MY JUNE 2012 READS
THERE WAS A TIME (1947)
by Taylor Caldwell.
Another of Caldwell's 1940s novels that I've had on hand
for years but never gotten around to reading. Having been in another 'Caldwell
Phase' lately with THE BALANCE WHEEL and MELISSA, I gave this one a shot. It started out very slowly (even more slowly
than MELISSA,if that's possible), as is typical of Caldwell novels from this
period - the story starts in England in 1904, with our young main character
around 3 to 4 years old. The opening chapters have a vague, almost dream-like
quality to them, and reminded me of John Galsworthy's short work
"Awakening," the second of the two 'Interludes' in THE FORSYTE
SAGA.
I think the early chapters were based
on Caldwell's own memories of England, particularly Manchester (where Caldwell
was born) - Like her character Frank, she, too, was about seven years old when
she emigrated to the US in 1907 from England.
This was one of Caldwell's
most relentlessly bitter books, especially in its depiction of the poor
relationship between Frank and his parents. About half-way through, Caldwell
moves her main character to Kentucky to seek his fortune drilling oil - things
there end rather violently, and, shaken, he returns to Bison, NY (Caldwell
lived much of her life in Buffalo, NY) for the remainder of the novel, where he
achieves some moderate success writing 'trash' for magazines. He then embarks
on writing a novel about "a family of 'international bankers,' men of
long, sober American backgrounds, who, from the time of the War of 1812, had
cunningly and sedulously plotted wars for their own profit. This was what the
American people wanted. Insecure, frightened, mysteriously terrified, they
wished a scapegoat for their fear. He, Frank Clair, would give it to them. He
would not exhort them to cry 'mea culpa!' He would put into their mouths the
hateful shout 'Lynch him!'”
Caldwell’s first
published novel was DYNASTY OF DEATH, about a family of munitions-makers. I can't help but wonder if, through her
character Frank Clair, Caldwell
was 'winking' slyly at her critics: "Sound and fury, rage and excess,
anger and despair, defeated dreams, filled every page of the novel. In
rereading portions of it, Frank was sometimes faintly embarrassed by the wealth
of adjectives and some of the more thunderous passages. It was not dull.
Critical though he was (with an eye to publishing), he admitted to himself that
the writing had passion and verve, even if there was a sort of evilness about
it, a kind of corruption, a deliberate twisting of phrase to gain a dubious
point." Another problem with this
novel is a very unconvincing love interest that's resolved in a rather clumsy
manner. Frank's deepest and closest emotional friendships are with men, and Caldwell apparently
didn't realize that her character was almost certainly a latent homosexual
(which certainly wouldn't have made for a popular novel at the time).
GOODBYE, MR. CHIPS* (1934) by James Hilton.
Re-read this for the
I-don't-know-how-many-eth time – it’s always a matter of a pleasant afternoon
or evening’s reading . . . seldom has a good story been told so well, so
simply, and so enjoyably, with such unforgettable results.
A DARK-ADAPTED EYE* (1986) by Barbara Vine.
This was the first novel by
Ruth Rendell under her nom-de-plume, Barbara Vine - it signaled a departure
from the other two kinds of novels she was known for at the time, her Chief
Inspector Wexfords (police procedurals) and novels of psychological suspense
such as A JUDGMENT IN STONE and THE TREE OF HANDS. It was also the first novel
I read by her under either name.
That was about 25 years ago, and my admiration
for it only increases with each re-reading (which occur every 3 or 4 years or
so). Not feeling quite
swept away by either of the two books I had going, I picked up A DARK-ADAPTED
EYE again to re-read a chapter or two just to 'scout the territory,' so to
speak. And before I knew it I'd read three, then four chapters. At such a point
I guess I had to say that I'm 'officially' re-reading the book! It gets better
with each re-reading, as do many of The Vines.
This one still gets five stars from me. The word that best describes
this book is 'masterful' and it very much sets the template for several of the
Vines that have followed, as the sins of the past cast their long shadows on
the present-day.
If I were asked to
recommend a book that would give someone a good idea of what life was like for
many British people in the years during and after World War Two, I would give
them A DARK-ADAPTED EYE. If I were asked to recommend a novel about old sins
having long shadows, and family secrets, and the destructive power of love, I
would give them A DARK-ADAPTED EYE. If I were asked to recommend a brilliantly
conceived and executed mystery, or even just an exceptional "novel of
psychological suspense," I would recommend A DARK-ADAPTED EYE. Did I mention that Ruth Rendell is my
favorite writer, period? (Well, except
for Barbara Vine, that is.)
THE SEVEN MINUTES* (1969) by Irving Wallace.
The recent fuss (and
spectacular sales) of E.L. James's FIFTY SHADES Trilogy (which, other than
flipping through a few random pages I haven't read and don't intend to read)
reminded me that THE SEVEN MINUTES is about the controversy over a sexually
explicit book - could reading about the thoughts and fantasies of a woman
during seven minutes of sexual intercourse actually incite a college student to
rape? - so I decided to re-read it. I
read and enjoyed this in 1972 or 1973, at a time when my reading taste was very
commercial and rather indiscriminate, often consisting of healthy doses of the
fast-paced, glossy fiction that authors such as Irving Wallace, Harold Robbins
and Arthur Hailey produced regularly - I was in my mid-teens and such reading
material seemed very grown-up (and to be fair to myself, I was also reading
more serious authors such as Ayn Rand).
The novel is dedicated "To Fanny, Constance, Molly, who made it
possible" - it's a certainty that few of today's readers who so easily
obtain a copy of FIFTY SHADES OF GREY by merely walking into a bookstore where
it's prominently displayed, are familiar with the three women mentioned and the
controversial works in which they appeared: Fanny Hill (Cleland's MEMOIRS OF A
WOMAN OF PLEASURE), Constance Chatterley (Lawrence's LADY CHATTERLEY'S LOVER)
and Molly Bloom (Joyce's ULYSSES). All three novels were sexually explicit,
considered 'pornographic,' and were the subject of an important obscenity trial
which resulted in changing the public's perception of 'pornography' and what
could or couldn't be sold or mailed. FIFTY SHADES OF GREY would be sold 'under
the counter' - if at all - without these three women.
Michael Korda, who was Wallace's editor at
Simon & Schuster for many years, felt that Wallace's novels were bloated
potboilers, and the weight of some of his 1960s novels would seem to back up
that opinion. Even at 607 pages, THE SEVEN MINUTES is somewhat 'flabby' -
Wallace certainly did his research on famous pornographic works, their authors,
and the criticisms - or praise - leveled at them, but, due to his need to
impart this information to the reader, unfortunately this results in chunks of
dialog that are often unwieldy or just plain didactic, in which characters
often quote such things at length (well, several of the leading characters are
lawyers...).
I found the second half of
the book better-paced than the first half: Wallace ratchets up the suspense as
various elements of the backstory begin falling into place. THE SEVEN MINUTES
is still valid today, though it will seem dated to many of today's readers: pay
phones (or the search for them) abound, and today a simple DNA test would
pinpoint the identity of a suspected rapist.
This was, on the whole, a very entertaining read.
ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE* (1940) by Agatha Christie.
I first read this Hercule
Poirot mystery in the early/mid 1970s under its alternate American title, AN
OVERDOSE OF DEATH (it was originally published in the US as THE
PATRIOTIC MURDERS). Perhaps in 1940 her US publisher felt that ONE, TWO, BUCKLE
MY SHOE was 'too British,' or might lead prospective buyers to mistake it as a
children's book, or perhaps, despite Christie's career entering its third
decade at this point, they felt her books did better in the US with some
variation of 'death' or 'murder' in the title. It sure seems like wherever
Monsieur Hercule Poirot goes, trouble (usually murder) follows him - that's
certainly the case when he does that most ordinary of things, visits the
dentist. . . Those of us who complain that Poirot’s later appearances are
sometimes hardly more than cameos can relax with this one: Poirot is at the
center of things here.
I don't know how
I felt about this one back in the 70s - although I logged the titles I read for
several years, I didn't make any notes about them, and this was just one of
many Christies I read in batches, so all these years later it was more or less
like reading it for the first time - it's not unusual with Christie to remember
a particular murder but little else about the book, and perhaps that’s part of
her enduring appeal.
Some Christies
re-read better than others: as it happens, I found this one rather dreary - the
characters never quite came to life for me, but I did see it through to the
end. Christie throws a few
spy/conspiracy elements into the mix – this wasn’t really her forte though she
persisted in dabbling in it occasionally almost until the end of her career
with novels like THEY CAME TO BAGDAD, DESTINATION UNKNOWN, and her 1970
‘extravaganza’ PASSENGER TO FRANKFURT.
Though ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE was written during Christie’s ‘Golden
Age’ (which in my humble opinion was 1930-1950) it’s one of the less-stellar
entries for me.
