24 Hour Library

A Library Blog by Abby Hargreaves

Tag: classics

Abby Reads: Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery

Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery
Bantam Books, 1908, 309 pages*
Fiction

*The edition I read was published by Bantam Books in 1987, but I’ve maintained the original publication date for an indication of style and content.

It is decidedly odd to go about reviewing something so classic and well-known as L. M. Montgomery’s Anne of Green Gables, but because it is part of my 2017 Read Harder challenge, I feel compelled to include it this time Anne of Green Gablesaround. Anne of Green Gables is the canon of my childhood. I grew up watching the Megan Follows adaptation on VHS and, later, DVD. I read the first few books once when I was a teen and recently decided to make another effort to get through the whole series, starting again at the beginning. In short, the first tale of Anne Shirley occurs when she is thirteen and newly sent to Prince Edward Island by mistake to live with Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert (siblings, not spouses). As Anne begins to heal from the trauma of being a mistreated orphan, she relies on her imagination and intellect to connect with the people in her community and become a shining star among them.

So many people seem put off by the idea of Anne. They imagine the book as Pollyanna-ish, and they’re not necessarily wrong. However, what makes Anne of Green Gables so timeless is that, while it certainly is hopeful and optimistic, it is also realistic at its heart. The recent Netflix adaptation really brings this to light: though Montgomery may handle it differently, if we really consider Anne’s situation, she is a young girl who is likely suffering from her upbringing severely. Based on the anecdotes she shares with her new family, there’s no doubt Anne was severely abused and, if we consider further, it’s likely her rabid imagination is in fact an escape from or even symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. Without modern psychology, Montgomery might not have been aware of the true impact of her work, but the reality is, Anne of Green Gables is a much deeper story than many might think.

Montgomery doesn’t only set Anne up well with a well-defined personality. Anne’s growth over the three years in which Anne of Green Gables takes place is marked. Her evolution is clear, even in its slow movement and focus on character over plot. This coming of age is realistically handled and spurred by events that make sense, showing Montgomery’s attention to detail and dedication to realism despite Anne’s flights of fancy. It’s this striking balance that keeps Anne and her story at the front of modern consciousness. The one break from realism is, perhaps, Rachel Lynde, who has a cartoonish edge. Still, this aura serves Anne’s story in a way that contributes to its realism at the end of the day.

On top of this, Montgomery tells her story with beautiful, descriptive, and imaginative prose. It’s no wonder that so many people venture to Prince Edward Island to see the rolling dunes, secret forests, and authoritative cliffs Montgomery describes. Anne’s environment is so distinctly pictured that there’s no doubt she is anywhere but where Montgomery writes her to be.

The focus on character development and setting does mean a sacrifice in plot. Anne, of course, has a desire: she wants a family and a place to belong. She wants to be loved. This problem is basically solved reasonably early on, leaving Montgomery to track the conflict in Anne’s day-to-day rather than an ongoing issue that might be solved as a plot by the end of the narrative. Literary fiction, or character-driven fiction, is arguably more difficult to achieve in children’s literature. While the concept of children’s literature was only just emerging when Montgomery was writing (and certainly she contributed largely to it), it’s handled reasonably well here. I might not expect a seven-year-old to sit through the entire novel totally enraptured, but each chapter features a sort of anecdote of Anne’s life, making the novel a great option for bedtime reading that satisfies while teasing enough to encourage reading the next night. “What scrape will Anne get herself into next?” readers will want to know.

If that Anne of Green Gables is an easy-to-read, if slightly slow-paced classic is not enough temptation for you to read it, I can also tell you it is humorous and soothing, reminding us often of the best parts of humanity and childhood, even as Anne suffers from a sort of lack of childhood. Anne will surprise you in quiet ways and loud ways. The caveat, of course, is that Anne is a work of its time and there are moments that make its historical context evident. Perhaps due in part to the location, racial diversity is essentially nonexistent, though the themes are certainly universal.

I read this book as part of Book Riot’s 2017 Read Harder Challenge, fulfilling challenge #9, “Read a book you’ve read before,” and I leave it behind with four-and-a-half hearts.

❤❤❤❤💔 out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison
Vintage, 1970, 224 pages
Fiction

Toni Morrison’s famed The Bluest Eye opens with an idyllic Dick-and-Jane description, typical of the image of an all-American-white-middle-class family in the 1940s. This image crumbles quickly as Morrison zooms in on the lives of a small black community within a larger white community in Ohio, and focuses further on young Pecola, whose family life is severely wanting of stability and who struggles with the external pressures of racism.

Here’s the deal: I’m a white person who grew up in a very white state. I have basically no context for The Bluest Eye and, while I’ve broadened the diversity of people in my life thanks to a move to Virginia almost seven years ago, I’m not an expert on racism nor have I ever experienced racism personally (and I never will because that’s how racism works). So, while I don’t think it’s appropriate to let my personal experiences influence my review of this novel, I do think it’s appropriate to acknowledge that my experiences influenced my perception of the content of this novel. I can, and will, still speak about the novel as a piece of literature or writing as I would any other novel with reminders dropped in here and there that my understanding of The Bluest Eye is inherently incomplete in a variety of aspects and, therefore, I may misinterpret sections and I welcome you to call those moments or anything else out either privately or in the comments.

With that said, The Bluest Eye is primarily a piece on internalized racism at various levels: the personal (especially Pecola and her desire for blue eyes, which she sees as the epitome of beauty and, generally speaking, a feature of the white population only — there are certainly people of color with blue eyes, but for the purposes of Pecola’s experiences, no such people exist), the familial (Pauline’s frustrations with Cholly often seem to manifest in using words seeped in a context of racism), and the community (schoolmates of Pecola shun and harass her for the color of her skin). Morrison also includes broader versions of racism, including systemic, among others, without ever overwhelming readers, though her characters are clearly overwhelmed by the unrelenting presence of racism in their lives.

Not only does Morrison handle this heavy topic with a great amount of skill and literary grace, but her prose on its own is something to marvel at. Specific and leaning toward a sort of magical realism (particularly in a chapter which discusses the origins and current state of a character known as Soaphead Church) but without the actual magic, Morrison manipulates her readers through a deliberate choice in language and syntax.

Morrison sets up fascinating character dynamics, including Claudia’s precocious refusal to buy into the internalized racism both Pecola and Frieda (Claudia’s sister) exhibit. She, unlike the other girls, refuses to befriend a new light-skinned girl in their class and, though she can’t fully articulate why, she hates Shirley Temple. The most engaging use of characters mimics a Greek chorus, as Claudia’s mother and her mother’s friends discuss or gossip about others. Although Morrison often shows readers specific events (such as Cholly’s abuse of Pecola), the chatting women rehash the event and provide further context and perception on the events as Claudia overhears their conversation. This is especially helpful as the nonlinear narrative is sometimes difficult to follow.

With issues at hand such as racism, incest, child abuse, rape, poverty, and other heavy points, Morrison’s novel is mercifully compact while still having a great impact on readers. As a modern classic that continues to be relevant today, The Bluest Eye ties together a heartbreaking story with skillful prose into a read that challenges in more than a few ways. Morrison paints a candid and stark picture of life as a black American in the 1940s but the implications of the novel follow to modern American and shed light on how we can be better humans today.

I read this book as part of Book Riot’s 2017 Read Harder Challenge, fulfilling challenge #17, “Read a classic by an author of color,” and I leave it behind with three-and-a-half hearts.

❤❤❤💔 out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy

Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy
Modern Library, 2000/1891, 451 pages
Classic Literature

In an effort to read more classics this year, I picked up Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. It is, perhaps, one of the less well-known classic titles, not on par in popularity with the likes of Pride and Prejudice or Oliver Twist, for example. I’m surprised, however, by its relative lack of fame. Even by modern standards, Tess of the D’Urbervilles makes hearty and fascinating commentary on sexism, image1 (6)double standards, religion, and classism.

After her father drinks himself to a stupor at the news that he may be the descendant of a rich and noble family (the D’Urbervilles), Tess Durbeyfield takes on the responsibility of delivering goods to a town with the family’s horse and her brother. The horse is fatally injured on the journey and, despite her earlier protests, Tess agrees to visit their wealthy, alleged relatives in hopes of securing a husband, some money, or both. She meets her cousin, the roguish Alec D’Urberville, who aggressively attempts to seduce her and ultimately sexually assaults her (although there’s debate on this point, as Tess’s actual consent is unclear). Given that this is Nineteenth Century England, Tess is up a creek when she finds she’s pregnant. In the time following the death of her infant, Tess re-meets the romantic Angel Clare, but soon discovers despite Angel’s carefree way of life, Angel is no angel and expects more of Tess than he does of himself.

The summary I just gave you doesn’t even begin to cover all of the social intricacies that occur in this book. At the risk of spoiling it, I’ll be blunt: After going back and forth for months about whether or not to tell Angel about her “impure” state, the two get married. Angel then reveals he’d engaged in premarital sex. Believing she’s now safe in her own confession — because how could Angel believe his sexual history was okay but maintain Tess’s was not, especially as it was seemingly forced upon her — Tess explains her experience with Alec. Angel is not pleased, to say the least. He abandons her for Brazil.

I could go on, as there are certainly more woes to Tess’s story, but I won’t. The point is, this book dares to address THE double standard. For modern literature, this isn’t as big a deal. I haven’t gone into the scholarly literature on TESS yet, but I can only imagine the kind of stuff you’d find in there. While Angel expects “purity” from Tess without believing reciprocation is appropriate, Alec expects forgiveness for the state in which he left Tess. Ultimately, realizing the money will do her good after further series of misfortunes, Tess relents and marries Alec to help ease the burden. Just in time for Angel to return. But Tess still gets the short end of the stick in everything. I’ll let the book show you how rather than explain myself, but, man, it’s a cruel, cruel world.

Commentary on class comes in especially with Alec, who, plenty well-off, is able to run about the countrysides and make poor decisions without real consequences. Tess, however, constantly seems to bear the brunt of consequences from the mistakes of others, such as her father’s drunkenness. Though the horse still might have been killed, driven by a sober Durbeyfield, the fact of the matter was, it wasn’t. And due to the lack of funds available for Tess and her family, she’s forced to go to the D’Urbervilles and her troubles follow from there. Many of her problems are compounded by a lack of money, too, increasing the urgency of poverty.

With religion as a frequent career path for the characters of Tess of the D’Urbervilles, it comes up frequently. In general, Hardy discusses whether religion or a lack thereof means a presence of morality. Despite Alec’s past as an uncaring and cruel person, he enters into a religious profession, just to drop it in favor of Tess herself. He remains a terrible person, though perhaps not as bad as readers are made to believe in the beginning, particularly depending on how you define Tess’s vague experience with him.

Like other classics, Hardy writes with complex and beautiful language. There’s a focus on the bucolic. As a dairymaid, Tess has great occasion to be outside and Hardy takes advantage of her situation to describe the rolling English countryside along with Tess’s own natural and unique beauty. It’s a book to be read slowly and digested. Though perhaps slow in action at times, the sheer aesthetics of the novel make it worth trudging through.

A faster turn of events toward the end of the novel make keeping up a bit challenging, especially when the reader is so used to a slower pace. Originally published serially, I imagine there are a number of reasons why this happened the way it did, but it doesn’t detract severely from the book as a whole. I wouldn’t recommend tackling Tess if you don’t plan on trying to stick it out. It’s a rewarding book if you can make it through, but you won’t get anything out of it otherwise. It’s not a book for everyone (and that’s okay!) but if you’re into classics and literature of the denser-but-still-commercial variety, I’d give this one a shot.

❤❤❤❤💔 out of ❤❤❤❤❤

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