Book Review: Robinson Crusoe, by Daniel Defoe

I have to admit up front that I'm not quite finished with this book yet, but I feel pretty safe in writing this review already. To put it simply, Robinson Crusoe is a classic and for good reason. In her recent review, Carrie noted the contrast to The Swiss Family Robinson, and I concur with this heartily. Whereas The Swiss Famly Robinson is an absurd fantasy, Robinson Crusoe is a true adventure story. The plot reads realistically, and the struggles that Robinson endures are believable. More importantly -- to me, at least -- the self-righteous tone of the Swiss Family narrator is missing, and has been replaced by Robinson Crusoe's honest journey to redemption. Yes, the tone does reflect moments of eighteenth-century writing and feels slightly stiff at times, but this is simply a matter of style and not one of fault. All in all, I read Robinson Crusoe as a man's honest, if difficult, journey to finding his place in the world.

I'm not sure that the plot requires much of a summary, but just in case it does here goes: as a young man, Robinson Crusoe wants to go to sea, much against the wishes of his family. He decides to go anyway, and he ends up captured and enslaved for a couple of years in what I'm assuming to be North Africa. He manages to escape his slavery, and he makes his way to South America where he sets himself up to be a successful sugar cane planter. A ill-advised sea journey to acquire some slaves ends in a shipwreck, and Robinson ends up stranded alone on an island, with little other than the clothes on his back and the few items that he can salvage from the wreck. As nice as it would be if the island yielded to him wide-ranging resources, such is not the case. He must make do with what little he has. And that's what makes the story so excellent. Robinson doesn't build an elaborate treehouse or find an island full of exotic grains, fruits, and vegetables. He finds the bare minimum and spends his twenty-eight year on the island in what amounts to a very humble shelter.

I haven't done a huge amount of research, but I suspect that modern literary critics have torn apart Crusoes's relationship with "his man Friday" as a symbol of typical Western attitudes about race and colonialistic tendencies. But for my part I chose not to read the story that way. Yes, Crusoe is painfully patronizing toward Friday at times, but he is also much better to Friday than any of the other native peoples are (who, uh, wanted to eat him). And whether or not post-colonial scholars want to admit it, Crusoe does Friday a great service by introducing him to Christianity and thus to a religion that embraces personal liberty and a respect for humanity. It is significant that Crusoe is willing to let Friday go when he thinks that Friday wants to return to his "nation" or island. Crusoe may not like letting his friend and servant go, but he makes no claim to ownership over him, and that is the difference.

Two thumbs up for Robinson Crusoe and for the most interesting adventure story that I've read in some time. Very highly recommended as a true classic and a book that belongs in every library.

Year of publication: 1719
Number of pages: 320

Poetry Study: Daylight's Dauphins and Dapple-Dawn-Drawn Falcons

"The Windhover," by Gerald Manley Hopkins

I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling level underneath him steady air, and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a bow-bend: the hurl and gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,—the achieve of; the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: shéer plód makes plough down sillion
Shine, and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

I read this poem for the first time a couple of semesters ago and loved it. Just don't ask me what it means. Honestly, I don't really know what Hopkins is doing here, and I think each reader can bring something different to it. Obviously, there are overtones about the love of nature, but there are suggestions that something else is going on. I read one article that suggested there are homosexual implications, but to be frank I can only see them if I squint with one eye (and only then with a telescope...). What I take away from it is that Hopkins is indicating wonder, the sheer wonder of something -- be it nature or love -- and that he is using the language of alliteration to present the power of that wonder.

I'd love to know why that "AND" is in all caps. No clue, but I'm sure it means something.

A link to the poem may be found here.

Saint Calendar: Alena of Brussels

24 June

Daughter of a pagan chieftain. Secret convert to Christianity. One night she slipped out to hear Mass at the chapel in Vorst. Her father found out, and ordered guards to follow her; they winessed [sic] her walk across the river Senne to reach the chapel. When the guards reported back to the king, he decided that the Christians had bewitched the girl, and ordered the guards to bring her back. She refused, fought with the guards, and during the struggle of her arms was cut or torn off. An angel appeared and took the arm to the chapel where it was placed before the altar. Alena's parents were shocked, but her fierce faith led them to examine Christianity, and converted themselves. The chapel with her relics became a popular place of pilgrimage.

Martyred c. 640.

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Text derived from the Patron Saints Index.

Book Review: The Saga of the Volsungs, transl. by Jesse L. Byock

This definitely isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea, but I'll review it anyway. I've had it for some time and never got around to reading it, but I brought it along with me on my recent trip because it's a fairly short book and made for a light carry-on item. I'm glad I did.

The Saga of the Volsungs is a series of short tales dating from the Viking Age and recorded in thirteenth-century Iceland. It is a fascinating collaberation of historical sources and mythological influences that often leaves the reader wondering where fact ends and legend begins. The stories follow the powerful Volsung family, renowned for the physical strength and commitment to personal glory. No task is too great, no deed too bloody for the Volsungs. There is at times a quality of forthright brutality about the Volsungs that may be shocking to modern readers, but it is never excessive. And what was most interesting of all to me, this series of medieval legends contains great characterization. True to form, the stories often seem more focused on conveying details than in drawing up characters, yet the characters themselves breathe vibrantly off the page. Sigmund and Signy, Sigurd and Brynhild -- each of them might at first seem to be little more than types, but they have distinct qualities that have made them famous within Icelandic literature and have impacted generations of readers. It was the Volsungs that inspired Wagner to compose his famous operas (think large blonde women wearing horned hats...), and while the images from Wagner are often reduced to stereotypes, the originals are anything but.

As I noted at the start, The Saga of the Volsungs definitely isn't for everyone. But it will make a nice departure for those who enjoy traditional writings and mythology and haven't yet experienced the glory of Icelandic tales. The sagas of Iceland were unique in that they were written in prose at a time when similar writings were almost exclusively in poetry, but that should come as no surprise: Iceland's early medieval history was distinctive and often progressive, with its government acting as a light of democracy for feudal Europe. So, even if you don't find yourself drawn to the Volsungs, I still suggest looking into other Icelandic literature as well as the history of Iceland. It will surprise you. Ekki dæma bók af kilinum.

Year of publication: 1999
Number of pages: 145

Book Review: The Hobbit, by J.R.R. Tolkien

I didn't grow up reading Tolkien. As a child, I strongly disliked fantasy and thus passed completely over Tolkien's writings in favor of history and biography. (There was a time when I could recite in chronological order the monarchs of England and name their spouses and the number of children they had. Oh yeah -- I was always the life of the party :)

I didn't begin reading Tolkien until watching the extended edition of Fellowship of the Ring. And it was when I saw the scene in which Frodo and Sam watched the Elves walking along the forest path on their way to leaving Middle-earth that I realized I was missing out on something. And I began absorbing Tolkien through my pores. I read everything that I could get my hands on, including that notorious twelve-volume series about how Tolkien wrote his works. But I never read The Hobbit. Part of my lack of interest was due to what I heard about it: Lord of the Rings is serious stuff, but The Hobbit was always meant to be a children's story. And unlike Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit really is a fantasy in the popular sense of the word (which still doesn't appeal to me all that much). But this is another of those books for which I was commissioned to write a study guide, so I decided to buckle down and read it. I'll be the first to admit that I was pleasantly surprised.

I don't see any reason to summarize the plot, since it seems that everyone in the universe but myself read this book a while back. But I will offer a few thoughts on what I liked -- and didn't like -- about it.

What I Liked
The tone of The Hobbit is great. It's a fantasy that never quite takes itself seriously but also doesn't ever go so far as to mock itself. Tolkien considered true fantasy to be a serious genre, but he doesn't write it in such a way that it becomes overbearing. And given that this is a children's story, the tone feels as though Tolkien was keeping it light while also delving into some more serious topics. (The whole Battle of the Five Armies is pretty heavy stuff, if you think about it, but Tolkien is wise to write everything through the eyes of a hobbit, because this demands a constant practicality in how it is portrayed.)

The adventures along the way surprised me with how interesting they were. For whatever reason, I loved the whole episode with Beorn, which reminded me of something out of Nordic mythology. But I also loved the way that Tolkien kept things going with new adventures and ever-increasing dangers, while not making it entirely ridiculous. He knows how far to push it, and he knows when to bring in the Eucatastophe.

I loved the dragon. Not in the sense that he was a good character but that the picture of him as a character was well-drawn. Having just completed a thesis on Beowulf, I can appreciate the way that Tolkien was working with Germanic dragon traditions and using them as he interpreted them. For me, the Smaug episode was rightly the highlight of the story.

What I Didn't Like
There's a measure of inconsistency between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, and because I'm more a fan of the latter than the former the inconsistency was a little frustrating for me at times. The hobbits themselves never seem to change, but other characters read as though Tolkien hadn't quite worked out what his bigger plan for them was. The dwarves were too grumpy, and the Elves were too dark. Obviously, the Ring wasn't as big of a deal in this story as it becomes later, so that can be construed as somewhat inconsistent since Bilbo seems to put it on without a second thought. I'm definitely impressed with the way that Tolkien reworked material in this book in order to make it more significant later on, but were I to read only The Hobbit and nothing else I wouldn't have the slightest clue about the issues that come up later. In a strange sort of way, The Hobbit -- which is the first of Tolkien's major publications and the one that jump-started his popularity -- is the most incongruous of his works in terms of where it fits into the overarching mythology that Tolkien created. That makes it no less enjoyable as an individual book, but it does create a disconnect with the rest of Tolkien's writing.

My complaints aside, The Hobbit is a great book and one that I can't recommend highly enough. To say much more seems either superfluous or simply obvious, so I'll leave it at that.

A note on edition: I read the annotation version of the book (not pictured above), and I can recommend that for people for are interested in getting more detail about what was going on behind the scenes when Tolkien wrote the story.

Year of publication: 1937
Number of pages: 399 pages

Art Exhibit: Artifacts from Afghanistan at the National Gallery of Art

This is just a quick review, but I wanted to mention it as my husband and I recently had the opportunity to enjoy this exhibit. The National Gallery of Art has a display about the cultural history of Afghanistan, containing a number of artifacts that were long thought to have been destroyed. I was amazed by how intricate many of the pieces on display were, making me a feel a little foolish that I didn't know more about this nation and its people. But as the exhibit shows, Afghanistan sat for centuries at the crossroads of the East and the West in its place along the Silk Road, and it has a very rich culture that dates much further back than the more recent influences of Islam. The Afghans are a very proud, ancient people with a history that has essentially been ripped away from them because of Islam. It's too bad, really. The pieces on display indicate a way of life that has been lost to history, as (no doubt) have been many other artifacts that disappeared when the Taliban began destroying museums in that nation.

This display may be seen at the National Gallery of Art and runs from May 25-September 7. Here's a link to the site with more details.

Book Review: Where the Red Fern Grows, by Wilson Rawls

Whew. What a heart-wrenching book. And yet what a classic at the same time.

I have no memory of reading Where the Red Fern Grows as a child, but I have a suspicion that I did. When I was in grade school, I recall that the author's wife attended something at our school when the movie came out (I think the school screened it), and I'm pretty sure that my mom would have put it on my reading list at that point. All I remember from the movie is that it was fairly sad, so I kept putting this book off. But as I was asked to write a study guide for it, I had to read it at some point. Having completed it, I'm glad I did read it, but I can't say that I'd be able to read it again for a while. Perhaps the day will come when I make my own child read it. I can wait until then.

Sadness aside, this really is a wonderful story. The writing isn't terribly complex, but the dialect and characterization -- particularly of the dogs -- makes it incredibly heartfelt but not to the point of being overly sentimental. As I mentioned above, I hadn't really been looking forward to reading it, but once I got into the first chapter I knew I was going to be hooked. The description of the faithful hound that faces abuse from other local dogs pulled at my heartstrings like nothing else could. Fast-forward a few chapters, with the hero of the story carting his brand new dogs home in a gunny sack, and I knew I was going to love this book. Oddly enough, it's not the tragedy of the story that makes it so heart-wrenching, to me at least, but rather the loving way that the dogs are described. Of course, I'm a serious dog person, but I don't know how anyone doesn't say "awwww" at the thought of a coon hound with the droopy ears and the soulful eyes. In case you need a visual, here's a good one (I think the dogs in the story were red, but this one more than gets the point across.):

Summary in brief: Billy Colman wants a dog. Or rather not just one dog, but two. And he's very specific. He wants two pure-bred coon hounds in order to go coon hunting in the woods near his home in the Ozarks. But coon hounds are expensive, and Billy's parents can't afford even one, much less two, so Billy decides to begin saving his money. It takes him two years, but he finally manages to save the requisite fifty dollars to buy his dogs. He walks to the town where the dogs are waiting for him and carts them home in the only thing he has -- a gunny sack, with wholes cut out so their little heads can poke through. Once he gets them home, Billy begins training them to hunt coons, and soon he and his dogs are becoming local legends as they set new hunting records in the area. It also becomes clear that Billy's dogs, Old Dan and Little Ann, are an amazing team in the sense that they are an extremely close hunting partnership and seem to be able to predict each other's needs and in the sense that they trust and understand Billy implicitly. Eventually, Billy enters his dogs into a championship coon hunt, and with a little persistence and the help of two special dogs, Billy takes home the trophy as well as the prize of three hundred dollars that allows his family to leave the mountains and move to town. The book does have a sad ending, but I won't reveal it here (not that it's terribly opaque...) except to say that the author manages to derive a measure of closure, both for Billy and for the reader.

In addition to the solid story, what's so wonderful about this book is its versatility: it works as youth literature as well as solid literature for adults. Despite the sadness in it, I enjoyed it immensely, but I'm also writing a study guide for an eighth-grader who plans to read it. So overall, excellent story if a bit sad. Not something I could read all the time, but not something I'd want to miss out on reading. Highly recommended.

Year of publication: 1961
Number of pages: 212