SouthernBluestocking's 2017 Readings
Conversazioni100 Books in 2017 Challenge
Iscriviti a LibraryThing per pubblicare un messaggio.
Questa conversazione è attualmente segnalata come "addormentata"—l'ultimo messaggio è più vecchio di 90 giorni. Puoi rianimarla postando una risposta.
1SouthernBluestocking
Hello all! I'm excited to get started on this year's reading, and I have only a few primary goals: I want to read a little theory every day (so approximately a book of theory a week, though I'm often reading disparate articles, not full books), and I want to read a Victorian novel a week. Since I'm now entrenched in the PhD program (yay!) and teaching, I expect this to be occasionally impossible-- but that's the goal!
Happy New Year, everyone, and happy reading!
Happy New Year, everyone, and happy reading!
2SouthernBluestocking
1. Vanity Fair, William Makepeace Thackeray
And my first entry of the new year is substantial. Disclosure: started it before Christmas, and was trying like anything to finish before the New Year (not sure why it mattered) but instead finished up the last two chapters in bed this morning. And what a lovely read it was. I'm a little ashamed to not have read it before-- it's one of a few books that kept coming up this semester (I was taking a class on the English empire, and this portrayal of India and the continent kept coming up.) So happy to have read it now.
Amelia Sedley and Rebecca Sharp are school friends: Amelia is of a good family and has good prospects, Rebecca is a charity student with the life of a governess in front of her. The book traces their lives from ages 18(ish) to around 36, through reversals in fortune, marriage, love, children, war... and about a million other things. I'm not going to summarize here as summary is inadequate.
First/final thoughts: I never quite knew if Amelia was acting the way she was because she thought she should or if those were her true feelings. The narrator opens up space to question whether she feels she should be mourning or if she is mourning. I'm not sure it matters-- surely the decision to act in a certain way is (maybe) more important than if the subconscious allows one to recognize a decision as a decision, but that space is interesting. And Becky. Ooof, I so wanted to like her, just because she's so troublesome to the Angel in the House narrative. But I didn't, quite. I'm all for bilking the men, but she should have kept her mitts off of George. And thereby I reveal, perhaps, the narrowness and provincialism of my moral code.
And my first entry of the new year is substantial. Disclosure: started it before Christmas, and was trying like anything to finish before the New Year (not sure why it mattered) but instead finished up the last two chapters in bed this morning. And what a lovely read it was. I'm a little ashamed to not have read it before-- it's one of a few books that kept coming up this semester (I was taking a class on the English empire, and this portrayal of India and the continent kept coming up.) So happy to have read it now.
Amelia Sedley and Rebecca Sharp are school friends: Amelia is of a good family and has good prospects, Rebecca is a charity student with the life of a governess in front of her. The book traces their lives from ages 18(ish) to around 36, through reversals in fortune, marriage, love, children, war... and about a million other things. I'm not going to summarize here as summary is inadequate.
First/final thoughts: I never quite knew if Amelia was acting the way she was because she thought she should or if those were her true feelings. The narrator opens up space to question whether she feels she should be mourning or if she is mourning. I'm not sure it matters-- surely the decision to act in a certain way is (maybe) more important than if the subconscious allows one to recognize a decision as a decision, but that space is interesting. And Becky. Ooof, I so wanted to like her, just because she's so troublesome to the Angel in the House narrative. But I didn't, quite. I'm all for bilking the men, but she should have kept her mitts off of George. And thereby I reveal, perhaps, the narrowness and provincialism of my moral code.
3jfetting
I loved Vanity Fair in general and Becky Sharp in particular. Wouldn't like to know her in real life, but highly entertaining in a book.
5SouthernBluestocking
2. Time Binds: Queer Temporalities, Queer Histories, Elizabeth Freeman
Read this because I'm thinking about queer time in connection with my ghost stories-- it was perhaps helpful, but much of it relied on obscure primary works to make points, so was a bit difficult to follow. Strongest in her analysis of Frankenstein and Orlando (or perhaps, those stood out to me as I'm familiar with the primary texts.)
Of particular use to my project is her analysis of Catherine Beecher's 1841 text, A Treatise on Domestic Economy, and the ways that the construction of a regimented domestic time works in conjunction with the capitalist project and (perhaps) in opposition to what Simone de Beauvoir (I think) called "woman time"-- a sort of pre-disenchantment of the world.
Read this because I'm thinking about queer time in connection with my ghost stories-- it was perhaps helpful, but much of it relied on obscure primary works to make points, so was a bit difficult to follow. Strongest in her analysis of Frankenstein and Orlando (or perhaps, those stood out to me as I'm familiar with the primary texts.)
Of particular use to my project is her analysis of Catherine Beecher's 1841 text, A Treatise on Domestic Economy, and the ways that the construction of a regimented domestic time works in conjunction with the capitalist project and (perhaps) in opposition to what Simone de Beauvoir (I think) called "woman time"-- a sort of pre-disenchantment of the world.
7SouthernBluestocking
It basically theorizes how we understand time-- it uses the term queer as more than simple embodiment (who has sex with who) and moves it toward whatever troubles the heteronormative (heteronormative being a blanket term for all of the things in society that tend to affirm a heterosexual relationship and tend to discourage any other types of connection.) So heteronormative time is time structured around the schedules and priorities of reproduction and inheritance, and queer time is everything that questions or troubles that march of progress. Queer time is also, in a grander than individual scale, connected to a resistance to a teleological view of history (the assumption that all history is working towards a goal.)
I'm interested in it because I work with Victorian ghost stories, and I'm thinking about the ways that the appearance of a ghost stops the headlong forward hurtling motion of time (and narrative) and returns the viewer of the apparition to an earlier time by demanding that they attempt to revenge or recompense or even just understand the death. Part of it is about refusing the stages of mourning (which is why I'm fascinated with the Victorians-- what does all of that halting in time do? Victoria kept Albert's rooms as they were for decades! How does that affect the mind, and what is the motivation? Is it hope of changing something? Just a refusal of the change? What?)
That's kind of the tip of the iceberg, but there it is, queer time in a nutshell. :)
I'm interested in it because I work with Victorian ghost stories, and I'm thinking about the ways that the appearance of a ghost stops the headlong forward hurtling motion of time (and narrative) and returns the viewer of the apparition to an earlier time by demanding that they attempt to revenge or recompense or even just understand the death. Part of it is about refusing the stages of mourning (which is why I'm fascinated with the Victorians-- what does all of that halting in time do? Victoria kept Albert's rooms as they were for decades! How does that affect the mind, and what is the motivation? Is it hope of changing something? Just a refusal of the change? What?)
That's kind of the tip of the iceberg, but there it is, queer time in a nutshell. :)
8SouthernBluestocking
3. The Hidden People, Alison Littlewood
So, so good. And creepy as all get out.
Albert Mirralls is shocked to hear of his cousin's death at the hands of her Yorkshire husband. Although he had lost contact with her after their childhood visit to the Crystal Palace, he journeys to village where she died. Once there, he finds that her husband burnt her as a changeling, and expects the real Lizzie to be returned by the fairies. The town, apparently, supported his decision.
Victorian, references to Yorkshire and Wuthering Heights, and all the fairies--this was such a good book. Also, as I said, creepy.
So, so good. And creepy as all get out.
Albert Mirralls is shocked to hear of his cousin's death at the hands of her Yorkshire husband. Although he had lost contact with her after their childhood visit to the Crystal Palace, he journeys to village where she died. Once there, he finds that her husband burnt her as a changeling, and expects the real Lizzie to be returned by the fairies. The town, apparently, supported his decision.
Victorian, references to Yorkshire and Wuthering Heights, and all the fairies--this was such a good book. Also, as I said, creepy.
9jfetting
>7 SouthernBluestocking: Thank you so much for taking the time to educate me! I've never considered ghost stories in that light - is this what you are studying for your PhD? I am so very envious.
10SouthernBluestocking
>9 jfetting: it is! Well, 19th C literature more broadly, but I focus on ghost stories and the ways mourning messes with timelines. It's super fun. Also: books. :)
11Eyejaybee
Best wishes for some great reading in 2017. it looks as if you have already got off to a marvellous start.
13SouthernBluestocking
4. Modern Lovers, Emma Straub
Enjoyable (and maybe a little fluffy/trite/unrealistically hopeful.) (or maybe I'm just a curmudgeon. Wait, don't answer that one.)
Once upon a time, there was a band called Kitty's Mustache (after Anna Karenina-- a bloggist railed against this, saying that Kitty didn't have a mustache, but Sonya (from War and Peace) did, for a mime. I feel like I remember Kitty having a mustache-- not a fake, for a party, but real, a slight wisp, that whoever was in love with her remarks upon with love. I may be crazy, and I can't find anything to support this in my super cursory Google search.) Anyway...
Once upon a time there was a band. Members Elizabeth, Andrew, and Zoe grew up and settled down (mostly), member Lydia turned their one big song into a solo act, flamed out and died at the dreaded 27. This story is not about her.
Elizabeth and Andrew have been married since college, they live down the street from Zoe, who married Jane. Both couples have kids in high school, Harry and Ruby, respectively. This is basically the story of how they all figured out what to do with life after 50. Or, for Harry and Ruby, with life after high school.
The world seemed a little unrealistic to me, but that's possibly because it is so foreign. Nobody worries about money. Events occur with great economic ramifications, and they all stand around reassuring themselves of their emotional strength. I get that the characters are supposed to be settled, which makes the emotional turmoil all the more tumultuous (you can't throw a duffel in the back of your car and head to California if you have a teenage son and a mortgage) but that lack of worry stung a bit. Impossible relic of another era that hasn't been economically decimated, or merely a different financial strata-- whatever. That world might as well be Narnia.
But I loved the blurring of categories. Rather than the straight couple and the lesbian couple, both of whom have neatly identifiable emotions and desires and connections, this was just messier. More complex. And so very enjoyable.
Enjoyable (and maybe a little fluffy/trite/unrealistically hopeful.) (or maybe I'm just a curmudgeon. Wait, don't answer that one.)
Once upon a time, there was a band called Kitty's Mustache (after Anna Karenina-- a bloggist railed against this, saying that Kitty didn't have a mustache, but Sonya (from War and Peace) did, for a mime. I feel like I remember Kitty having a mustache-- not a fake, for a party, but real, a slight wisp, that whoever was in love with her remarks upon with love. I may be crazy, and I can't find anything to support this in my super cursory Google search.) Anyway...
Once upon a time there was a band. Members Elizabeth, Andrew, and Zoe grew up and settled down (mostly), member Lydia turned their one big song into a solo act, flamed out and died at the dreaded 27. This story is not about her.
Elizabeth and Andrew have been married since college, they live down the street from Zoe, who married Jane. Both couples have kids in high school, Harry and Ruby, respectively. This is basically the story of how they all figured out what to do with life after 50. Or, for Harry and Ruby, with life after high school.
The world seemed a little unrealistic to me, but that's possibly because it is so foreign. Nobody worries about money. Events occur with great economic ramifications, and they all stand around reassuring themselves of their emotional strength. I get that the characters are supposed to be settled, which makes the emotional turmoil all the more tumultuous (you can't throw a duffel in the back of your car and head to California if you have a teenage son and a mortgage) but that lack of worry stung a bit. Impossible relic of another era that hasn't been economically decimated, or merely a different financial strata-- whatever. That world might as well be Narnia.
But I loved the blurring of categories. Rather than the straight couple and the lesbian couple, both of whom have neatly identifiable emotions and desires and connections, this was just messier. More complex. And so very enjoyable.
14SouthernBluestocking
5. Villette, Charlotte Bronte
Thinking about the ways that religion was portrayed in the novel: Catholicism is a lure, a pleasant seduction; a jealous overseer; by turns frigid and voluptuous. (My language here is venturing into personification and stereotypical female oppositions-- I wonder if there is some way that Catholicism serves as a foil for Lucy? The dear departed nun (whatever her name was) is a romantic opposite-- there is a worry that M. Paul is still mourning/faithful to her memory, that the namesake would merely replace her, but Lucy's opposition to the religion is much more fundamental than her opposition to her deceased rival.
And time and memory-- all of those moments when Lucy frames the story in an explicit way, perhaps to gesture toward, but complicate, literary norms of the day. (Imagine me a happy childhood; stay in these three years when I am happy.) It's an acknowledgement of, but a resistance to, an imperative but ugly truth. Fascinating.
And it is so interesting how slow the romance is. She doesn't even gesture to a self of M. Paul until the very end of book 3; she's clearly (though protests) in love with Graham throughout the first of the book. (I say clearly: it looks clear to my novel-reading eyes, which are trained to watch for the romantic hero from the first... perhaps that is a problem of genre? I am reminded of Lisel Mueller's poem, "Romantics," in which she questions the modern fascination with "how far it went" regarding Clara Schumann and Johannes Brahms, and points instead to the intimacy that confidence and letters provides.) But I found M. Paul to be a very odd romantic hero-- less traditionally charming/appealing than even Rochester, and that's saying something. I liked that he seemed human, though. He was fallible-- so often men in novels are either all good or all bad-- heroes or villains-- replicating the virgin/whore divide (even in books in which the female protagonist is more complex-- the romantic lead is often somewhat one dimensional-- a goal or reward, not a human with flaws.
Thinking about the ways that religion was portrayed in the novel: Catholicism is a lure, a pleasant seduction; a jealous overseer; by turns frigid and voluptuous. (My language here is venturing into personification and stereotypical female oppositions-- I wonder if there is some way that Catholicism serves as a foil for Lucy? The dear departed nun (whatever her name was) is a romantic opposite-- there is a worry that M. Paul is still mourning/faithful to her memory, that the namesake would merely replace her, but Lucy's opposition to the religion is much more fundamental than her opposition to her deceased rival.
And time and memory-- all of those moments when Lucy frames the story in an explicit way, perhaps to gesture toward, but complicate, literary norms of the day. (Imagine me a happy childhood; stay in these three years when I am happy.) It's an acknowledgement of, but a resistance to, an imperative but ugly truth. Fascinating.
And it is so interesting how slow the romance is. She doesn't even gesture to a self of M. Paul until the very end of book 3; she's clearly (though protests) in love with Graham throughout the first of the book. (I say clearly: it looks clear to my novel-reading eyes, which are trained to watch for the romantic hero from the first... perhaps that is a problem of genre? I am reminded of Lisel Mueller's poem, "Romantics," in which she questions the modern fascination with "how far it went" regarding Clara Schumann and Johannes Brahms, and points instead to the intimacy that confidence and letters provides.) But I found M. Paul to be a very odd romantic hero-- less traditionally charming/appealing than even Rochester, and that's saying something. I liked that he seemed human, though. He was fallible-- so often men in novels are either all good or all bad-- heroes or villains-- replicating the virgin/whore divide (even in books in which the female protagonist is more complex-- the romantic lead is often somewhat one dimensional-- a goal or reward, not a human with flaws.
15wookiebender
Happy 2017! Love the discussion of your thesis above, sounds like a great thing.
16SouthernBluestocking
6. After Alice, Gregory Maguire
Reading Alice in Wonderland for a class next week, so took a slight detour to return to this. Interesting. I'm fascinated by the disability angle here-- Alice and her sister have abnormally large heads (drawn from the original illustrations); Ada is in a back brace; her brother is ill; Alice's mother is dead; Ada's mother is a dipsomaniac; and everyone is more than a little unsettled by various and sundry personal and philosophical changes.
Also, what happened to Siam?
Reading Alice in Wonderland for a class next week, so took a slight detour to return to this. Interesting. I'm fascinated by the disability angle here-- Alice and her sister have abnormally large heads (drawn from the original illustrations); Ada is in a back brace; her brother is ill; Alice's mother is dead; Ada's mother is a dipsomaniac; and everyone is more than a little unsettled by various and sundry personal and philosophical changes.
Also, what happened to Siam?
17SouthernBluestocking
7. Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
Good stuff. Focusing on sleep states and structures of time in an independent study, I'm thinking about the ways that insanity and childhood wonder are constructed.
Good stuff. Focusing on sleep states and structures of time in an independent study, I'm thinking about the ways that insanity and childhood wonder are constructed.
