While the first book Ballet for Drina stands on its own as a complete story, its primary purpose is to provide the necessary background information to set up the rest of the series.  Drina’s Dancing Year continues this format: it tells the story of Drina’s first year at the Dominick ballet school and of her determination to succeed on her own merit rather than revealing her secret, but it is also an important part in the overall arch of Drina’s journey towards becoming (as I assume she inevitably will, these being happy children’s books) a world class ballerina.  This book covers Drina starting at school, making friends with the poor but sweet Rose and enemies with proud, odious Queenie, and also Drina’s inexplicable failure to get a part in the Christmas show, which turns out to be less disappointing than she fears.

I was surprised at how well this book stood up to being reread.  Although some of the concerns and attitudes can seem a little old fashioned, Mrs Chester liking Rose in spite of her lower class stands out particularly) the story itself remains charming and engaging.  I found myself getting wrapped up in the little dramas of Drina’s life in spite of the outcome being obvious even if I hadn’t read the book before.

I think that Drina ages convincingly; this book shows her character developing in a way that is in line with a little girl who is one year older and a little more experienced.  She doesn’t change, but her traits become more subtle and I liked this.  The supporting characters continue to be likeable and just different enough to give them some interest, even if this is only in relation to Drina.  Estoril’s mean characters are all very similar, but they aren’t the focus of any of the books so far so this is less annoying than it could be.

The Drina books are a lovely series, and I continue to recommend them to anyone who enjoys old fashioned ballet stories.

Drina’s Dancing Year by Jean Estoril.  Published by Macdonald, 1988, pp. 176.  Originally published in 1958.

First, the reader is introduced to Melanie, a 1950′s wife and mother who has been confined to her bed since the birth of her child as she was taken ill with tuberculosis and has consequently been unable to see her child in case the excitement is too much for her weakened constitution.  As the novella starts, the doctor decides that Melanie is well enough to spend the afternoon in a different room to give her a change of scenery and she is carried to the Victorian chaise-longue of the title, a peculiarly compelling item of furniture which Melanie purchased in an antique shop whilst shopping in search of a crib for her coming baby.  There, she falls asleep, but on waking Melanie finds herself no longer in the 1950′s but back in 1864 and so the nightmare begins.

I thought that Melanie (or Milly as she is known in 1864) was a very interesting character.  When the reader sees her in the 1950′s she comes across as docile and rather vacuous, relying on her husband, the nurse and the doctor without any particular opinions or influence of her own, but there is still the feeling that there is something behind her perfect housewife exterior, an intelligence which she keeps hidden for some reason.  Ironically, it is only when she is transported back to 1864 that this is revealed: in the modern setting the reader is kept out of Melanie’s head, wheareas all of the Victorian section is shown entirely through her thoughts and reactions.  She starts to express her thoughts and try to act only at the time when she is most helpless and she no longer has other people around her to act as props.  The nightmare experience of finding herself in an alien time period is the catalyst which forces her to become independent and so in a peculiar way the reader watches her becoming free even as she is trapped.

The most thought provoking aspect of this book is its ambiguity; as I’ve observed, the reader only experiences the time travel through Melanie’s mind and so it is impossible to say what exactly is going on.  Is she dreaming?  Is she mad?  Has she really travelled in time?  She retains her modern sensibilities and is aware of herself as Melanie, not Milly, but also has some of Milly’s memories, so who is she really?  Has she regressed to a past life?  Can she get back or is she trapped?  If she dies in the past, what happens to her in the present?  The reader is just as confused and disoriented by this sudden, unpredicted change in the direction of the narrative as Melanie is and so is drawn into her panic and horror.

I found this book very effective and I’m very grateful to Persephone for introducing me to a wonderful new author, even if this wasn’t the book that I was expecting at all.

The Victorian Chaise-Longue by Marghanita Laski.  Published by Persephone, 1999, pp. 101.  Originally published in 1953.

Title:

Author: Chinua Achebe

Published: Heinemann, 1986, pp. 152.  Originally published 1958

Genre: African fiction

Blurb: The story is the tragedy of Okonkwo, an important man in the Igbo tribe in the days when white men were first appearing on the scene…  Mr Achebe’s very simple but excellent novel tells of the series of events by which Okonkwo through his pride and his fears becomes exiled from his tribe and returns, only to be forced into the ignominy of suicide to escape the results of his rash courage against the white man…  He handles the macabre with telling restraint and the pathetic without any false sense of embarrassment.

When, where and why: I bought this book because it was on a list of potential extra reading for a lecture on post-colonialism in my first year of university, part of a course introducing us to different literary ideas.  Evidently I decided post-colonial literature wasn’t for me, as I focused on different areas of that course for essays and exams and this book has gone unread ever since.  I decided to read it now as it’s very different from what I usually read (books by people who tend to be white, probably British and most likely dead) and I think it’s good to read outside my usual box from time to time.  It qualifies as book 26/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.

What I thought: I’ve already said that post-colonial literature isn’t really my thing, and this book sadly did nothing to change that.  I’m not denying that Chinua Achebe does accomplish what he sets out to do in Things Fall Apart by presenting an alternative view of the white colonisation of Africa, and I’m sure it’s very clever, but for me it wasn’t an enjoyable read.  Although there were some aspects that I really liked,  the vast majority was not to my taste at all.

What I enjoyed about the text was its presentation of Igbo culture and customs.  I think that the use of Igbo words is particularly effective in creating a sense of place, although I was very glad that I accidentally discovered the glossary at the back of the book as until that point I had felt rather lost.  There are some surprisingly humorous moments which serve to illustrate the differences between the expected norm of Igbo society and what an audience of western readers might assume, such as when a huge swarm of locusts arrives in the village.  To me, this suggested a plague of Biblical proportions and disaster for the village, but in fact the villagers are excited and pleased because locusts are a rare and tasty delicacy and so the swarm represents an opportunity for a welcome change in diet, and I really enjoyed this reversal of my expectations.  In a similar vein is the supremely logical explanation of polytheism by one of the villagers:

We make sacrifices to the little gods, but when they fail and there is no one else to turn to we go to Chukwu.  It is right to do so.  We approach a great man through his servants.  But when his servants fail to help us, then we go to the last source of hope.  We appear to pay greater attention to the little gods but that is not so.  We worry them more because we are afraid to worry their master.  (p. 129)

Unfortunately, while the setting and background of Things Fall Apart is an interesting departure from what I usually read, I found the story to be a disappointment.  The narrative is episodic, but these episodes often seem unfinished.  In one chapter, a child is sick and it is feared that she might die, but in the following chapter it appears that some time has passed and the child is well again although there has been no mention of a cure or recovery.  In another chapter, the poor weather means that Okonkwo’s entire crop fails leaving him near destitute, yet in the next one he is a rich, respected man with a successful farm and no indication of how he passed from one state to the other.  The resolution of important plot points that I expected rarely came, and I found this lack of completion increasingly irritating.  Perhaps the unfinished episodes are supposed to reflect that things are falling apart, but whatever the reason it isn’t for me.

Narrative aside, the primary obstacle to my enjoyment was the protagonist.  Okonkwo is utterly unlikeable, but isn’t the sort of interesting villain that I enjoy disliking: he is brutish, violent and pigheaded.  Although there are suggestions that Okonkwo does have feelings but society and cultural conventions force him not to show them because that would be weak, he seems unique in his brutality rather than fllowing an accepted trend.  Okonkwo beats his wives and even tries to shoot one of them, yet another man who does the same is condemned and punished by the tribe, so this casual violence cannot be an accepted norm.  I disliked him so much that I couldn’t bring myself to care when things fell apart for him, particularly as this was at least partially through his own actions.

Overall, I enjoyed this book as a presentation of a particular culture but not as a story, and I think it would have been more effective for me if both had been equally as good.

Where this book goes: Although this wasn’t my favourite book (to say the least) I’m going to keep it along with my other university books.  I consider them to be a physical record of what I have studied, good and bad, and even though I didn’t actually read this one until much later it still belongs with the rest of them.

Tea talk: I’ve been continuing with my little sample packet of Char’s Assam recently.  It has a much more robust taste than I tend to favour, but with practice I’m managing to brew it just right so it’s delicious to drink.  I’m tempted to order myself a larger tin of this soon, as I’ve only got enough left for one or two cups.

Title:

Author: Daphne du Maurier

Published: Pan, 1979, pp. 381

Genre: Historical fiction

Blurb: In the glittering, corrupt world of Regency London, Mary Anne Clarke had beauty, brains and wit — but no money.  Spurred on by the demands of a drunken husband, a wastrel brother and four children, she chose an exacting profession, aimed for the top — and soon became the mistress of the Duke of York.  For her family she raised a fortune by selling military commissions.  The scandal rocked the country from palace to Parliament.  The Duke was disgraced, the Royal Family shamed…

When, where and why: I bought this from a charity shop book back when I was still at school.  I had recently read Jamaica Inn and was completely in love with Daphne du Maurier, hence I picked it up.  Evidently something else took my fancy soon afterwards though, as it’s been sat unread on my shelf since then and so counts as book 22/50 for my Books Off the Shelf Challenge.  I was prompted to read it now for a reading challenge in which I’m taking part to fulfil the category ‘A historical fiction book with a woman’s name in the title’.

What I thought: Mary Anne is a fictionalisation of the life of Mary Anne Clarke, Daphne du Maurier’s great-great-grandmother.  I was interested to see how du Maurier would deal with this, as all of her previous works that I’ve read have been pure fiction.  Authors who write fictionalised history tend to focus either on background characters to give themselves more room for creativity, or on big, famous figures who feature prominently in the era-shaping events of the time.  Mary Anne falls in between these two categories; she plays an important and scandalous role in the history of the Duke of York but she is no longer a notorious or even well-known person.  Consequently, I approached this book looking forward to finding out about someone new.  I mean, I love the Tudors as much as the next person, but it makes a refreshing change to read about a royal mistress who isn’t Anne Boleyn.

Mary Anne herself is a wonderful, complex character.  She is quick-witted, charming, warm and endlessly engaging to read about, yet she is also selfish, cunning and ruthless.  I definitely enjoyed the way that du Maurier portrays her as a flawed character, rather than showing a bias towards her relation as she might have done.  She manages to make Mary Anne neither a witty woman who is finally worn down by a patriarchal society nor a naive victim who is merely a pawn in someone else’s game, but a wonderful blend of the two.  Mary Anne is both pawn and player, both used and using and she comes across as all the more real because of it.

Although Mary Anne is fully-developed, the rest of the chracters were not as well-rounded; most of them were little more than a name and there were also far too many of them.  I appreciate that these characters are all real people and so their presence in the story reflects their real interactions with Mary Anne and is necessary in order to represent her history with any sort of accuracy, but the sheer number of names without any distinct characteristics quickly became confusing.  The effect is that the book feels as though it is populated by ghosts and is consequently rather empty; Mary Anne my be fascinating, but one great character does not make a novel.

My other criticism of this book is that the main scandal of Mary Anne’s life and thus the focal point of the novel is the series of court cases in which she testified to bring down the great men of her day.  This is reported in an unfortunately dry fashion, with lots of reported speech, inserted letters and long periods of very clipped dialogue.  It may be an accurate reflection of early 19th century court proceedings but it isn’t very interesting to read and slows down the pace of the novel.  I did think that parts of the novel where du Maurier isn’t constrained by a desire to represent history are particularly good, though, especially the beginning and ending of the novel.  My end verdict is that the book is mostly interesting, but not as compelling as the novels that I’ve come to expect from this writer.  I know that The Glass Blowers is also based on Daphne du Maurier’s family history, so I’ll be interested to read that one and see how it deals with the same problems of historical necessity.

Where this book goes: This book joins the rest of my Daphne du Maurier collection back on the shelf.

Tea talk: The nasty cold weather has seen me finishing up the last of the tasty Russian Caravan.  I’ll have to see about taking myself off to a tea shop to get some more warming smoked tea, as the winter is only going to get colder.

Troubled times have come to the magical land of Narnia. Gone are the days of peace and freedom when the animals, dwarfs, trees and flowers could live in absolute peace and harmony. Civil war is dividing the kingdom and final destruction is close at hand. Prince Caspian, the rightful heir to the throne, resolves to bring back Narnia’s glorious past, so he blows his magic horn to call up Peter, Susan, Lucy and Edmund to help in his difficult task.  (Goodreads Summary)

While it’s becoming apparent that none of the Narnia books are going to rival ‘The Magician’s Nephew’ for the honour of being my favourite so far, I definitely enjoyed this next installment in the series. I thought the book did an excellent job of developing the characters of the four Pevensie children; they were markedly different, but it seemed a logical character progression after the events of ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ rather than an arbitrary change. I also enjoyed the new characters introduced in this volume, particularly Reepicheep the mouse, and I hope that some of them will appear again in the remaining installments.

Curiously, some events which seem as though they should be very important and hold great significance for the characters are not given a great deal of time or attention, whereas other less vital situations are dwelt on more thoroughly. Although I think this is a shame, it is a very minor complaint. Most of the story was well-paced and exciting and on the whole I found ‘Prince Caspian’ to be an excellent book.

Prince Caspian by C. S. Lewis.  Published by Diamond, 1996, pp. 190.  Originally Published in 1950.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ is one of those stories that we’re so familiar with through adaptations that it can be easy to forget how brilliant the original book is. For that reason I was almost tempted to skip this volume because I know exactly how the plot unfolds, but I’m very glad I was strict with myself and read it as, even knowing the story as well as I did, there was still so much magic in the way that C. S. Lewis tells that story.

I think the aspect of the Narnia books which appeals to me the most is the strange blend of magical adventure and thoroughly British homeliness. It’s impossible not to smile at the number of times an important situation is interrupted for supper or tea, which is described in great detail. Any novel where dinner is just as important and receives just as much attention as a battle is bound to be enjoyable, and this one certainly proved to be so. I loved this book just as much now at twenty three as I did at eight when I first read it.

The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis.  Published by Diamond, 1996, pp. 171.  Originally published in 1950.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.

Due to some apparent oversight in my childhood reading I have somehow managed to reach the grand old age of 23 without ever having read any of the Narnia books apart from ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’. I have now determined to rectify this situation, and if this first book is anything to go by I’m very glad I did.

I found the story charming and engaging even though I’m well over the age of the primar target audience; it was told with an elegant simplicity which easily demonstrates how these books have become enduring classics. The illustrations in this particular edition were a great accompaniment to the text. The narrative style with its self-conscious, gleefully conspiratorial asides was a delight to read and I whizzed through the book all too quickly. I look forward to reading the remainder of the series.

The Magician’s Nephew by C. S. Lewis.  Published by Diamond, 1996, pp. 171.  Originally published in 1955.

N.B. This is an old review written in 2010 and posted on Goodreads and LibraryThing before I started keeping track of all the books I read here at Old English Rose Reads.  I’ve decided to keep copies here so that this remains a complete record of my reading since I started reviewing books for my own pleasure.