Published in 1869, Monsieur Lecoq predates A Study in Scarlet by 18 years and is acknowledged as an influence on Arthur Conan Doyle specifically, but...morePublished in 1869, Monsieur Lecoq predates A Study in Scarlet by 18 years and is acknowledged as an influence on Arthur Conan Doyle specifically, but also on the development of detective fiction in general. This entertaining novel has two parts. The first begins with a crime and follows the Parisian detective, Monsieur Lecoq, as he tries to unravel its intricacies. The second begins decades earlier, tracing the somewhat melodramatic affairs of some country folks and landed aristocracy whose turmoils eventually lead to the crime committed at the beginning of the first book. In other words, the entire novel in two parts ends where it begins. Although I enjoyed the first part with its focus on crime detection immensely more than the second melodramatic part, taken as a whole it has a very satisfying narrative construction. Gaboriau had a distinct flair for character and plot construction. I would happily read another Monsieur Lecoq adventure.(less)
As a ghost story The Little Stranger is not terribly inventive or original. [SPOILER ALERT] A family starts experiencing strange occurrences in a mold...moreAs a ghost story The Little Stranger is not terribly inventive or original. [SPOILER ALERT] A family starts experiencing strange occurrences in a moldering mansion and becomes convinced a poltergeist has inhabited their home, while a more level-headed, science-minded friend believes they are all going crazy.
Sarah Waters does two things really well in this novel. First, she successfully conveys the haunted mansion, complete with its musty smells, shifting shadows and decaying everything. One feels the weight of the history of this place. Second, she depicts a really believable "type" in her narrator. Dr. Faraday is arrogant, self-deluded, patronizing to women, social climbing and narrow-mindedly rational. I detested him, but could yet maintain enough interested to read the novel all the way through, which is not always the case when I feel such extreme antipathy to a main character.
It is also clear that Waters did a good amount of research into post-WWII English doctoring and the disintegration of the landed aristocracy. Overall an enjoyable read and a well-constructed narrative.(less)
**spoiler alert** This novel has been so well read and reviewed, I won't worry about a plot synopsis. I do offer a few comments regarding my encounter...more**spoiler alert** This novel has been so well read and reviewed, I won't worry about a plot synopsis. I do offer a few comments regarding my encounter with it in light of having heard so much about it beforehand.
I have heard several criticisms launched at this novel that it is sexist. While I do believe it is a slightly trashy bit of brain candy that contains less-than-subtly drawn female characters, calling it sexist is a little knee-jerky and extreme. The mere inclusion of a female villain - especially one who's fairly entertaining - does not sexism make. This was fun, quick summer reading for me and my only real beef was the long-suffering baby daddy ending. I didn't find that redeeming in our anti-hero, just smarmy. I was pulling for some cleverly wrought comeuppance for our villainess, pregnant or not. Actually, I disliked both main characters enough, some dual calamity would have been grand. (less)
After the fifth story, I felt like I was reading the same story again and again...or at least stories that rehashed the same ideas over and over again...moreAfter the fifth story, I felt like I was reading the same story again and again...or at least stories that rehashed the same ideas over and over again. So even while I liked the basic story template here, I didn't finish the whole book. Perhaps sometime I will. It was repetition that stopped me. I have one additional warning to modern readers - prepare for periodic but persistent racism. Written by a white European woman in the early 20th century, who purported to have extensive experience with "eastern" thought and philosophy (in quotes because she seems to mean India, but there is much much more "east"), these stories hinge on spiritual and philosophical views that would have been fairly unusual to the ears of westerners at the time - so unusual that the word "occult" winds up in the title. Anyway, the alarmingly blatant superiority complex especially typical of white people in this time period (and in so, so many others *sigh*) sneaks into otherwise interesting stories over and over again. The specifically patriarchal and condescending British view of their relationship to India in this period surely heightened this sense, even for a woman who seems to think she was writing sympathetically of Indian culture. Instead this is rather a great illustration of Said's "orientalism" at work. Interesting as sociology, I suppose. (less)
This book is exciting and frightening, touching and macabre. I sped through it wishing it were longer. Just a very good adventure story occurring in a...moreThis book is exciting and frightening, touching and macabre. I sped through it wishing it were longer. Just a very good adventure story occurring in an exceedingly well-imagined nineteenth-century New England focusing on a compelling and resourceful protagonist. The prose is straightforward and driving. The plotting is clever but not overly contrived. It reminded me of Gothic romances and 100-year-old adventure stories and Margaret Atwood when she's being a little morbid. I loved every page.(less)
The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana tells of an antiquarian book dealer who has suffered a stroke and lost all memory of the people in and events of h...moreThe Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana tells of an antiquarian book dealer who has suffered a stroke and lost all memory of the people in and events of his life. At the novel's outset, the protagonist, Yambo, begins the daunting work of trying to reinsert himself into the life he has forgotten. He finds that he does not recognize his family or closest friends, but can still appraise a 17th-century work of natural history. His only sparks of memory relate to books he has read. These come back to him in snippets. Names, quotations, plotlines. Yambo laments to his wife that his memory is made of paper. In an attempt to reconnect with any memories of real people or actual events, he takes a solitary trip back to his childhood home in a rustic town called Solara. At Solara, Yambo finds more books.
The majority of The Mysterious Flame describes these books and how, poring over them at 60, Yambo imagines what he must have taken from them as a child. This central portion of The Mysterious Flame, the meat of the novel, is filled with images from the books, magazines and comics Yambo finds, which is a wonderful boon to Eco's readers in following Yambo's mental journey. Performing this task of self-rediscovery, Yambo concocts an elaborate method of reference and cross-reference to try and reclaim memories of himself at 7, at 10, at 13. For example, as he reads a comic book from his 6th grade year, he plays music that would have been current, looks at newspapers from the period to give himself context of world events at that time, tracks down his school notebooks to retrieve what he may have thought when he read this book or that.
The more Yambo reads, however, the farther his pre-stroke memory retreats. With every book he encounters, he creates a new memory of himself as a child interpreted by himself as an old man, but without actually remembering that childhood as he lived it. Is knowing what he read as a child enough to infer who he was or who he became? Yambo's struggles to connect ink on pages to the living boy he once was accentuate the edifice of memory and the extent to which we interpret and meticulously craft even a "genuine" memory. As we follow Yambo's efforts, Eco invites us to consider the connection between what we read, what we think and who we are, between lived experience and read experience, between knowledge gleaned in the world and knowledge gleaned through the written word. It brings to my mind a pet metaphor of medieval monks, which compares reading to eating. To read is to consume a whole, digest it, and to absorb its nutrients. If you are what you eat, as they say, then to the medieval scholar you are, literally, what you read. What one reads becomes one's identity insofar as it crafts one's thoughts and helps determine one's actions. This view of identity as thought does not conform neatly with current fixations on identity as deed, but as with so much from the Middle Ages, I think we benefit from entertaining such ideas and I was tickled, if not surprised, to discover them floating around in a work by Eco, a consummate medievalist by temperament if not by trade.
I will not here reveal the final issue of Yambo's labors because whether or not he recovers his memory constitutes the point of tension upon which the plot relies for its momentum. I had intended to address my single criticism of this novel, but it seems wiser now to glance over it if not swallow it completely. It pertains to Yambo's adolescent view of women, and one woman in particular, a view I found discordant with the otherwise rather acute emotional as well as academic intelligence of the character. Would a man so obsessed with the mind really carry a lifelong torch for a boyhood crush based solely on appearance? But none of us is consistent, so perhaps this is no criticism at all, and merely an observation of what I found unlikable about Eco's protagonist. When I remember reading this book and what I took from it, this will probably be a detail I will selectively omit, crafting my memory willfully, so that I recall only my enjoyment of the book, which was considerable. (less)