Review: The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas

This swashbuckling tale of derring do, gambling, drinking, getting money off your mistress because you've spent it all on the gambling and drinking, challenging people to duels, dashing to England and back, and generally being a total seventeenth-century badass is, in short, a fantastic read.

Title & Author: The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
Published: 1844
Pages: 720 (Penguin, 1982)
Read: 13/01/13 - 23/01/13
Series: The D'Artagnan Romances #1
Challenge(s): Project Fill in the Gaps
Status: Owned book

Synopsis: One of the most celebrated and popular historical romances ever written, The Three Musketeers tell the story of the early adventures of the young Gascon gentleman D'Artagan and his three friends from the regiment of the King's Musketeers - Athos,Porthos and Aramis.

Under the watchful eye of their patron M. de Treville, the four defend the honour of the regiment against the guards of the Cardinal Richelieu, and the honour of the queen against the machinations of the Cardinal himself as the power struggles of seventeenth-century France are vividly played out in the background. (from Goodreads)

Review: I have to admit, much of my knowledge of this book comes from the adaptations of it, especially the cartoon Dogtanian (what?  It was a favourite of mine as a kid.  And my friend who is Dumas obsessed says it's probably the most faithful adaptation she's ever watched).  So while I knew the gist of the story going in I wasn't prepared for how dark the book would get - the ending if more tragedy than comedy - or how daft the Musketeers frequently were when it came to anything involving money.  They may have been living the lives of seventeenth century heroes, but they could have at least tried to have some money set by for (picking an example purely at random) buying the equipment they'd need to go to war.  Seriously, guys, think ahead.

The plot itself will be familiar to most: D'Artagnan, a young hot-headed Gascon, travels to Paris to seek his fortune as a member of the King's Musketeers.  He finds out that he can't just wander in and become a Musketeer, and in the course of discovering this he ends up challenging three of the other Musketeers to consecutive duels.  These fights don't actually come off because the four of them are attacked by the Cardinal's guards and I thought the 1970s adaptation (with Michael Yorke as D'Artagnan) was exaggerating how many sword fights these guys get into but it is constant.  Anyone who so much as looks at them funny is challenged to a duel.  I think it's possibly this that helps them all become friends, though part of it is probably also the aforementioned inability to save money when they could be out drinking and gambling.

A vast chunk of plot was unfamiliar, however, and this is the part that makes the book so good: Milady and her machinations.  The Cardinal isn't as sinister as I was expecting, but Milady is (as the book frequently puts it) a fiend from hell.  The Musketeers may challenge those who slight them to duels; Milady simply kills anyone in her way, usually with poison or by getting someone else to do it.  She is devious and tricksy and fabulous, and there are so many awesome revelations about her that I'm just going to say you need to read the book because I am not spoiling.  The end is dark and reminded me of the darker moments of The Count of Monte Cristo - I genuinely didn't expect it to end that way, or that brutally.

The Three Musketeers is one of those books that I thought I knew, but I was still surprised by it.  Well worth reading for the swashbuckling romance alone, it's also a fantastic story that - as usual with Dumas - keeps you turning the pages so quickly that it's size feels less daunting.

Rating: 8/10

Review: The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas

Falsely accused of treason, Edmond Dantes is imprisoned in the infamous Chateau d'If.  There he meets the Abbe Faria, who educates him and tells him of the legendary treasure of Monte Cristo.  After a daring (and somewhat foolhardy) escape, Edmond finds the treasure, re-invents himself as the fabulously wealthy Count of Monte Cristo, and seeks revenge on those who betrayed him.

Published: 1844-46
Pages: 1,264 (Harper Perennial, 2008)
Read: 20/8/12 - 6/9/12
Challenge(s): Project Fill in the Gaps

First line: "On the 24th of February, 1815, the lookout of Notre-Dame de la Garde signalled the three-master, the Pharaon, from Smyrna, Trieste, and Naples."

Review: I have a couple of confessions to make regarding my reading of this book:

1) Although I've owned a copy for years, I only started reading it recently because I'm hooked on Revenge and had heard that the series was loosely based on this novel.
2) A lot of my ideas about the plot were formed by a trailer I saw years ago for a movie adaptation of the book.  Most of these were completely wrong (which I'm glad about, because the trailer made the story look dire and also pretty much told the entire plot in three minutes).
3) I am ridiculously proud of myself for finishing this book.  Given my usual habit of getting distracted and putting books down to pick them up again years later (if ever), the fact that I stuck with this despite its length makes me feel like I'm owed some sort of prize. 

Now that those are out of the way: I really enjoyed this book.  Despite its somewhat intimidating size and the smallness of the text, it's incredibly easy to read - I'd suddenly find that I'd read over a hundred pages and it was a lot later than I thought.  The plot, though convoluted and complex, keeps you reading, especially when Edmond is the Count and wreaking his revenge and you're not quite sure exactly what he's doing or how the vengeance is going to play out.  There are a lot of characters, all with their own agendas and secrets, which all come into play, and despite the sheer number of plot strands everything is wrapped up at the end - possibly a little too neatly but given the juggling act Alexandre Dumas pulled off this is fine.

My main gripe would be that, at the beginning, Edmond is a prat.  The reader is meant to feel sympathy for him - and I did when everything started going wrong - but at first he's a slightly arrogant, thoughtless prat and, while I didn't want him to end up falsely imprisoned for over a decade, I did want someone to at least tell him off a little.  This lack of sympathy continues, to an extent, while he's in prison and after his escape, mostly because the Count is constantly set up as an almost supernatual, utterly inscrutable being.  One of my favourite "oh, you're just messing with the reader now, Dumas" parts of the entire book is how often the Count disguises himself and gets away with it, the height of this being when he is three 'different' men on the same day to the same investigator.  He's up there with Sherlock Holmes in terms of how well he can disguise himself, and it gets more than a little ridiculous.

This, naturally, follows over into no one who knew him before he went to prison recognizing him (with one logical exception).  The people he's seeking vengeance upon invite him to their homes, ask his advice, and blindly accept that this dude has popped up out of nowhere at exactly the same time that their lives start falling apart.  This is often spoken of as divine providence - and the Count sees himself as an agent of God - but it does raise the question of how justified his actions are: yes, he suffered terribly, but he pushes things to such an extent that there are suicides, murders, madness and the near obliteration of an entire family.  And, while Dumas does deal with the downside of this, it's never clear whether he condemns or condones the Count's actions - though, most likely, the latter, while leaving it uncertain for the reader.

Personally, I think it's all a bit overkill, and the ending is a tiny bit too neat.  There are also several moments when I wanted to shout "just tell each other what's going on!" at a few of the characters, and towards the end there's part where the Count really should have just told Morrel what he was up to, it would have stopped a lot of problems.  Yet, despite my ambivalence towards the central figure - and to most of the characters, if I'm honest - I thoroughly enjoyed reading the book.  It's not a swashbuckling yarn as I expected, and there are times when I thought Dumas was being more than a bit ridiculous with what the Count could achieve, but it was fantastically readable and fun for all that.

My Final Thoughts: Not the most sensible of books, but it doesn't have to be.  Continuity errors abound, the characters frequently fail to recognise someone they knew well unless it's convenient for Dumas, and the outcome of all of the plotting and conniving is, potentially, not worth it.  But, for all that I can see plenty of faults with the book, I'm glad I read it and recommend it to anyone looking for a fun (if long) read.

50 Words or Less: Enjoyable read, worth the time it took to plough through it, but a bit messy and full of moments of incredulity.  Less swashbuckling than expected but lots of plotting and manipulating, which keeps you guessing (which is why I've mentioned as few actual plot details as possible in this review).

Rating: 9/10 

Review: Tom Brown's Schooldays by Thomas Hughes

Published: 1857
Pages: 307 (Penguin, 2004)
Read: 4/6/12 - 6/6/12
Challenge(s): Project Fill in the Gaps
Also part of: A Victorian Celebration

Synopsis: Tom Brown attends Rugby, deals with a bully who goes on to have his own spin off, cheats at Greek, drinks beer, plays cricket and rugby, and generally grows into a thoroughly good chap (albeit one with alarming Victorian facial hair).

First line: "The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the pencil of Doyle within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the universities."

Review: I have to admit, I started reading this with a couple of fixed opinions - that the book would contain all those elements which later became cliche in boys' school stories, and that it would be a slog to get through.  Both were proved wrong.

This really isn't a difficult read at all, for all that the first three chapters are an ode to England that reminded of the Fry and Laurie sketch in which they end up yelling "England! England!" like they're stuck on repeat.  Yet even this part is readable, harking back to a simpler time in which 'folk' ways dominated.  It sets the tone for the book, which is very much about the wonders of England and what the right kind of male characters can do for the country.

As for its position as one of the first (if not the first) school story: there are many elements that I'd say are familiar from later school stories - the sports, the bullies, the need to behave correctly not only for the sake of the school but for later life - but a lot of the more outlandish elements are missing*.  This is more about charting the development of one boy rather than the activities of an entire school, which is borne out by the book featuring so much of Tom's early childhood as well as his time at Rugby.  That this is also evident in the highly Christian ethos of the book - something which does feature heavily in a lot of later school stories, for boys and girls - suggests that this novel is about as instructing as much as entertaining.

Not that it isn't entertaining, if only for the differences between considerations then and now, my favourite being that it's not all right for an eighteen-year-old boy to drink gin (it's never named but that's what the bad drink has to be), but it's perfectly fine for eleven-year-olds to drink a lot of beer while enjoying an all-house-singsong.  And while there aren't all the pranks that are so frequent in later books of the genre, there is the Least Sensible Rugby Match Of All Time:

1) The entire school plays, that's approximately three hundred boys aged between eleven and nineteen.
2) It's school-house vs. the rest of the school, so about sixty boys vs. over two hundred.
3) It's best of three goals, and it's considered miraculous that a goal is scored in the first hour.
4) The match is split over three consecutive Saturdays.
5) The rules are explained in such a way that Quidditch seems like an easy sport.  I'm not a rugby expert, but I can follow a match; even so, I was thinking "what the hell are you saying, Hall, that makes no sense whatsoever!"
6) An eleven-year-old attempts to tackle a much older boy and simply bounces off.
7) Tom ends up at the bottom of a pile up and is only saved from crushing by the fifth former on top of him bearing most of the weight of the boys above.  Still, at least they all think he's a plucky youngster for diving on the ball.

In fact, if I took anything away from this book it's that rugby used to be incredibly chaotic and confusing - and that Thomas Hughes loved it enough to turn Chapter Five into propaganda for the sport (and for school-house, which is fairly obviously his old house). 

I would recommend this book, especially for anyone wanting to read Victorian literature that's more light-hearted than a lot of the tomes that were produced.  The message of marvellous imperial Christian England (never Britain, it's all England) does grate somewhat, but within the context of the times is less wearing than it could be.  For a school story fan, it's fascinating to see where a lot of elements originate, and I found myself thinking most of Elsie J. Oxenham's books, which attempt to view issues such as death through a similar prism of faith.  A fun read, and a good start to my reading for A Victorian Celebration.

Rating: 8/10

* For example, no one is left lying grey and motionless and apparently dead, which is something which always livens up the latter third of a school story.

A Victorian Celebration: Plans

I've decided to take part in A Victorian Celebration which is being hosted by Allie at A Literary Odyssey.  I've been thinking that I need to get back into a) my classics reading and b) my Project Fill in the Gaps reading, so I'm going to combine the two by tackling this.  And by reading some Victorian literature or, as it is also known,  huge crazy doorstop books that can be used to ward off intruders if hurled accurately. 

Below is a list of my Fill in the Gaps books which qualify for the Celebration - I'm not going to read all of them, but I will aim to read at least two.  There, my target is two, or one a month, aka pitiful. 

Middlemarch by George Eliot

I have read half of Middlemarch before so I know I'm letting myself in for Rosamund and her idiocy and my intense desire to Thursday Next myself into the book and give her a shake.  Which is a shame, because the beginning with Dorothea is awesome. 

Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

Think I read the first two chapters years ago, and I've watched quite a bit of the BBC adaptation, but I don't know much about this book.  I think it's definitely something I'm going to aim to read, as it seems fun.  Also: Tiger Joss.

Tom Brown's Schooldays by Thomas Hughes

I love girls' school stories, the few boys' ones I've read I've enjoyed and this is pretty much the grandfather of all school stories.  I really should have read it.  And it's shorter than a lot of the other books (this is always a consideration).

Villette by Charlotte Bronte

I only have three Bronte books left to read, and they're all Charlotte: The Professor, Shirley and Villette.  This is the only one on my Fill in the Gaps list, and I know some people prefer it to Jane Eyre which seems ludicrous because it's Jane Eyre are you mad how could anything be better?, but I think it will be interesting to read, particularly for the autobiographical aspects.

Bleak House by Charles Dickens

Got halfway through ages ago, and I've watched the BBC adaptation with its Spooks-style editing and ridiculously impressive cast several times ("shake me up, Judy!" and "Sir Lester Dedlock...Baronet" are much quoted amongst my friends), so I really do want to finish this.  I want to read more Dickens now I've read Oliver Twist, and this seems like a good place to start as it seems a lot less sentimental than some of his other works. 

North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell

Yet another book I've read some of, this time for my Victorian Literature module on my MA (Middlemarch was also part of the reading list).  I quite like the Cranford chronicles, and Gaskell is someone I want to read more of, given her social conscience and politics.  Also, there is a BBC adaptation which I haven't watched, and it's all about the costume dramas with me.

There are other 19th century/Victorian books on my Fill in the Gaps list, but I'm going to stick with these six (for now).  I may split posts about them, especially the long ones.  And I think I'll pick my first one by the simple method of pulling a title out of a hat - though I may overthrow that and just start on Tom Brown's Schooldays.  Or Vanity Fair.   

Review: Dracula by Bram Stoker (Group Read)

Published: 1897
My Edition: Penguin Classics, 2003
Group Read: Hosted by Allie at A Literary Odyssey; main link post is here.

Review: I have 9 1/2 sides of A4 full of notes I made while rereading Dracula; some are serious, some are downright silly and there's an entire essay on gender and sexuality buried in there somewhere.  My main thoughts on rereading were that this is not the book I remember, or which seems to exist in the popular imagination - the horror is less about Dracula and more about people's reactions to him.

Not that I can't see the origins of just about every vampire story in the book.  Pages 254-5 of my edition lay down almost all the rules of vampires.  The main rule 'missing' is the harmed-by-sunlight thing (which originated in Nosferatu) as Dracula is merely prevented from using his full powers during the day time.  And a major difference from modern fiction *cough*Twilight*cough* is that Dracula is not an attractive vampire - though the three sisters are beautiful and voluptuous (that is their main descriptor) - and he gets younger as he drinks more blood, rather than being a fixed age.  There are all sorts of elements that can be dragged out and changed to keep the vampire myth going.

In that sense, Dracula is as it is perceived, but the main concerns of the book seem to be less about vampires and more about gender, sexuality and madness.  It's not just Renfield: almost every character seems to be haunted by the idea that they're insane for believing in vampires despite the strange occurrences happening around them, and that they may even be imagining what's happening.  Jonathan Harker has brain fever (of course, you can't be in a Victorian novel without it) and thinks the things at the Castle can't possibly have happened.  Mina's dreams are put down to her mind being too active and troubled.  They even consider how they're going to explain to the police about the burglary and murder they're going to have to commit to rid the world of the Count - because "oh, this foreign dude we just stabbed in the heart and decapitated is a vampire, officer" doesn't really cut it.  There's even an acknowledgement of how weird everything is, when Seward says "I sometimes think that we must all be mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats" (292).

I'm actually finding this review a bit difficult to write, because I almost want to turn it into an essay and because a lot of the things I want to say are better expressed here by Cleolinda (as she says, Van Helsing talks like a lolcat; my personal favourite of his many bizarre speeches is "he fear time, he fear want!  For if not, why he hurry so?  His very tone betray him, or my ears deceive" (327)).  It is a horror novel and there are some absolutely terrifying bits - I had forgotten about the wolf breaking into Lucy's window and then her lying under her mother's corpse all night - but I think the greatest fear the characters feel is sexual, both the changes that will occur in the pure women if they become vampires, and in Dracula's own interest in Jonathan Harker.  The first four chapters in the castle are very homoerotic, and if the book hadn't been written in 1897 it could easily go another way. 

Which makes me wonder what it would have been like to read the book when it was first published.  Reading it now, not only am I reading subtexts into it that may not have been picked up on*, but I know Dracula is a vampire - and even if I didn't I know enough of the rules (laid down by this very book, if that isn't too circular a thought) that that I can spot what he is as soon as it turns out that he doesn't have mirrors in his house and all the locals are crossing themselves and giving Jonathan Harker rosaries to protect him.  But to read the book without any of that foreknowledge, to just think that the Count is a slightly eccentric foreigner...that could be interesting.

Rating: 8/10

* Although I think it's more blatant than The Picture of Dorian Gray and Victorians evidently found something there they didn't like.

Group Read: Dracula - Pre-reread Post

I've decided to do the Dracula Group Read which is being hosted by Allie at A Literary Odyssey, mostly because I don't need an excuse to reread the novel - although it has been a while since I read it all the way through.  This post is, as the title suggests, a chance for me to share my thoughts about Dracula before I start my reread; I think it will be interesting to see if my opinion of the novel changes as a result of a new reading.

Please note: potential spoilers below for anyone who hasn't read the book.  I do talk about bits I remember really liking, which are things that may not be as well known about the novel as certain elements (primarily: vampires!).

I first read Dracula at university; not for a course but for the fun of the thing.  I've since bought the absolutely gorgeous annotated edition, which does occasionally frustrate me with the suggestions that it's all real and Bram Stoker is reporting facts - the same is true of my annotated Sherlock Holmes; I get that people like to pretend it's all real and that's fine but eurgh, it bugs me - but has some fascinating notes and all sorts of awesome pictures.  Sadly, I couldn't get that on the train with me as it is a veritable brick, so I'm using my slightly battered Penguin Classics edition (as pictured).  I can at least read it without needing to prop it on my knees or hurting my arms.

So, what do I remember about Dracula?  I have reread the beginning a few times and that's (currently) my favourite part.  The end doesn't interest me as much, though that may be because I've only really read it once.  The whole book is a bit mad, and suffers from the usual Victorian problem of a lack of copy editing as Stoker forgets how long journeys took and changes what people do and don't know/can and can't do for the sake of the plot.  As far as I recall it also features some fun sexism and big strong men being utterly stupid, which may contribute to my feelings of annoyance.  All that stuff about Mina having the gentleness of a woman and the brains/courage of a man is a bit too close to all that nonsense about Marian being almost as a good as a man in The Woman in White.  Heaven forbid women are strong without it being a manly characteristic.

What I mostly remember about Dracula - other than the utter homoeroticism of the Count laying claim to Jonathan Harker as his own (am now just thinking of Vampire!Bill and his entire "Sookie is miiiiine" thing) - are the creepy set pieces.  There are a lot of these, mostly in the beginning before people figure out what's going on, primarily:

- Jonathan's attempts to escape from the castle after he's found the coffins

- Dracula crawling down the wall
- the dog on the beach after the wreck of the Demeter
- Mina's nightmarish rush across Whitby to find Lucy (probably the most surreal and fantastic bit of the book)
- my utter fury with Lucy's mother for opening the windows and removing the garlic; it's not that she was prompted by Dracula, it's that she was officious idiot
- all of the stuff with Lucy and the escaped wolves and the children.

In fact, there are a lot of set pieces I can remember.  I don't think it is a book made up primarily of 'moments', but those are the things that stick with you.  Listing all of these is really making me want to reread it, though, although I'm not sure how I'll feel about the end when I get to it.

Review: Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

Published: 1881
Pages: 266
Series: N/A
Read: 3rd February 2011
Challenge(s): Victorian Literature Challenge & Project Fill in the Gaps
Reason I Read It: It's on my Fill in the Gaps list.

Synopsis: Young Jim Hawkins has to deal with drunkards, mutineers, idiots who are fortunately on the other side, idiots who are unfortunately on his side, treachery, rum, skeletons and rum as he looks for treasure on Treasure Island - and all because his mother refused to be done out of money, even when pirates were trying to break into their home.

First Line: "Squire Trelawney, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I take up my pen in the year of grace 17—, and go back to the time when my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof."

Review: I have to admit, most of my pre-reading knowledge of this story comes from the Muppets, which meant that as I read I was a) expecting things from the plot which, obviously, weren't going to happen; and b) imagining Tim Curry as Long John Silver which, having recently watched the end of Criminal Minds series 5, was not necessarily a Good Thing.  Though trying to remember which Muppets were which characters did lend a certain something to the proceedings, especially as Ben Gunn = Miss Piggy adds a whole new level to the novel.

Of Stevenson's other books, I've read Kidnapped and Jekyll and Hyde, and this is closer to the former.  I think I prefer Kidnapped, though it has been a while since I read it all the way through and half the fun of that book is how utterly crazy Alan Breck Stewart is.  Long John comes close to being as entertaining, but didn't quite get there; the other pirates all fall under the heading of "could you people be any dafter, this is ridiculous, please stop running around like drunken sheep".  None of the characters really drew me in, and Jim was a bit annoying as he was retelling the story from an adult's point of view and justifying some pretty silly moves.  I know that they ultimately helped the good guys and that he's a boy (query: how old is he meant to be?) but there were times when I was shaking my head.  I think that may be my main issue with the novel: people doing silly things even when they've been told not to - like the squire broadcasting that they're off on a treasure hunting cruise to everyone in Bristol, or during a mad dash escape when the heroes decide to stop and check if they've killed an enemy, then stand around congratulating themselves rather than, I don't know, heading for safety.

There were also times when the story dragged a little.  There are some seriously awesome set pieces - especially the fight on the ship during "My Sea Adventure"* - but other times when things are slowed right down when what you really want is more swashbuckling fun.  Some of this might be due to all the nautical speak, although I don't get bored by that in Master and Commander or Antonia Forest.  Of course, this might just be me.  I was in this for a madcap dash round the island, complete with pirates and rum (oh so much rum in this book), and this wasn't entirely what I got.  I kept reading, though, because the fantastically creepy bits - Blind Pew, the pirates coming back to The Admiral Benbow, the skeleton compass - far outweigh the slightly dull bits where I skimmed to get to the next brilliant bit.  And, as I recall, there are bits in Kidnapped when I skimmed (the bit on the island - ah, it's an island thing).

All in all, Treasure Island is fun, and for a Victorian novel it's very readable.  The heroes don't always make easy choices, not everything goes their way despite a lot of luck of overhearing things on Jim's part, and there are pirates.  Also, Dr Livesey has parmesan in his snuff box.

Rating: 6/10


* This would be me not spoiling that bit, because it is amazing.

Readalong: The Woman in White - Part One(ish)

Part one of this readalong covers the first half of the book, which in my edition (the Penguin one; ISBN 9780141439617) took me to page 302, or the end of part VI of Marian's narrative in the second epoch.

Except...I haven't got that far yet, because I was drinking watching Inception three times in a fortnight distracted by something shiny lazy.  This is like being back at uni and sitting in seminars with a rudimentary knowledge of the text, blagging like hell and attempting to appear knowledgeable.  I am currently on page 133 in Gilmore's narrative in the first epoch.  Oops.  I'm posting because this is the last day for the first half of the readalong, but I plan to follow it up when I've actually got to the midpoint noted above.

And what makes this laziness even weirder* is that I am really enjoying the book.  It's up there with Dracula in terms of Victorian novels that I find easy to read and which have a rollicking good plot as opposed to, oh I don't know, an opening that goes on for three tiny font pages about how much mud and fog there is in London (really, Dickens, London was a bit dingy in the 19th Century?  Colour me stunned).  When I did bother to pick the book up, I found pages flying by, at least in Walter Hartright's narrative; Gilmore's is a bit more stilted and correct, but that's fitting for the character.  Much as I like novels that are assembled like this - different narratives, either from people recording things after the event or writing journals - it's a bit like the epistolary novels of the 18th Century, taken to another step.  It means that the story can be continually covered even when the 'main' character isn't present while it still being first person, but it also means that there aren't heroines fainting and yet remembering everything while they're unconscious (yes, Pamela, I am looking at you, with a sidelong glance at Fanny Hill).

This isn't to say that what I've read so far is perfect.  There have been more than a few occasions when I'm brought straight up against the fact that I'm reading a book written in the 19th century, with all the casual racism (look at the amusing Italian short bloke, ha bloody ha) and sexism this entails.  Just as I was thinking that Collins was pretty awesome from being anti-corsetry, we then get the introduction of Marion who is criticised for being a bit too mannish despite her fantastic figure.  April at Good Books and Good Wine has done a drinking game for the novel (which I am v tempted to try except my liver is still annoyed with me for the weekend's excesses**) and I am definitely agreeing with the second part of Take One Drink.  I don't care if it's being done is a self-deprecating way, please to stop suggesting women are useless.  Especially as I think most of the women in this are pretty awesome so far; there's a nice lack of "no, little lady, you'd better not do that, wait for a man", and Marion, at any rate, is currently included in all the Drama.

The thing that has been especially striking me are the similarities with Fingersmith.  I know this is intentional, as Sarah Waters based her novel on this one (and kind of on Collins in general), but it is a bit disconcerting at times.  I kept expecting Mr-Fairlie-the-Hypochondriac-Uncle to produce his collection of erotic books instead of his Rembrandt prints.  Even though I know this book isn't going to follow the exact plot of Fingersmith, it means that I'm constantly second guessing things and expecting plot twists and unlawful incarcerations in asylums and all sorts of other things which may not happen. (NB: I highly recommend Fingersmith; the prose alone is worth it, but when it's coupled to a plot that made me squawk in surprise at one point then it goes to a whole new level of fantastically amazing).

So far, all I can really do is make conjectures about what's going to happen.  I have spent a few pages yelling "oh my God, you idiots, this all clearly means X is happening" - my favourite of these being "who could the ghostly woman possibly be?"  Oh, I don't know, someone with a propensity for dressing in white?  Who could that possibly be?  The moments when the characters are standing around being puzzled are, at least, believable and not long winded like some Victorian literature, but being a couple of steps ahead of the characters can be annoying when you're clearly not meant to be.  Anyway, predictions:

- Laura and Anne are Secretly Sisters because Mr-Fairlie-Laura's-Father was a Scoundrel.  There are references to Anne not knowing who her father was/is, and she and Laura are meant to be practically identical - the point hasn't been laboured at all - so if this doesn't turn out to be a Super Secret Twist I may be a little annoyed.
- At some point Marion is going to go Hypochondriac Uncle with some Suspicions and she is going to be shot down.  I can see Hypochondriac Uncle being a problem.  If not, he'll die at a convenient point, possibly aided by Sir Percival.
- There's going to be an old switcheroo with Laura and Anne and the asylum.  I'm not even sure how this would work, I just think it's going to happen and there will be lots of misunderstanding and panic and derring do.

Notes, or Random Thoughts While Reading
- Why did they invite a Weeping Angel to the wedding?  At least in the dream, there's an "angel weeping" at the ceremony (80) which sent my mind straight to Doctor Who.  Steven Moffat has clearly destroyed my brain.
- "[h]e has fought successfully two contested elections; and has come out of the ordeal unscathed" (83) so at least one of our politicians hasn't been claiming for a second home, putting in a moat, or spending a small fortune on a duck house.

* Apart from the Inception watching, because ohmygod I love that film.
** Awesome as Inception is, watching it while downing three double gin and tonics may not be the best way to spend an evening <- responsible adult talking there.

Challenge: Victorian Literature

If there is one thing I share in common with Emma Woodhouse, it is the drawing up of reading lists - and they are always very good lists, if I do say so myself - so I'm signing up for the Victorian Literature Challenge at words, words, words.  I have quite a few 19th century novels on my Project Fill in the Gaps list, and I have even more lurking on my shelf, so this seems a good way to clear some space and actually get some books read.

There are different levels for the challenge, but I'm going to aim for Great Expectations: 5-9 Victorian Books in 2011.  And, while the challenge itself is flexible, I'm going to be a bit mental and make life harder for myself by limiting it to books published during Queen Victoria's reign, 1837-1901.  The (short) list of potential books is as follows:

• Barchester Towers by Anthony Trollope
• A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett
• King Solomon's Mines by H. Rider Haggard
• North and South by Elizabeth Gaskell
• Tom Brown's Schooldays by Thomas Hughes
• Villette by Charlotte Bronte
• The Tennant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte
• Agnes Grey by Anne Bronte
• The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins
• Bleak House by Charles Dickens
• Middlemarch by George Eliot
• The Prisoner of Zenda by Anthony Hope
• Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
• Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

I have a few more, and am also aware that all of these books are written by British authors - I would say so was Victoria, but that bit from Blackadder keeps running through my head*.  Some of them are also pretty big, which is why I haven't included all of my Dickens because they are technically weapons.  This should be interesting.

* Can't find the clip on Youtube, but basically "so your father's German, you're half-German and you married a German?".