The Beetle

Richard Marsh’s The Beetle and Bram Stoker’s Dracula were both published in 1897 – and The Beetle, believe it or not, outsold Dracula, and not just by a small margin: it was a runaway best-seller.  This might surprise you, as it certainly did me, as I’d never heard of it before the start of this academic year.  It has been out of print for most of the past century, quite inexplicably, but thankfully it is now in print again.  Don’t just take my word for it: everyone who did the course for which it was prescribed thought it was tremendously enjoyable and couldn’t understand why it isn’t far better known than it is. 

Like Dracula, The Beetle is a fin de siècle novel dealing with a fantastical, monstrous, “Other” presence in London, the centre of Empire.  This time it is a thing which is extremely resistant to definition, a sort of man-woman-beetle-goddess-thing which has come to London from Egypt to wreak a terrible revenge for a perceived wrong.  Marsh’s novel also shares with Stoker’s book the use of multiple narrators – Marsh does this wonderfully well, building suspense and, in the narratives of Sydney Atherton and Marjorie Lindon in particular, adding a great deal to the enjoyment of the novel (Marsh’s sense of fun in inhabiting these at least partially silly characters is palpable).  I neither want nor am able to divulge a great deal more of the plot – it is complicated, for a start, but I also thoroughly enjoyed being able to come to such an excellent piece of work with absolutely no preconceptions whatever: it truly is a lost masterpiece, and I can only urge anyone with even the slightest interest in the fiction of the end of the nineteenth century; the fantastic; the gothic; reverse invasion narratives; detective novels (I would say this would appeal to those who like Conan Doyle, H.G. Wells, Stoker, Stevenson and the like) to seek it out.  It’s about 300 pages and you’ll read it in one sitting.

Further, I particularly recommend the photographed edition, published by Broadview with an excellent introduction by Julian Wolfreys; it thoroughly sets up many of the ways this novel addresses contemporary concerns (such as the New Woman and late imperial anxieties).

Amongst Women

To start my run of book-related posts, I’m writing a little about John McGahern’s Amongst Women today.  I have given myself a limit of 30 minutes for each of these book posts, as the idea is to write something, anything at all, and get it up online; this is the last note of apology I intend to sound on this point, but it’s worth bearing in mind that these books have a great deal more than I’ll be able to get at in this time, but I hope to indicate something of their worth all the same.

This book is the story of the Moran family, though it might be fairer to say that it’s the story of the patriarch, Michael Moran.  While the family is of tremendous importance throughout, it is Moran himself who entirely dominates the narrative.  He is a colossal personality, a domineering, disappointed man who holds the world at an iron distance and, in refusing to take part in the life of the nation, makes his family its own little republic.  For anyone with an interest in Irish society, it is extremely interesting (I studied Amongst Women as part of my Writing Ireland course last year), as it shows the quiet and perhaps not so well documented aftermath of independence, in which ordinary soldiers, such as Moran, who fought for their country end up disenchanted; the only change that came about, says Moran at one point, is that it’s the doctors and priests in charge rather than foreigners. 

The book begins with the dying Moran, tells the story of his life from just past his prime and continues up until his old age, back to the beginning point of the book.  Not a great deal happens – Moran marries a second time, the children of his first marriage grow up and depart the home, he continues unreconciled with his eldest son - but the story isn’t really the point; the book is nevertheless utterly gripping.  Because the workings of the story are so very low-key throughout, the examination of the characters and relationships of the people becomes the driving force of the novel, and these are depicted in an exactingly realistic way.  It’s not on in my usual literary criticism to like a book for its believability, but the lived-in quality of this book, the fact that the Morans seem to have actually been, adds greatly to my enjoyment of this novel.  I’m convinced this has something to do with the fact that McGahern wrote vastly more material than was published – I believe it could have been as much as 600 pages, when the published edition is just 200 pages long.  As a result, the book’s every detail absolutely reeks with significance; McGahern’s style is clean and bare (Moran’s writing style is similarly decribed in the book) and every word appears for a reason.  In this respect it’s very like Ian McEwan’s excellent On Chesil Beach – short and incredibly dense.

Free weekend

This was the first weekend I felt I could completely relax and, as a result, there’s not a great deal to report as I took it very easy indeed.  On Saturday, the BF and I went to take in the Book of Kells and the Long Room of the Old Library of Trinity College Dublin, my university.

Photos of the Long Room, courtesy of gwenamon

I was particularly keen to have a look at the Library’s current exhibition on detective fiction, called “The Body in the Library”, and as a student I get in free (plus a guest – sweet!). 

All the exhibition entailed was a number of books from the Library’s collection, first editions and the like – nothing overly special – but I still thought it well done, with some good choices and informative captions, and as a fan of the genre, I’m glad to have seen it.  I thought for a small exhibition it was fairly comprehensive; covering the years 1841 to 1941, it included the Newgate Calendar, Poe, The Moonstone, Holmes, Father Brown, the “Golden Age” writers in Britain (Christie, Sayers, Freema Wills Croft, et al) and Hammett and Chandler in America.  En route, I discovered one writer I’d like to seek out: R. Austen Freeman wrote stories featuring Dr Thorndyke, whose USP is the fact that the perpetrator is known at the outset, and it’s up to Thorndyke to work backwards using logic and science to unravel the method.

Particular highlights included Irish stained-glass artist and book illustrator Harry Clarke’s fantastic illustrations for Poe’s Murders in the rue Morgue, as well as original editions of the Strand Magazine, which was the first home of Sherlock Holmes, including many Paget illustrations as well as an absolutely beautiful print of Frank Wiles’s picture for The Valley of Fear.  Also (and I’m aware this sounds extremely naff) they scattered amongst the books in the glass cases revolvers and pieces of lead piping, marking them “Exhibit A” and so on.  I thought this was Very Good.

Trinity is very keen to make as much as possible from the Book of Kells; I believe the full price is €12, which includes the Book of Kells exhibition, the Long Room and whatever’s on in the Long Room – maybe, if you’re in the country once and you’re very keen to see inside, this would acceptable but I’d feel shortchanged if I’d had to pay, as the only thing I was interested in seeing was the “Body in the Library” exhibition.

We dined at SoHo Restaurant on George’s St, where they have a buy-two-mains-get-one-free deal.  I hadn’t been there before, but I thought it was a really nice place – good service (quick to refill water glasses, a definite plus in my book), acceptable music, enjoyably busy atmosphere, interesting decor - though we were both surprised to find that our side of “seasonal greens” had, with no warning at all from the waitress or the menu, plenty of sliced bacon mixed into it, which would understandably annoy an actual vegetarian.  As far as we’re concerned, though, animals are made of meat for a reason.  I had a pleasingly pink beetroot risotto, he had a really yummy pork fillet; to follow, I had a very good, though somewhat small, crème brûlée; he rubbed my nose in the fact that he got an absolutely massive slab of baked cheesecake.  Afterward, we headed on to meet charming company for some trad in the basement of the Stag’s Head and wended our way home afterward.

More on Ibsen

Henrik Ibsen – a jolly man

I was describing yesterday to Mrs Eat a Vegan one of the scenes I found most objectionable in Ibsen’s A Doll’s House – I do realise that this is a character’s opinion, not Ibsen’s, but it made me snort derisively.  The following is taken from James McFarlane’s translation for Oxford World’s Classics:

Helmer.  [...] Is this yours, this knitting?
Mrs Linde [takes it].  Yes, thank you.  I nearly forgot it.
Helmer.  So you knit, eh?
Mrs Linde.  Yes.
Helmer.  You should embroider instead, you know.
Mrs Linde.  Oh?  Why?
Helmer.  So much prettier.  Watch!  You hold the embroidery like this in the left hand, and then you take the needle in the right hand, like this, and you describe a long, graceful curve.  Isn’t that right?
Mrs Linde.  Yes, I suppose so …
Helmer.  Where knitting on the other hand just can’t help being ugly.  Look!  Arms pressed into the sides, the knitting needles going up and down – there’s something Chinese about it …

Offensive to a large body of people, then.

Demobbed

Well hello!  That’s me finished with exams for at least the foreseeable.  I spent yesterday entirely vegging out, though I did finish off Ibsen’s A Doll’s House (I’ve been on an Ibsen kick in preparation for Norway – can’t say it impressed me greatly, but I do really like Ghosts and Hedda Gabler) on the way to the airport to meet the BF, who is visiting this weekend.  So hopefully I’ll have a couple of things to report on next Monday when he goes home.

In other news, inspired by Mrs Eat a Vegan who has posted every meal she’s had for a week on her own blog, I have decided to do a run of posts in order to kick-start my blogging habits again.  I am a student of English, though you probably wouldn’t tell that from the majority of my posts here – books are the day job for me, so I like to do something a bit different with my blog.  However, over the past couple of weeks I’ve been immersing myself in the texts I’ve studied over the past couple of years and I’ve realised I’d love to share some of them with you.  I know some may be very well-known, but maybe others will be new to you; anyway, the aim is to post something, even if very short (as, directly after my exams, I have to start in on some essays; my department is full of sadists); this run will last for about two weeks, after which I’ll be off on my travels.  End of housekeeping.

BANG

That was the sound of my jaw hitting the floor upon a COMPLETELY SHOCKED reading of this article - Wallace and Gromit are at the heart of a super-looking exhibition at the Science Museum in London!  I think I know where I will be living this summer.  More information at the Science Museum website.

And now back to desperate cramming for my last exam tomorrow.

Halfway mark

I’m halfway through my exams and feel like I’ve drunk the whole bottle of Dreamy Sleepy Nighty Snoozey Snooze.  This time next week I’ll be free!

Some news

I am aware I have been a bit quiet recently, and that’s set to continue, as my exams begin this Tuesday and will only finish up at the end of the month.  However, I will be visiting Norway in April, home of the vikings, and so I will definitely have something of interest to report in the foreseeable future.  Please stay tuned!