I'm still working on
my trip report. It's going to be long. Last proper blog, I reviewed
books that were boring or about boring. This time, I blog great
books, like The Shuttle by
Frances Hodgson Burnett. The "shuttle" is a weaving
metaphor. I'd forgotten entirely about that kind of shuttle until
FHB described it clicking and clacking figuratively back and forth
across the loom like a steamship or a telegraph wire between England
and America, bringing saucy Americans and the staid British closer
together as a recurring theme in a Frances Hodgson Burnett novel,
along with gardens, a crippled child, rags to riches, twists of
fortune, and obvious villains. I loved it, and everything there is
to love about FHB is stuck in this one, fairly long, story of two
sisters; but, alas, poor Rosalie! Rosalie and Bettina Vanderpoel,
heirs to the Vanderpoel fortune, are both beauties, but Rosalie
inherited all the stupid; or, Bettina is smart as a whip, and even at
the tender age of eight, when her nineteen-year-old sister is about
to marry the dastardly Sir Nigel Anstruthers, Bettina can see past
his accent to the dissipated creeper inside. But poor, stupid,
pretty Rosalie is in love with a titled gentleman and goes off in a
boat to Sir Nigel's dilapitated country estate, where he keeps her
isolated and breaks her spirit and, it's implied, beats her, when
he's not drinking and carousing on the continent for months at a
time, living off Rosalie's allowance while she languishes and her
babies die. By the time Bettina is old enough to visit Rosie on her
own, no one in the Vanderpoel family has seen Rosalie for a decade or
so. Mrs. Vanderpoel thinks Rosie is too busy having a jolly good
time in Europe and has forgotten them. Mr. Vanderpoel has his doubts
about Sir Nigel, but he's too busy being a steel baron and
establishing Carnegie libraries and doing whatever the fictional rich
do to investigate it properly. Bettina needs to see for herself how
Rosie is and takes a steamer over, a trip of a week or so that FHB
herself made many times. On the boat, there's a bit of an engine
fail and Bettina and a red-haired second-class passenger of muscular
build and well-groomed mustache turn out to be the only sensible
people on the boat.
You'll
notice that Rosie's Anglo-American marriage sounds a little Downton.
FHB's biographess, Ann Thwaite, says "The Shuttle
was very much a story of its time. In 1909, it was to be estimated
that more than five hundred American women had married titled
foreigners and some two hundred and twenty million dollars had gone
with them to Europe." So this contemporary imagination of
Edwardian issues can be something to entertain you while you're
waiting to see if Lord Grantham makes out with Daisy. The figurative
shuttle is the steamships and the telegraph, and the power of the
telegraph here is staggering. When Bettina arrives at Sir Nigel's
country estate and finds Rosalie a prematurely aged grey lump of a
woman with her crippled son at her side, trembling and weeping
because she'd thought her family had forgotten her, Bettina says,
"It's noon. We could go to the telegraph office in the village
post office and telegraph father and have an answer and tickets to
New York by three," that's reality. It's not Snapchat, but the
telegraph enabled instantaneous communication. New York and rural
Britain were a wire away. No waiting for a mailboat sailboat.
Rosalie
is too damaged to countenance a return to New York and, if she ran,
sexist English law might lose her custody of her crippled son
Ughtred. Sir Nigel struck Rosalie while she was pregnant, and
Ughtred came out a hunchback. FHB never explains why the boy's name
is Ughtred, but naming a child "Ughtred" is like kicking
that fetus in the shoulder all over again. Sir Nigel's estate is
entailed, otherwise Sir Nigel would have traded it for booze, so
everyone realizes that if they can wait out Sir Nigel's death,
Ughtred will inherit the manor and so it's worth sticking around
there and preventing Sir Nigel from selling the last remaining
candlestick. Fortunately, Sir Nigel left some months ago and didn't
mention when he'd be back, so Bettina is free to repair her sister
and repair the manor house as well, and improve the village by hiring
the underemployed denizens in the building project. Bettina manages
the remodel admirably, having unlimited funds and the business savvy
of the first Reuben Vanderpoel. She also bumps into the red-haired
man from the boat, who turns out to be another penniless noble, and
they get acquainted over the sickbed of a slangy American typewriter
salesman who's suffered a bicycle accident. Bettina and the
red-haired Lord Mount Dunstan are both vehemently opposed to
international marriages, Bettina because of her sister, and Lord
Mount Dunstan because he's probably read about Consuelo Vanderbilt in
the papers, so, of course, the only obstacle to their immediate and
overwhelming attraction is themselves.
When
Sir Nigel stumbles out of his carriage at the manor and finds the
gates repaired and the gardens tidy, he pretends to be pleased while
developing a creepy attraction to his young sister-in-law, who looks
like a more striking version of who Rosalie was before he ruined her.
Bettina is trapped between a rock and a hard place: she can't leave
Rosalie to Sir Nigel's abuses, and she can't stay indefinitely
because he's a crazy person. They all pretend to get along through
the hops harvest, when Bettina needs to take a ride to work out some
Lord Mount Dunstan issues. She rides farther than she should, wears
out her horse, sprains her ankle, and Sir Nigel finds her waiting out
the night in an abandoned cottage on the moor and threatens to rape
her because she's inflamed his passions, and, just when you think
Lord Mount Dunstan is about to ride up and rescue Bettina in the
storm, she self-rescues. Go Bettina!
Frances
Hodgson Burnett has outdone herself on this one, although it might
not be what you'd call literary fiction, as literary fiction must be
unpleasant and full of sad people and uncomfortable ideas. Nick
Hornby reads quite a bit of it, unfortunately, in Housekeeping
vs. the Dirt, yet another
collection of Believer magazine
columns on what he's been reading. He's in a literary fiction rut,
Atonement,
Housekeeping, things
like that, and he questions why, on the eve of the death of the
modern novel, there are so many literary novels about novelists. How
can the public be expected to tolerate such self-involved
navel-gazing, while the authors bemoan that Joe Lunchbox doesn't read
their books. Then he reads All the King's Men
and, to quote,
"The
edition I read is the new 'restored' edition of this novel,
containing a whole bunch of stuff– a hundred pages, apparently,
–that were omitted from the version originally published. A
hundred pages! Oh, dear God. Those of us still prepared to pick up
a sixty-year-old Pullitzer Prize winner should be rewarded, not
horribly and unfairly punished."
His
publisher sends him a cute new edition of Candide,
tipping in at ninety pages, and he reads it for its modest length
contrasted to its classic rank. I like Nick Hornby's appreciation
for books shorter than those termed as tomes, as I read through
fiction for the less-than-middle grades, like Shelter Pet
Squad: Jelly Bean by Cynthia
Lord, who won a Newberry for that book with the goldfish on the
cover. I grabbed a stack of ARCs from work to put in a Little Free
Library and started reading SPS: JB
while walking up the stairs and finished it while making supper. I
wish I could read all books in slightly over an hour, but somehow I
can only manage it with the ones that are written for second graders.
SPS:Jelly Bean has
plenty of pictures and delightful, big type, and is plausible.
Suzannah can't have pets because she lives in an apartment building,
so her mom signs her up for Shelter Pet Squad at
the animal shelter. There are five kids in Shelter Pet Squad on
Saturday, and no character development, so that must come later in
the series. The main point is that, while Suzannah's dad is late
picking her up, a family walks into the shelter, complete with
sobbing little girl, and the parents surrender her guinea pig,
because they're shit. Suzannah promises the girl that she will find
Jelly Bean a home, but how? Children's lives are such a panopticon
these days that darting away from the SPS organized activivty and
into the small animal room seems transgressive, but Suzannah lets the
other kids know how important rehoming Jelly Bean is to her, and a
shelter employee helps them compose a letter to local teachers
offering Jelly Bean as a classroom pet. I'm reticent about classroom
pets myself (http://rabbit.org/faq-classroom-rabbits/), but Cynthia
Lord was a teacher before she was a guinea pig owner and teachers can
be responsible pet owners too. Maybe I should have read a random
Animal Ark or a
Rainbow Fairies: Pet Fairies,
as they're ubiquitous examples of the pet rescue series genre, but
Shelter Pet Squad: Jelly Bean is
a fine book by a woman who loves her cavie.
I
was packing for a two-night camping trip last week and decided I
didn't have to worry too much because I could survive two nights in
the wilderness without pants: Don Fendler survived nine days in the
wilderness pantsless. Lost Trail: Nine Days Alone in the
Wilderness is a graphic novel of the time twelve-year-old Don was
lost on Mount Katahdin. He was hiking up an easy path with his dad
and brothers and he and his friend wanted to run ahead. His dad told
them to wait at the summit, but a storm broke and Don ran down the
mountain to find his dad, lost the trail, circled repeatedly,
panicked and went down the wrong way. It took him about a day to get
his head together and remember his Boy Scout training, but he was
considerably weakened by then and his shoes were torn up enough that
he took them off and lost them. He took off his 1930s canvas
dungarees because they were too stiff, and lost them in a stream, and
survived alone another seven days until he found a couple's hunting
lodge. Meanwhile, most of Maine was out looking for him. Stephen
King blurbed Lost Trail, and he'll blurb anything as long as
it's incredibly good.