Currently listening to: Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 5, intermittently interrupted by the rather loud raindrops falling outside the office window . . . and some random bird chatter.

Just Received and Far Too Excited About: fountain pens! I rarely get the opportunity to indulge my pen addiction, but Mr. Inkslinger and I went wild (for us) over fountain pens and sent for three modest examples of same.

Still Reading and Enjoying: May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude in between reading a few other works for work/other projects. One of the latter being Fred Stenson's The Great Karoo. I probably would not have picked up a book about Canadian cowboys in the Boer War on my own, but I have to say it's now inhabiting my imagination.

Recently Watched (Again): My sister's birthday saw a return to Sherlock Holmes. She was keen to watch the film again and we went to see it as part of her birthday celebrations, dragging my aunt (who hadn't seen it) along with us. It didn't disappoint the second time around. And the Holmes theme was revisited when Mr. Inkslinger gave her a pristine copy of the Folio Society edition of The Hound of the Baskervilles that he found in an old, dusty (and, therefore, fascinating) book shoppe in town. Lovely Mr. Inkslinger. :)

But now it's back to work, work, work (though, since it involves reading and writing, I'm not really going to complain about it).

Bad weather, cranky felines, restless humans. It must be nearing the end of January! What a perfect time to venture forth into previously unread territory.

To that end, I've started May Sarton's Journal of a Solitude and I have to say I'm enjoying it so far. The way she writes about just being is lovely. And the interesting quotables pop up on virtually every page. Like this one from the page I just landed on:

"We have to believe that each person counts, counts as a creative force that can move mountains."

From Wilkie Collins to Jane Austen . . .

This week, I've been rereading Austen's Persuasion (for another book-related project) and what a wonderful indulgence it has proven to be! My favourite Austen novel!

It occurred to me while reading that the cadence of 19th century expression -- not to mention the depth -- the less harried approach, would make our manner of conversing seem to them (perhaps) to be a bit hasty, if not hysterical at times. I love the length and depth of the sentences. The way meaning is deliberate, careful . . . assumed, in fact.

A snippet from Persuasion (I've just reached this point in the novel, the Lady Russell recipe for the ideal in 'agreeable and estimable' men . . . personified, so she thinks, in the reformed Mr. Elliot):

Everything united in him; good understanding, correct opinions, knowledge of the world, and a warm heart. He had strong feelings of family attachment and family honour, without pride or weakness; he lived with the liberality of a man of fortune, without display; he judged for himself in everything essential, without defying public opinion in any point of worldly decorum. He was steady, observant, moderate, candid; never run away with by spirits or by selfishness, which fancied itself strong feeling; and yet, with a sensibility to what was amiable and lovely, and a value for all the felicities of domestic life, which characters of fancied enthusiasm and violent agitation seldom really possess.

Indeed. For all that, though, Captain Wentworth always has my vote, of course. Though he has a bit of selfishness about him, and does have a penchant for a bit of public-defying every now and again. All of Austen's men, in fact, have amiable defects . . . which is just as it should be, really.

Well now. That was a pleasurable read.

The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins, is a gem of a 19th c novel :). The various voices called upon to tell the tale make it a brilliant example of Collins' skill at characterization. Each voice is unique, authentic, and compelling. Like a relay race of perspectives, the details of the Moonstone's disappearance are revealed at the same time as the characters reveal aspects of themselves. Wonderful device! From the genial, conversational tone of Betteredge to the measured, business-like approach of Mr. Bruff, each section of the tale is as interesting for what we learn about the teller as it is for what we learn about the tale.

And the absence of Dickensian moralizing was hardly objectionable (evidently the good friendship shared by Dickens and Collins did not occasion that kind of emulation, thank goodness). Entertaining, for certain, but there's more here for the picking than mere entertainment. An examination of the various levels and conventions of Victorian society (Collins seems to lean towards blowing off more conventions than seeing the need to keep them . . . if the general actions of his more sympathetic characters are any measure of his own opinions), hypocrisy and the toll it takes on the well-meaning among us (or all of us, for that matter), and the notions of love and honour are all explored in this suspense novel. It feels just as relevant now as it must have then.

Once the Moonstone (that cursed gem stolen from India) disappears, lives suffer, reputations are damaged, and minds are more than unsettled. How Mr. Franklin Blake solves the problem (with the help of Betteredge, Sergeant Cuff, the horrible Drusilla Clack, among others) is fascinating. There are moments that are rather far-fetched, but Collins does such a great job at creating character motivation that one has a tendency to overlook the small gaps.

Loved this book! Must read more Collins when I get the chance.

Reading The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins and finding the Robinson Crusoe-reading Betteredge (from whose perspective comes the first section of the mystery) sometimes frustrating and sometimes amusing as a narrator:

"I am (thank God!) constitutionally superior to reason. This enabled me to hold firm to my lady's view, which was my view also." & "Cultivate a superiority to reason, and see how you pare the claws of all the sensible people when they try to scratch you for your own good!"

What fun this novel is, so far. I've just finished the first section and am moving on to non-Betteredge voices and perspectives. I like how Collins set up the narrative from multiple angles.

And, of course, the Holmes connection: Since Arthur Conan Doyle was influenced by Collins, I suppose it only makes sense for me to see echoes of Sergeant Cuff in Sherlock Holmes. There is a mental precision as well as an eccentricity of manner in The Moonstone's rose-obsessed detective that reminds me of Holmes. I enjoyed Collins's Woman In White years ago (will have to reacquaint myself with it!) and am enjoying The Moonstone even more.

Nothing But Holmes, Holmes, Holmes

I have a tendency to be very demanding about certain literary adaptations to film (for instance, bad adaptations of Jane Eyre have been known to send me into rants that last hours . . . and don't get me started on the 1940 film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice! Even Olivier can't save that film for me), but the better done the film is overall the more forgiving I am when it comes to liberties taken.

Guy Ritchie has taken some liberties with Sherlock Holmes (Robert Downey Jr isn't really the typical physical type for a Holmes, for example, and this time Watson isn't a drip . . . Watson being the primary reason why I've not been an ardent Doyle admirer all these years) and this film does have the Ritchie feel to it, if you follow me (unique approach to fight scenes, for one). But, at the same time, it was true to the character of Holmes, I felt, as well as to the tone of the stories and novels in general. A perfect marriage of Ritchie and Doyle, in fact. Loved it.

More specifically, I was most impressed with Robert Downey Jr as Sherlock Holmes. He's far and away the most endearing Holmes I've seen (though has anyone been able to be more Holmes than Jeremy Brett?) and yet he still managed to retain the brilliant and dangerous aspects to Holmes that are so palpable in good interpretations of the character. Holmes, after all, is a unique blend. And I appreciated some little updated quirks and details. Downey's Holmes plucks absentmindedly at the violin, as opposed to any full-on stroking of strings with bow, for example, which is probably more accessible to a wider, more modern audience than a strict, strait-laced violin-playing Holmes. Yet Holmes is still Holmes, rational mind standing firm against a culture swayed by superstition and fear. The seemingly diabolical Lord Blackwood, the shadow of Moriarty, the reappearance of the fascinating Irene Adler, and the domestic disturbance of losing his partner to marriage, all set to rob Holmes of his intellectual integrity . . . and all must be thwarted. Sounds like a hodge-podge, doesn't it? . . . and yet, it works.

I thought the plot worked on its own as an interesting story, but I also felt it was consistent with the tone and approach of the Doyle adventures (the ones I've read, at least). The plot also reminded Mr. Inkslinger -- a little -- of the 1979 film Murder by Decree (starring Christopher Plummer as a more sensitive, though still intellectually fascinating, Sherlock Holmes) in terms of its attention to conspiracy involving the higher levels of Victorian society and quasi-diabolical subject matter. [Another good film about Holmes! Hopefully, the future will be punctuated with watching various Holmes adaptations! :)]

Having just finished The Hound of the Baskervilles by Doyle, I find myself impressed that Ritchie et al managed to communicate that interesting blend of the apparently supernatural with the suspense created by Holmes' approach to crime-fighting (as effectively as the novels, in my opinion).

A short bio on L.M. Montgomery penned by Jane Urquhart for the Penguin Canada Extraordinary Canadian series sounded like it might be a winning match. And it is. I enjoyed Urquhart's approach to Montgomery immensely. Proffering what is known, pondering what is unknowable, all in the most engaging manner -- most of the time . . . there is the inevitable hitch whenever writers/critics talk about Montgomery's level of cheerfulness and/or unreality when it comes to her plots. Alas.

Overall, Urquhart does a good job of balancing Montgomery the person with Montgomery the author, and it is difficult to acknowledge what Montgomery was doing so long as we (as a culture) are hung up on what seems to me an erroneous notion of what 'reality' in fiction can be represented as . . . or what exactly can be included under the heading of 'serious' fiction. But I digress. I liked this bio, and if you're looking for a quick Montgomery fix or a good intro to her life and writing, this is it.

In other news: the Inkslingers et al managed to fit in a viewing of Guy Ritchie's Sherlock Holmes film. Much enthusiasm was expressed all 'round as we walked out of the theatre. I fear this will only fuel the Holmes mania that has taken hold of this house (even Mr. Inkslinger is rereading some Doyle). More on this . . . a Holmes post is imminent . . .

Currently listening to: Respighi's Pines of Rome

Currently need to hunt down and read (but will have to wait to do so): this (like Catherine at Victorian Geek, I also have some issues with Dickens, but this book sounds intriguing). And this (via JCB).

Still reading: Pigs Have Wings by P.G. Wodehouse for laughs (it's still the holidays, isn't it? :) and L.M. Montgomery by Jane Urquhart (not for laughs). The latter is one of Penguin Canada's Extraordinary Canadians series.

Planning on reading . . . after last evening's forage through the university library with Mr. Inkslinger: Journals of a Solitude by May Sarton (finally!!), Wilkie Collins's The Moonstone, and an annotated edition of Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables (the latter is for novel research).

Recently Watched (for the first time, unbelievably) and rather enjoyed (if only for the dance scenes involving Donald O'Connor and Gene Kelly): Singin' in the Rain. Side note: I've always rather liked Gene Kelly's speaking voice. Lovely. Sounds like Rudolph Valentino looked.

I should have liked this novel. I was prepared to like it. I wanted to like, and I kept reading on and on thinking I would eventually like it. Alas.

The book is Daphne by Justine Picardie, and the subject is fascinating for someone like me who is interested in all things Bronte and only slightly less interested in things Du Maurier. At Picardie's fictional crossroads of time and coincidence this book's premise collects the obsessions of Daphne Du Maurier, the Brontes, and an unnamed would-be Du Maurier scholar (I believe she remains unnamed -- like DuMaurier's heroine in Rebecca -- but if not she may as well have been). In fact, they all lacked presence as characters. And the writing quality is uneven. But the idea is so good, I still marvel that I didn't like it. The idea deserves a great book.

The novel follows three threads: 1. Daphne Du Maurier is writing a book about Branwell Bronte with the reluctant 'assistance' of erstwhile librarian and Branwell advocate J. A. Symington. She does this while her husband (and perhaps she herself) is experiencing a nervous breakdown. 2. The entirely fictional (though she seems, from the Acknowledgements page, to be at least partially based on the author) unnamed Du Maurier scholar finds herself in an unhappy marriage to another scholar who does not appreciate her interest in the more 'popular' literary arts. She begins to obsess about his ex-wife Rachel. 3. J.A. Symington muses about his collection and those increasingly pesky letters from Du Maurier.

All three characters battle the ghosts in their own minds to reach some sort of conclusion (each does, in a way) while researching the Brontes (or, in the case of Unnamed, researching Du Maurier researching the Brontes). At one point, Du Maurier's intention to write a bio on Branwell is mentioned in the press (as another writer is doing the same) and the lead-in is something along the lines of 'literary redundancy.' Yes. Well.

Much of the action is connected to or reflects what is known about the Brontes and Du Maurier. But none of the characters' obsessions is eccentric enough to warrant so much angst. PhD candidates have been known to regard their subjects with the familiarity of family. Writers often obsess about the subjects they are writing about. But the forced verge-of-sanity Picardie has her characters endure feels just that, forced.

Writers, Bronte obsessions, literary scholars, librarians. Really! I should have liked this book! [And the cover? Shouldn't the inside of a novel live up to its cover . . . at the very least? :)]

At one point the unnamed narrator writes, "Oh stop it, do stop this whining and self-pitying. I hate that in myself." Indeed.