Recent reading and some TV
Oct. 5th, 2021 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
regshoeRe-read A Month in the Country in the last of the summer-ish weather. I was considering nominating it for Yuletide, but ultimately decided to go with a ballad instead (it seems somehow to elude definition—how would I come up with prompts??). Anyway, the book itself is very lovely, and definitely one that rewards re-reading, although in a slightly different way from a lot of books I say that about—it's so dense that the first time through I had to concentrate to follow all the detail, whereas this time I think I got a better impression of the general mood. Also I've now got a rather lovely paper copy, an illustrated edition from a publishing company apparently owned by the author. The design is very pleasing, and it has intriguing summaries of several of Carr's other books in the back—I shall have to track those down.
HMS Ulysses by Alistair MacLean (1955).philomytha described this to me as a combination of serious, detailed and impressive war novel and over-indulgent whumpy idfic, and that's exactly what it is. After a mutiny brought on by the absolutely hellish conditions endured by the crews of ships on the Arctic Ocean, naval command punish the officers and crew of the HMS Ulysses by sending her on a suicide mission involving a convoy from the north of Scotland to Murmansk. The book follows the seven days of the voyage and the hardships, dangers and general horrible things faced by the men: U-boats, freezing temperatures, bombers, Arctic storms, etc. Much of the plot consists of very detailed descriptions of particular workings of the ship, the weather, the enemy and the other ships in the convoy, and I couldn't always quite follow exactly why this lengthy technical passage means that something horrible is about to happen to these characters, but MacLean clearly knows his stuff, and the atmosphere is very vivid indeed. The rest of the book, however, consists of equally detailed descriptions of Richard Vallery, captain of the Ulysses, and how he is the most noble, selfless, kind, wise, valiant man ever, the best captain the Navy has ever known, inspiring courage and confidence in men whose hearts are hardened and wills sapped by the horrifying conditions, etc. etc., and also he's dying of TB and keeps dragging himself off his deathbed to go and talk to the men and win their eternal loyalty and command the ship in the face of everyone's certain doom. It's an odd book! It's at once very grim—MacLean does not stint on the descriptions of horrible ways to die at sea, and makes it clear what he thinks of the conventional 'dulce et decorum est' view of war; the ultimate fate of the Ulysses and her officers and crew is clear from the start—and deeply idealistic, with its vision of Vallery himself, rather than any ideals of noble fighting he stands for, inspiring the men to superhuman feats of courage and noble sacrifice. An interesting one.
The Travels and Adventures of Mademoiselle de Richelieu (1744; published anonymously, possibly the author's name is Erskine?). This is a book about an eighteenth-century French lady who decides to go travelling round Europe dressed as a man and has a romantic friendship with another woman who does the same thing, so of course I had to read it. However, it is many things! It's about a thousand pages long, and I think rather less than half the page space is taken up with the main story. The rest consists of various side stories and digressions: tales told to Alithea de Richelieu by the other characters she meets, about their intrigues and adventures, largely romantic in nature; discourses by Alithea herself and by other characters on topics of religion, morality, politics and such things; descriptions of the places she visits, their notable features and histories, which she claims to find very boring but nevertheless keeps writing out at some length. Much as I enjoy a good digression, this got a bit much—they are very random, and the narrative ones are largely tiresome love stories full of the sort of attitudes and themes the 18th century puts in such stories—although I did enjoy some of them, like the discussion of the morality of English theatre. The main story, however, I enjoyed very much! Alithea is a great narrator—mischievous, lively, forthright, daring (I suspect she'd get on well with Jill Trecastle) and her descriptions of her adventures are excellent fun. These adventures largely consist of making women fall in love with her and getting into fights with men (and generally getting out of them when the men turn out to be too cowardly to follow through); the eighteenth-century frankness is both refreshing and interesting, and I think the book has a lot to say, even before it gets to the central romantic friendship, about contemporary views of gender and sexuality.
Anyway, it's even better once it does! In the second volume Alithea meets Arabella de Montferan, a wealthy young widow; they write back and forth, Arabella still believing Alithea to be a man, and become friends. Eventually Alithea reveals that she's really a woman:
I really don't know to what extent all this would have come across to a contemporary reader the way it does to a modern one! The book seems to assume with casual, unworried confidence that homosexuality is obviously impossible (the recurring scenario of a woman falling in love with another woman while believing her to be a man is repeatedly described in terms that amount to 'well, I could become her husband, except I don't have the right physical equipment. What can you do' *shrug*). On the other hand, Alithea and Arabella are explicitly life partners, their relationship is repeatedly described in romantic terms and this is portrayed as largely a good and sensible thing. And, you know, I do think some people in the eighteenth century were aware that lesbian sex existed, so... there you go? Anyway,luzula, who introduced me to the book, has written an excellent femslash fic which is the perfect complement to it—highly recommended, and can be read without canon knowledge if you're not up for 1000 pages of eighteenth-century gender relations and geographic descriptions and ſs.
Because I can't help myself, I've already got about a third of the way through The Friendly Young Ladies. I'm enjoying it so far, though it's not (yet) as devastatingly powerful as the other Renault books I've read, and I look forward to seeing how it all goes spectacularly wrong in the remaining 200 pages.
Anyway, in the meantime I've been watching the 1960s adaptation of Pippi Långstrump on SVT Play. My comprehension is variable; sometimes I'll get pretty much completely lost for a scene, other times I'll be able to follow an entire short conversation and feel very pleased with myself, but mostly I'm still relying on a simple plot that doesn't really require perfect understanding of the dialogue. Anyway, I'm really enjoying the programme itself. I read the books in English as a child and could remember enough of the general setting for it to be familiar, and the whole thing is chaotic, bizarre fun in the way of good children's stories. I have earwormed myself with the theme tune.
HMS Ulysses by Alistair MacLean (1955).
philomytha described this to me as a combination of serious, detailed and impressive war novel and over-indulgent whumpy idfic, and that's exactly what it is. After a mutiny brought on by the absolutely hellish conditions endured by the crews of ships on the Arctic Ocean, naval command punish the officers and crew of the HMS Ulysses by sending her on a suicide mission involving a convoy from the north of Scotland to Murmansk. The book follows the seven days of the voyage and the hardships, dangers and general horrible things faced by the men: U-boats, freezing temperatures, bombers, Arctic storms, etc. Much of the plot consists of very detailed descriptions of particular workings of the ship, the weather, the enemy and the other ships in the convoy, and I couldn't always quite follow exactly why this lengthy technical passage means that something horrible is about to happen to these characters, but MacLean clearly knows his stuff, and the atmosphere is very vivid indeed. The rest of the book, however, consists of equally detailed descriptions of Richard Vallery, captain of the Ulysses, and how he is the most noble, selfless, kind, wise, valiant man ever, the best captain the Navy has ever known, inspiring courage and confidence in men whose hearts are hardened and wills sapped by the horrifying conditions, etc. etc., and also he's dying of TB and keeps dragging himself off his deathbed to go and talk to the men and win their eternal loyalty and command the ship in the face of everyone's certain doom. It's an odd book! It's at once very grim—MacLean does not stint on the descriptions of horrible ways to die at sea, and makes it clear what he thinks of the conventional 'dulce et decorum est' view of war; the ultimate fate of the Ulysses and her officers and crew is clear from the start—and deeply idealistic, with its vision of Vallery himself, rather than any ideals of noble fighting he stands for, inspiring the men to superhuman feats of courage and noble sacrifice. An interesting one.The Travels and Adventures of Mademoiselle de Richelieu (1744; published anonymously, possibly the author's name is Erskine?). This is a book about an eighteenth-century French lady who decides to go travelling round Europe dressed as a man and has a romantic friendship with another woman who does the same thing, so of course I had to read it. However, it is many things! It's about a thousand pages long, and I think rather less than half the page space is taken up with the main story. The rest consists of various side stories and digressions: tales told to Alithea de Richelieu by the other characters she meets, about their intrigues and adventures, largely romantic in nature; discourses by Alithea herself and by other characters on topics of religion, morality, politics and such things; descriptions of the places she visits, their notable features and histories, which she claims to find very boring but nevertheless keeps writing out at some length. Much as I enjoy a good digression, this got a bit much—they are very random, and the narrative ones are largely tiresome love stories full of the sort of attitudes and themes the 18th century puts in such stories—although I did enjoy some of them, like the discussion of the morality of English theatre. The main story, however, I enjoyed very much! Alithea is a great narrator—mischievous, lively, forthright, daring (I suspect she'd get on well with Jill Trecastle) and her descriptions of her adventures are excellent fun. These adventures largely consist of making women fall in love with her and getting into fights with men (and generally getting out of them when the men turn out to be too cowardly to follow through); the eighteenth-century frankness is both refreshing and interesting, and I think the book has a lot to say, even before it gets to the central romantic friendship, about contemporary views of gender and sexuality.
Anyway, it's even better once it does! In the second volume Alithea meets Arabella de Montferan, a wealthy young widow; they write back and forth, Arabella still believing Alithea to be a man, and become friends. Eventually Alithea reveals that she's really a woman:
When I had finiſhed my Narration, I unbuttoned my Waistcoat, and diſcovered my Breasts, which the lovely Arabella no ſooner perceived, than ſhe claſped me in her Arms with Tranſports rather of a Lover than of a Friend....and things between them go on like this pretty much for the rest of the book. There's a lot of swearing that they'll never marry, that no relationship with a man could possibly be anything as good as their love for each other, etc. etc.; even more women fall in love with Arabella in her male disguise than with Alithea, and Alithea is proud and delighted at this; in the end they settle down together and live happily ever after.
I really don't know to what extent all this would have come across to a contemporary reader the way it does to a modern one! The book seems to assume with casual, unworried confidence that homosexuality is obviously impossible (the recurring scenario of a woman falling in love with another woman while believing her to be a man is repeatedly described in terms that amount to 'well, I could become her husband, except I don't have the right physical equipment. What can you do' *shrug*). On the other hand, Alithea and Arabella are explicitly life partners, their relationship is repeatedly described in romantic terms and this is portrayed as largely a good and sensible thing. And, you know, I do think some people in the eighteenth century were aware that lesbian sex existed, so... there you go? Anyway,
luzula, who introduced me to the book, has written an excellent femslash fic which is the perfect complement to it—highly recommended, and can be read without canon knowledge if you're not up for 1000 pages of eighteenth-century gender relations and geographic descriptions and ſs.Because I can't help myself, I've already got about a third of the way through The Friendly Young Ladies. I'm enjoying it so far, though it's not (yet) as devastatingly powerful as the other Renault books I've read, and I look forward to seeing how it all goes spectacularly wrong in the remaining 200 pages.
Anyway, in the meantime I've been watching the 1960s adaptation of Pippi Långstrump on SVT Play. My comprehension is variable; sometimes I'll get pretty much completely lost for a scene, other times I'll be able to follow an entire short conversation and feel very pleased with myself, but mostly I'm still relying on a simple plot that doesn't really require perfect understanding of the dialogue. Anyway, I'm really enjoying the programme itself. I read the books in English as a child and could remember enough of the general setting for it to be familiar, and the whole thing is chaotic, bizarre fun in the way of good children's stories. I have earwormed myself with the theme tune.
