Towards the end of last year I went into a book buying frenzy.
To be fair a lot of them were Christmas presents. But I have realised that a lot of them are also language based. Books on Classical Sanskrit and Ancient Greek. Books in Welsh and Scottish Gaelic to help me practice translation. I have, in fact, lost my love of reading fiction, or indeed reading anything that isn’t language related. So in an effort to rekindle this passion, and as I follow up to my first lot of book reviews that I published last year, I thought I would take another look at some more of the best and the worst books I have come across.
The Best
Bridget Jones’ Diary – Helen Fielding
Bridget Jones is single, approaching thirty and working in a publishing house. She is dissatisfied with her job, tired of people asking her when she’s going to get married and being set up by her ‘smug-married’ friends, and she has a hopeless crush on her attractive but sleazy boss; Daniel Cleaver. Her life revolves around her friends, her sporadic efforts to lose weight and give up smoking, and her endless quest for love and commitment.
It is a bit worrying, as a young man aged in his 20’s, to realise that I am Bridget Jones. Apart from the smoking. But then, isn’t there a little bit of Bridget Jones in all of us? Don’t we all obsessively check our answering machines? Don’t we all secretly want that special someone in our lives? Don’t we all worry about how we look and how we are seen by those around us?
For me it is very comforting to know that there are people out there who can be just as insecure as me, even if they are fictional. But then, Bridget Jones is one of the most lifelike characters I have ever come across. I reread this book often, and every time it feels like catching up with an old friend (even if she does the same thing every time I read it). Seeing snapshots of her life – her hopes, her dreams, her loves, her highs and her lows – creates an intimate portrait of what it is to be human. Life can be tough and unfair, but somehow we all muddle through. That, in some ways, is half the fun of being alive.
The book never loses its charm for me. At some points Bridget’s neuroticism can be a bit trying. She can be very whingey and whiny (but then she is English), and on occasions you just get the urge to slap her and shout ‘for the love of God, GET OVER IT’. But as with any good friend we find the strength to stick by her through her low points, no matter how tough. Perhaps without these moments the book would not have the same believability?
This book also scores points for the character of Bridget’s affectionate but technically insane mother. Reading about her exploits, I suddenly realise how sane and normal my own family is. From her hopelessness with technology (leaving messages on Bridget’s answering machine which simply say ‘Bridget Jones’ mother’) to her affair forays into T.V. journalism, she is a constant source of entertainment.
I must read for any fan of Pride and Prejudice.
The Canterbury Tales – Geoffrey Chaucer
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking ‘dear God, why? Why would anyone willingly read the Canterbury Tales?’ It probably doesn’t help to say I read the original, not the translation. So yes, I willingly submitted myself to 900 pages of Middle English poetry. But despite the two years it took me to actually get through it, it was well worth it.
Middle English is such a beautiful language, and it’s made to be read aloud. I found myself one summer holiday sitting in front of my onsite van on the south coast reading out passages to myself; ‘A good wife was thereof beside Bath; but she was somedeal deaf, and that was scath’. I was so engrossed that I didn’t notice the passers-by giving me strange looks.
But enough about my weird obsession with language.
I found the tales completely engrossing. I’m the sort of person who loves sitting by the fire and being told stories. I love fairy tales and folk tales and tales of ancient times. So this book was perfect for me. For those who don’t know the setup of the story, a group of travellers decide to set out for a pilgrimage from Southwark, London, to Canterbury. To keep themselves entertained, the Host decides that each of the travellers must tell a tale to the whole company. Chaucer travels amongst them as an observer.
Some of the tales are hard to get through. The tale Chaucer tells to the company, The Tale of Melibee, is one of the few tales written in prose, and is quite lengthy. It is good that Chaucer attempted to use different writing styles to break up his work, but once I got into the rhythm of his poetry it was hard to get out of and it made this tale difficult to get into. Likewise, the Parson’s Tale is very heavy going – 80 pages of Middle English prose on the nature of sin. Give me fire and brimstone and pitchfork-wielding demons - just don’t make me read that again! However, the sense of achievement when I reached the end made everything worthwhile.
Some of the tales speak about love. Some about religion. Some of revenge. Some about adventure. The variety of tales and the differences in length and genre make for an interesting read.
If you get the chance to even read one of the shorter tales in the original language, I encourage you to do so.
The Worst
Snow Falling on Cedars – Gutterson
Many years ago I watched Snow Falling on Cedars. I had heard of it before. Several of the English classes in my high school had studied the book over the years, and many of the classrooms sported reviews and assignments on it. So one day, on a whim, my parents and I hired the move. The story, one of racism and intolerance, justice and mystery, immediately drew me in. There was an atmosphere about it which I found completely fascinating.
I became adamant to find myself a copy of the book. I generally believe that the book is always better than the movie, and I just had to read it. I began searching high and low for it; keeping my eye out in every second hand book store I entered. Finally, after a long search, I found myself a decent copy, took it to a quiet corner of my house and began to read.
Oh dear.
Gutterson is a decent writer. The story is moving, inspiring and poignant. But unfortunately he isn’t a very good story teller. There is one thing about his writing style which really gets to me. Every time he introduces a new character, he goes through their entire history. Where they were born. Where they grew up. Where they went to school. Their first job. Their wife and children. And not just that. He then goes on to tell us who their parents were. Where they were born. Where they went to school. Etc. But wait… there’s more! He then goes on to do exactly the same thing with their parents.
A third of the way through the book and I was shaking it screaming ‘Get on with it!’. I mean, seriously; hasn’t he heard the saying less is more? It’s all well and good to have a back story to your characters; they become more real in the author’s mind and are thus truer to life on the page. But we don’t need to know all the details. Keep them to yourself!
Had he limited this practice the book would have been half the length. It interrupted the flow of the narrative and detracted from the storyline. If it hadn’t been for that, this book would have made the best list.
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