Commonplace Book

'Paul smiled fondly at his wife. "Even if you succeed in convincing us that every man is a coward, nothing will induce me to accept the dogma that every woman is a shrew."

"Now for my part," remarked Greenstreet, "I considered that by far the more plausible of the two tenets of Mrs Seaton's creed."

Isabel laughed gaily. "Therefore you must see that when a woman behaves like an angel it is all the more credit to her."

"Doubtless it would be; but personally I have never come across an instance," replied the author.'

from In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter VI)

Commonplace Book

'At eight in the morning, a bear of well over six hundred pounds comes prowling around the sandy embankment to the south of the small clearing at Elohin. Volodya has filled some cans with seal fat to attract the animals, and now he murmurs, "Ah, too bad it isn't about a third of a mile to the north, outside the preserve, we could shoot it." I feel suddenly numb with despair. We ought to have a little bit of our neocortex removed at birth to neutralise our desire to destroy the world. Man is a capricious child who believes the Earth is his bedroom, the animals his toys, the trees his baby rattles.'

from The Consolations of the Forest by Sylvain Tesson (May 9)

Rhoda Fleming by George Meredith (1865)

This seems to me to be what is commonly called a 'holiday novel'. For a start, it's quite a bit shorter than its recent predecessors. A holiday novel, though, like Orlando for example, is usually lighter in tone, contains sparks of silly fun or a playful attitude to concepts. Meredith here turns this idea on its head. As his usual mode is one of sophisticated comedy, his holiday comes in not being comic to any great extent; a holiday in tragedy. It's the story of two sisters from a farm, one of whom, Dahlia, falls for a well-to-do scion of a local family, the nephew of the squire at the big house. Edward Blancove seems a typical gent of his times and enjoys her, making all sorts of promises never intending to keep them. Dahlia travels to London to be maid to a relative, and lets her family know that she is married to Edward. This is not quite the case. Promises have been made but the actuality falls short. As she realises that Edward hasn't meant what he's said, she begins a withering, a falling away of spirit. Trying desperately to keep the reality from her gullible and simple farmer father, and all the rest of her family, she secretes herself away when Edward plans to leave for the continent having tired of her. Meanwhile her sister, the eponymous Rhoda, who is a more forthright and strong character, is frantic with worry at her peculiar evasions and silences. Then follows a complicated search for her: tussles between the farm manager, Robert, who is in love with Rhoda (she's not completely sure about him), and various members of the Blancove set, some of whom know a lot about what's going on, and who have intricate motivations of their own; fights between Robert and Edward, and Robert and Nic Sedgett, a nasty-piece-of-work local who is hired by Edward to give Robert a drubbing for interfering, and who also has plans of his own to get ahead by manipulation of all and sundry. Money also plays a part: it is determined by Rhoda, and then her father, once they know the truth, that Dahlia must marry to save her reputation. Sedgett offers himself for a price (Rhoda hasn't been party to his prior involvement), and she accepts, thinking that Sedgett's plan of emigrating will help Dahlia to avoid scrutiny, and he seems like a nice man. Their uncle, one of Meredith's few comic concessions, who is a long-term bank clerk, has finally succumbed and robbed his employers, and she catches him just at the right moment to unknowingly extricate some of the funds for Sedgett's payment. Dahlia is horrified instinctually by Sedgett, and still believes in Edward, but is so spiritually weakened by her disastrous situation that she limply agrees to go through with it. Sedgett reveals his true colours to Rhoda after the wedding in his impatience for the money and sudden change to a nasty tone. Dahlia collapses in horror at what she's done, pining for Edward, and needs to be taken away to the farm to recuperate. Meanwhile Edward has had a change of heart. His time away has acted as a tonic on his spirits, and he realises that he must right things with Dahlia and make her his wife in actuality. He is seen by the Flemings and their associates as the impersonation of evil, and his letters are stopped before they reach Dahlia. All comes to a head at the farm, with a recuperating Dahlia, a visit from Sedgett demanding to take his wife to the ship for emigration, a letter from Blancove who has arrived at the hall nearby, and a huge realisation on the part of Rhoda and her father that they haven't helped but rather made things worse. Coupled with that is the recognition that Edward has changed and wants to make things right. Initially, though, the stress of Sedgett's visit, strongly supported by their unaware father claiming that Dahlia should think herself lucky she has a saviour in her husband, pushes her over the edge. She takes a draught of something noxious while locked away in her room, and is only narrowly saved. The truth comes out that Sedgett is already married, thus nullifying his marriage to Dahlia, and Edward is forgiven. Sedgett scarpers. Robert and Rhoda have been through so much of this tragedy together, both in sympathy and at loggerheads, that their love is confirmed, and the scene is set for a double wedding. However, the last chapter reveals that Dahlia has endured so long in such a spiritual dampening that the idea of love is now beyond her - she dedicates her life to others, particularly "poor girls", in atonement for her original mistake. This entire piece is strung in Meredith's usual way, at high tension, and with great subtlety, where tiny developments of character's minds count for a lot. It may be a holiday for him, but it's still a fantastic trip for the reader.

Commonplace Book

'"I shall be glad of my tea," remarked Mrs Gaythorne, when the commotion had subsided; "I am thirsty." She spoke as impressively as if she were announcing some great scientific truth. "I have just been taking the chair at the annual meeting of the Society for the Propagation of the Church Hymnal among the inhabitants of the Antarctic Circle, and am now on my way to preside at the annual meeting of the Anti-Tomato League, for the suppression of tomatoes as an article of diet; and consequently I require a little refreshment."

Mrs Gaythorne was guilty of one human frailty, namely, an inordinate affection for presiding over public meetings. On this matter she knew neither temperance nor restraint. As some women take stimulants and others sedatives, so Mrs Gaythorne took chairs.'

from In Subjection by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler (Chapter IV)

Commonplace Book

'...This would have been a good spot for Paradise: infallible splendour, no serpents, impossible to live naked, and too many things to do to have any time left over for inventing a god.'

from The Consolations of the Forest by Sylvain Tesson (May 2)

Commonplace Book

'...The anarchist tinkers with his bombs in saloons, while the hacker arms his programs at his computer, but both need the society they deplore and target for destruction - which is their raison d'etre.

The hermit stays off to one side in polite refusal, like a guest who, with a simple gesture, declines the profferred dish. If society disappeared, the hermit would go on living as a hermit. Those in revolt against society, however, would find themselves technically out of work. The hermit does not oppose, but espouses a way of life. He seeks not to denounce a lie, but to find a truth...'

from The Consolations of the Forest by Sylvain Tesson (April 17)

Some Account of My Cousin Nicholas by Richard Barham (1841)

This was originally published in Blackwood's Magazine in 1834. It is proof, if any is needed, that Barham was far more than a one trick pony, and that, though The Ingoldsby Legends were a staple of Victorian literature, and are the only thing for which he is now remembered (if our current minimal interest can be called remembrance), he was capable of much more. This harks back to the eighteenth century in its farcical, blustering satiric swipe. It is the story of a practical joker, and exactly what whirlwinds his activities reap. Nicholas Bullwinkle is the son of a minor landed gentleman, Sir Oliver Bullwinkle, who, in true Ingoldsbyish fashion, has confounded and disturbed ideas of his family's importance, for which he relates 'family history' which is highly dubious but heartily and comically believed. The story of Nicholas' escapades, as evidenced by the title, is related by his cousin Charles Stafford, each jape overreaching its predecessor, steadily losing taste and proportion as time goes on. Nicholas is not only a joker, he's also a reprobate, running up gambling and other bills all over the land, and a cad, with queues of the disgruntled and offended ever expanding. Almost all of this we see at second hand through Charles' eyes, which adds to the fun as we discover exactly where in the nefarious web Nicholas' impositions apply along with him. His final joke is catastrophic, but only after a long puzzlement, and much digging by Charles and Sir Oliver. Having felt his own version of love for a young heiress to whom Charles is about to become engaged, he constructs a vast web of imposture, tale-telling, evasion, financial fiddling and nonsense to bamboozle them, and tries incognito to grab the gorgeous Amelia from under Charles' nose. Charles' reputation ends up in tatters and Amelia's father despises him. Through a few different agencies, but mainly his own failings, Nicholas is finally exposed - and then commits what will become his fatal mistake: he advertises that his father has died in a less rigorous newspaper. He has, to all extents and purposes, succeeded to the baronetcy, and tradesmen and fellow gamblers all over will extend him any credit he desires, at least for a while! He doesn't think too far ahead, and is considering "some time away on the continent", to let the heat die down. Hiding out at the family country house, in a final confrontation in the dark of his father's study, he is unknowingly surprised by him trying to steal some cash from his bureau; Sir Oliver shoots him as a burglar, and then is horrified as his identity is revealed. A gloriously funny and lackadaisical novel which updates the 'evil' characters of writers like Smollett to a new century. My edition also includes a classic supernatural tale, The Trance, which covers the alchemical summoning-up of the soul of a loved one in a stylish and serious way.

Commonplace Book

'Then he perceived in dimmest fashion that possibly a chance had come to ripeness, withered, and fallen, within the late scoffing seconds of time. Enraged at his blindness, and careful, lest he had wrongly guessed, not to expose his regret (the man was a lover), he remarked, both truthfully and hypocritically: "I've always thought you were born to be a lady." (You had that ambition, young madam.)

She answered: "That's what I don't understand." (Your saying it, O my friend!)

"You will soon take to your new duties." (You have small objection to them even now.)

"Yes, or my life won't be worth much." (Know, that you are driving me to it.)

"And I wish you happiness, Rhoda." (You are madly imperilling the prospect thereof.)

To each of them the second meaning stood shadowy behind the utterances. And further:

"Thank you, Robert." (I shall have to thank you for the issue.)

"Now it's time to part." (Do you not see that there's a danger for me in remaining?)

"Good night." (Behold, I am submissive.)

"Good night, Rhoda." (You were the first to give the signal of parting.)

"Good night." (I am simply submissive.)

"Why not my name? Are you hurt with me?"

Rhoda choked. The indirectness of speech had been a shelter to her, permitting her to hint at more than she dared clothe in words.

Again the delicious dusky rose glowed beneath his eyes.

But he had put his hand out to her, and she had not taken it.

"What have I done to offend you? I really don't know, Rhoda."

"Nothing." The flower had died.'

from Rhoda Fleming by George Meredith (Chapter XLIII)

Commonplace Book

'...Non-action sharpens all perception. The hermit absorbs the universe, paying acute attention to its smallest manifestation. Sitting cross-legged beneath an almond tree, he hears the shock of a petal striking the surface of a pond. He sees the edge of a feather vibrate as a crane flies overhead. He feels the perfume of a happy flower rise from the blossom to envelop the evening.'

from The Consolations of the Forest by Sylvain Tesson (March 28)

Commonplace Book

'...Master Gammon was not one who took the ordinary plunge into the gulf of sleep, and it was required to shake him and to bellow at him - to administer at once earthquake and thunder - before his lizard eyelids would lift over the great, old-world eyes; upon which, like a clayey monster refusing to be informed with heavenly fire, he rolled to the right of his chair and to the left, and pitched forward, and insisted upon being inanimate...'

from Rhoda Fleming by George Meredith (Chapter XLII)

Commonplace Book

'...Beer or the local dive, the alcohol of the poor. Beer is a sedative that anesthetizes thought and dissolves all spirit of revolt. With the beer hose, totalitarian states extinguish all of society's fires...'

from The Consolations of the Forest by Sylvain Tesson (March 2)