradictions in one’s thoughts that follow love like a ghost, describing them in a poignant and almost too truthful way.
Every character depicted in this novel is an Idea in himself. In a way, we could see this as a tangible representation of Plato’s Theory of Forms (or Ideas) in which the philosopher states that everything we experience through our senses is only a diluted version of a highest form of reality only accessible with the help of our soul. Having that in mind, we could say that throughout the novel, each protagonist tries to touch, if only for a second, the purest form of Love and Beauty, of Lightness and Heaviness. Funnily enough, Plato is mentioned in the book:
“He suddenly recalled the famous myth from Plato’s Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split them in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another. Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.”
This quotation shows the philosophical and metaphysical twist of Kundera’s piece. However, as confusing as this tour de forcemay seem in the beginning, once the characters as well as the historical background (Prague Spring and the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia) are completely established , every piece of the puzzle reassembles itself together. It is a novel of Ideas, Ideas questionning the human existence in a way that is so poetic and so harsh, that all we can do is surrender ourselves and try to hold on.
French Edition - Gallimard Folio #2077
- Guest review from Fanny. ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
I will answer one question promptly: no, it is not as good as it’s predecessor. How could it be? Pillars of the Earth’s success was a complete surprise to all, an unparalleled achievement. Ken Follett has already written his magnum opus and by writing a sequel, he took a great risk. Luckily, it paid off. Whether considered on it’s own or as the second POTE, World Without End is nothing short of excellent.
I am usually very wary of sequels (especially those concluding a series) as they tend to shortchange the previous novels. However, the ending of WWE (which I will not divulge) happens to be one of the most satisfying and touching conclusions I have ever read.
The story takes place two centuries after the end of the first novel. All the Pillar protagonists are long dead though their legacy (and their descendants) live on. Much is similar and much is different in Kingsbridge. The role of the priory has changed, the rules of society are evolving but the human nature remains the same.
I would give more details if I wasn’t afraid of betraying all that I stand for and ruining both novels for you.
I will, however, say this: Do not read it if you are expecting Mr. Follett to outdo Pillars. Nonetheless, if you keep an open mind, you may very well be surprised… and swept off your feet for a final, beautiful, brilliant journey to Kingsbridge.
“She could see nothing, but there was plenty to listen to.”
Even the most ardent literati will occasionally waste her time doing futile internet tests.
The 4th Earl of Chesterfield
“It is an undoubted truth, that the less one has to do, the less time one finds to do it in.”
Earl of Chesterfield
So the last time I posted was 11 days ago. In the blogging world, that is an eternity. I here-forth present you with my excuse:
I’ve just begun University and am thus finding less time to review novels.
Okay. I tried.
That is but the partial truth. The real problem is that I have been procrastinating. Ironically enough, my procrastinating was born not out of laziness but out of sheer necessity. See, the truth is… I have to finish a novel to review one! While I do that, I will leave you with a list proving my innocence.
To Be Reviewed:
Currently Reading:
- The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
- Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
- The Count of Monte-Cristo by Alexandre Dumas
Until next time,
Cui candor morte redemptus.
_-_The_Birth_of_Venus_(1879).jpg/425px-William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_(1825-1905)_-_The_Birth_of_Venus_(1879).jpg "Birth of Venus")
The Birth of Venus (1879) by William Adolphe Bouguereau
“William-Adolphe Bouguereau (November 30, 1825 – August 19, 1905) was a French academic painter. Bouguereau was a staunch traditionalist whose realistic genre paintings and mythological themes were modern interpretations of Classical subjects with a heavy emphasis on the female human body. Although he created an idealized world, his almost photo-realistic style was popular with rich art patrons. He was very famous in his time but today his subject matter and technique receive relatively little attention compared to the popularity of the Impressionists.” ¹
Although many of his paintings are well known, Bouguereau is sadly obscure to the modern public. Eclipsed by the ones he despised, his slicked and ethereal figures embody a grace that is lost to our century. Whether just or not, his refinement of the world and smooth canvases (or licked finish) were harshly criticized by the Impressionists for being symbols of the rigid past. Though it must be said that Bouguereau did not revolutionize the art world with new techniques or shocking depictions, he did however excell in the traditional academic style that was his.
He was influenced by the artists of the Renaissance, having stayed and studied at the Villa Medici in Rome and was condemned for his muses. A comparison with one of his favorites, Raphael, delighted him.
“M. Bouguereau has a natural instinct and knowledge of contour. The eurythmic of the human body preoccupies him, and in recalling the happy results which, in this genre, the ancients and the artists of the sixteenth century arrived at, one can only congratulate M. Bouguereau in attempting to follow in their footsteps…Raphael was inspired by the ancients…and no one accused him of not being original.”
William helped advance the cause of women artists and devoted his life to his passion. He is quoted with saying that if he could not give himself to his painting, he was miserable.
A perfect example and symbol of the eternal quarrel between lovers of the past and lovers of the future, William Adolphe Bouguereau, once hailed as the embodiment of taste and elegance, has fallen into oblivion. Recent efforts to resurect his name have left him with a slightly larger audience though he is still very far from attaining in death the fame he enjoyed whilst living.
“A haunting novel of rivalry, love, and betrayal.”
So Leonardo’s Swans is described on the back cover. Though it is strongly implied that the rivalry and betrayal will be sisterly, do not be fooled. The novel has been (much like the 2006 movie the Breakup) cheated out of proper marketing. When one expects a passionate feuding between two powerful sisters and instead receives an intricate and well researched novel about the lives of wives, political leaders and artists in Renaissance Milan, one cannot help but feel a little bit disappointed.
The first half of the novel is about the tepid¹feud between real-life sisters Isabella d’Este and Beatrice d’Este. The first is to wed the young and romantic Francesco Ganzoga, marquis of Mantua. The second is to wed the middle aged Leonardo Sforza, duke of Bari. Though Isabella at first considers herself more fortunate (Sforza continually humiliates her sister by delaying the wedding and appearing in public with his mistress) she soon changes her mind when she is thrown into the enchanting world of Ludovico. She comes to envy her sister who lives in the alluring city of Milan and whose husband is Leonardo Da Vinci’s patron. Isabella, marchesa of Mantua vows she will not rest until she is painted by the Master. Beatrice vows to foil her plans.
The second half of the novel is more concerned with the political history of the Great Wars of Italy (especially that of 1494–98). In spite of the fact that most reviewers view this as the duller half of the book, I was delighted by the details and facts woven into the narrative. Here is where the publicized ”rivalry” and “betrayal” comes into play. The rivalries will be political, the betrayals of deep historical consequence. This is where I truly appreciated the sisters’ voices and thoughts; jealousy and manipulation are not nearly as interesting to me as seeing history through the eyes of it’s protagonists.
Recommended to lovers of historical fiction and or of Leonardo da Vinci. Seeing him as a contemporary, a fellow citizen, a man susceptible and dependent of money and patrons (though in the end listening only to his integrity) is impressive. You will be left with a different and no doubt more realistic view of Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci, the most perfect Renaissance Man.
“The soul he means to evoke is his own.”
¹ To be fair, my assessment probably stems from a modern judgement rather than a historical one.
