Susan Herbert for Anne Boleyn (her Shakespeare’s Cat)
Friends, readers,
It’s common to list the ten best new-to-me books one read this year as the year ends; my problems with this are
I often cannot remember what I read specifically this year, so at first I included Jenny Diski’s Apology for the Woman Writing (a historical novel centering on Marie le Jars de Gournay, her maid and Montaigne); Hillary Mantel’s Wolf Hall (a revelation of sorts);and Linda Porter’s Katherine the Queen [Katherine Parr, Henry VIII’s sixth wife], but they were what I remembered best from last year. Paula Byrne’s A Life in Small Things [Jane Austen] was the book I most remembered from the year before (no new good books on Austen, though some superb individual essays on Austen films): I so love Austen and she shed genuine new insight into Austen and her texts, taught me new relevant contexts, evidentially sound facts about Austen (though she’s wrong on her new portrait, it’s the only book on Austen’s texts to do this written in the last couple of years).
I reread a lot and in rereading I find new things, re-discover old in a new way — as I just did in Oliphant’s ghost story, “The Library Window;” and
It’s hard to choose and impossible to list in any meaningful order
Books are so different; genres, functions matter.
Nonetheless, to join in and look back on what I took real pleasure in: which books taught me, absorbed me deeply, I felt sorry when I came to the end, enjoyed so much. That’s a lot to ask, so let’s say did some of the above. In the order I remember them (which must say something)
Herbert’s Russian Blues (Movie Cats)
My very favorites:
1) Leo Tolstoy’s War and Peace (mostly Maude’s translation; spent best part of year if I include listening to David Case’s reading of Constance Garnett’s text, deeply satisfying text)
2) Susan Sontag’s Volcano Lover (most brilliant and relevant for politics today book of the year for me)
3) Anne Boyd Rioux’s Constance Fenimore Woolson: Portrait of a Lady Novelist (you are missing out on a great American later 19th century writer if you’ve not read any of her books)
4) Judith Cook, Melissa Hardie, and Christiana Payne’s Singing from the Walls: The Life and Art of Elizabeth [Armstrong] Forbes (moving, beautiful pictures)
5) Daphne DuMaurier’s Vanishing Cornwall: The Spirit and History of Cornwall (uplifted and told truths)
6) Charlotte Smith’s Collected Letters (about courageous abused woman alone)
7) Hermione Lee’s Virginia Woolf (for the first time, close to Woolf)
8) Angela Rosenthal’s Angelica Kauffmann: Art and Sensibility (on women’s art)
9) Jane Jill’s The Art of Carrington (revelation)
10) Miranda Seymour’s Mary Shelley (about 3/4s of Shelley’s life I hadn’t known and her other great writings)
Herbert’s Adelaide Labille-Guiard with her pupils (a painting cat, imitating Labille-Guiard’s picture)
Runners-up or a not-quite my very favorites:
1) Diane Reynolds’s The Doubled Life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer (I won’t forget her portrait of Nazi Germany)
2) Carla Sassi’s Why Scottish Literature Matters (insights into how literature works, into an unusual colonialized people)
3) Virginia Woolf’s Memoirs of a Novelist (three brilliant novellas, historical fiction one of them: “The Journal of Mistress Joan Martyn;” the extraordinary feminist “Mysterious Case of of Miss V” (a woman alone, how thwarted, how silenced)
4) Penelope Fitzgerald’s The Bookshop (unforgettable, a middle class kind of Cathy Come Home)
5) Elizabeth Strout’s Olive Kitteridge (taught me the mini-series distorted this deeply compassionate book about a wise woman not well understood)
6) Adhaf Soueif’s Map of Love (deeply Middle Eastern historical novel as Neo-Victorian epistolary narrative)
7) Charlotte Smith’s Marchmont (for its depictions of life in a debtor’s prison)
8) Carol A Martin’s George Eliot’s Serial Fiction (for reading Eliot)
9) Margaret Oliphant’s The Ladies Lindores, together with Lady Car (a continuation) (so rich and painfully insightful)
10) Elena Ferrante’s The Lost Daughter (I’m just now reading Frantumaglia: mothers-and-daughters her true theme)
Best new-to-me greats plays I read (and saw) — texts becoming plays and/or movies:
John McGrath’s The Cheviot, The Stag and the Black Black Oil (Scotland’s history, a masterpiece of song and words)
1979 Danger UXB (everyone should watch this profound anti-war mini-series once a year)
Debbie Horsfield’s Poldark Scripts for Seasons 1 and 2 (bit of a disappointment because no indications of camera work or thinking behind choices & themselves could have been better but drew enormous strength from where faithful to Graham’s historical fiction)
My favorite long poem reread this year: Charlotte Smith’s Beachy Head
My favorite (new) movie (not a mini-series): 45 Years
My favorite mini-series: 1972 Jack Pulman’s War and Peace (one of the best of the 1970s BBC and that’s saying something)
Undefinable: both series of the BBC The Hollow Crown (Shakespeare’s history plays, Wars of Roses and Henriade)
Susan Herbert’s drawing for Duchess of York (Shakespeare’s Cats)
Old books made new, seen in some new way:
1) Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones
2) Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse
I did not like yet read to the end (worth citing because they are strong, possibly widely-read and/or reviewed texts as what is bad in them is importantly bad):
1) Henry James’s Aspern Papers and The Other House (I detested the cruel spiteful Greville Fane) (perverse in who he critizes and accepting evil)
2) Patti Smith’s M Train (she’s posing as a man, seems hardly to have heard of any woman writers or musicians)
3) Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander (pernicious in several crucial ways, pro-violence, and against women, seriously anti-LBGT, yet as women’s historical romance and about Scotland in others it sent my spirit soaring; the mini-series, especially from its adapted scripts & acting much better)
Jacobite cats (Herbert, from Millais’s “Proscribed Royalists”)
I asked Izzy if she could name some new great best books for her this year, and she cited two I know she read and re-read slowly:
1) Lin-Manuel Miranda and Jeremy Caste: Hamilton: The Revolution [stageplay, music book)
2) Mary Beard’s SPQR: The Senate and People of Rome
Herbert’s “Ice-Skating” (from Victorian Cats) — Izzy read and wrote a lot (professionally too now) about ice-skating
I promise you I omitted some: many good ones were rereads e.g., first five Barsetshire books by Trollope, read and taught; Rachel Ray; Shelley’s Frankenstein, read astonishingly eye-openly aloud by Gildert Jackson (and taught); several I didn’t finish but recognize I should have e.g., Adhaf Soueif’s very great In the Eye of the Sun; Norma Clarke’s Ambitious Heights on 19th century women of letters, especially on Jewsbury Sisters, Jane Carlyle; some I reviewed and wrote about for conventional journals and/or blogs (Martha Bowden’s Descendants of Waverley), a few more novels, literary critical books, film studies, biography, autobiography …
Susan Herbert’s “Train Riding” (Victorian Cats)
Miss Drake
Ellen, I am glad to have this list of your favorites as you read so much, and thanks for the shout-out on my book, especially as I know Bonhoeffer was a stretch for you.
It can’t be a very loud shout. As usual I didn’t know where to put it. If I had put it on Ellen and Jim have a blog, two, it could be a shout-out: I’m still getting a couple of thousands hits a day whenever something Poldark hits the “fan-cult world.” But finally this is a list which reflects me, my year.
As I said on Wwtta, it also brings home to me how I just naturally pick and buy and read books by women centered on a heroine almost unvariably: I strongly prefer them. I just wrote on the Trollope Yahoo list we’re on that I half-attribute War and Peace to Sophia Tolstoy, who copied it out, and is responsible for the version of the text we read today. It interested me too all three translators, and the one who revised Maud, Amy Mandelker, and including the French translator (Guernik) were women.
I missed below the Duchess of York kitty cat: agreed that Outlander and The Aspern Papers (which I reread this year) are problematic. I too am rereading To the Lighthouse with new eyes after the Lee bio.
I have another remarkable biography to add: while I’m still under the spell of it, Colin Simpson’s The Life of Emma, Lady Hamilton, looks a dry rendition and it is not flamboyant at all, concise, but thoroughly researched and quietly eloquent. He quotes letters very aptly. It does teach me that astute as Sontag is, she is not quite fair to Emma; to be fair to Sontag, Emma is not her central subject: Hamilton (to me slightly mysteriously is), but Sontag is also much taken up with the collecting this man did, and what collecting means and how this relates to what people value in art. He is a kind of linchpin too of some intersecting darkly ironic corrupt political worlds; it is through him Emma was part of these. Maybe at one point Simpson slips when he blames Emma for keeping Merton when the wise thing to do was sell immediately (her last home, made for Nelson and herself, from a raw downtrodden place into a pretty farm house, with gardens, cost a lot) but her way of how she survived so luxuriously and with upper people through life was to always keep the parade up. In her closing letters she is keeping it up with her clearly half-delusional upbeat lies (some would say looking through rose-colored glasses, others how brave and gallant)
On Nelson: perhaps others would know this. I didn’t. He was treated very badly apart from when out of this wild risking of his and everyone else’s life to win a battle, this extraordinary daring when (to revert to Tolstoy on how battles are won) he realized inspirited the man to fight wildly, desperately, heroically (if we must use such words): time and time again he is snubbed; he is promised big payments which never come. Property which never materialized. He has no connections which matter — Jane Austen’s father and mother had a couple each. He is small awkward and his accent like Emma’s) never disappears: he likes her because she is of the lower class like him. He did leave her adequate money but the trustees and lawyers refused to pay out on all sorts of invented grounds. This part of her life reminded me of the plight of Charlotte Smith. Don’t be a woman in this world.
I should mention a Sir Harry Featherstonehaugh, one of the first young squires in Cheshire to “protect” Emma, Simpson called him “an archetypical wicked philandering squire — he taught her to ride and introduced her to Charles Greville the heartless nephew of Hamilton; Greville was the one who taught her the manners of upper class life and then offloaded her onto Hamilton. In her desperate last years when she was living in hovels fleeing the creditors’ bailiffs, she wrote Featherstonehaugh (it took a lot of pride swallowing) and wonderful man sent a present of game (how good of him) and promises of more and maybe a visit to his house (that would have helped) “when times were quieter” (meaning he too worried lest he would offend). Wodehouse names one of his characters Stanley Featherstonehaugh, and in Sisman’s life of LeCarre Sisman says David Cornwell (LeCarre) likened his ruthless crook ever-so-charming father to Wodehouse’s Stanley Featherstonehaugh: all surface affability, underneath a shit looking out for himself. Unlike Wodehouse and Wodehouse readers Emma didn’t find him funny.
At the close of her life after Nelson and Hamilton’s deaths, Emma suffered such ravages because so many relatives were in effect vindictive and they were so lest they might have to pay her something that was intended for her. Others who said they were on her side (very like people jumping on the Trump bandwagon) could not be bothered to do anything lest somehow somewhere it hurt their interest. After all she was she: Mary Lyons’s bastard daughter and who had she been? and they couldn’t have gotten away with it but for the debtor’s laws, and I had two sentences in mind as I closed the book:
Johnson on those who hound and harass people for debt in order often to get someone to pay:
And the final lines of Sontag’s book:
And I can connect it to my very first favorite of year: Tolstoy’s War and Peace: in brief asides Simpson is continually showing us how the historians have distorted and got what happened wrong, and without saying so explicitly as with Sontag exposes the viciousness underlying the worship of great heroes. He’s (Simpson) is not having any of this naval genius applied to Nelson: it was the psychology of the man (coming out of his lower class origins, his ambition, his continually asserting himself with these rewards against insecurity), reminding me of a couple of mad-dog (I allude deliberately) confederate generals who were similarly early wounded and killed.
Miss Drake
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