torsdag 20 juli 2017

More on the subject of modern-day Austen plots

True enough, Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld proved to be a good, reliable read that I was not tempted to give up on. This novel is part of a project in which modern authors recycle the plots from the novels of Jane Austen – Sittenfeld got the fan favourite Pride and Prejudice. When I first heard about this project, I thought it was a great idea, as was the related project to let modern authors re-imagine the plays by Shakespeare. Now, after having read two of the Austen-inspired books – Eligible and Val McDermid’s Northanger Abbey – as well as plenty of reviews about the other novels in the Austen and Shakespeare projects, I’m no longer that sure.

I did like Eligible, and greatly preferred it to the McDermid Northanger Abbey, but I found myself liking it the most when it didn’t follow Austen’s template. There were some welcome plot surprises which kept the story interesting. In the exposition-heavy first chapters, I was afraid that here would be another author attempting a somewhat Austenesque style – I think Lydia once accuses Liz (the Elizabeth character) of using long words to make her seem cleverer, and the same accusation can sometimes be levelled at the third-person narrator. Soon, though, the style loosens up, and the dialogue between the Bennet sisters is lively and modern (even grumpy Mary is funny). But if I enjoyed the parts of the novel that were the least like Austen best, then how important is the whole Austen conceit?

My argument for approving, in theory, of retellings of the works of famous authors is that their readers are often as familiar with these plots and characters as they are with myths, legends and fairy tales. If these classic stories can be retold to interesting effect – as they so often are – why shouldn’t the same be true of the equally classic stories we find in novels and plays by authors like Austen and Shakespeare? The problem is that tightly plotted, realistic novels like Austen’s leave less room for manoeuvre than a myth/legend/fairy tale. The characters don’t need to be fleshed out – they are already – and there are few blanks to fill in as regards the plot. What’s more, while it’s par for the course to change things around anyway you like in a story that is part of an oral tradition, in Austen’s case there is a “true” story that the modern adapter has to take account of. You can depict King Arthur in a hundred different ways: the same can’t really be said for Mrs Bennet. Authors in the Austen project are further hampered by the fact that they to a large extent keep the same names as in the original, so there can be no question of “filing off the serial numbers” and keeping the readers guessing as to which character is supposed to correspond to which in the original.

In Shakespeare’s case – and I’m reluctant to admit this as I grew up with and loved the Lamb siblings’ Tales from Shakespeare in a Swedish translation – the plots of his plays, which he mostly filched from elsewhere anyway, are rarely the issue. From what I gather from the reviews, the authors of the Shakespeare-inspired novels have had more leeway than the ones involved in the Austen project, but they don’t seem to have come up with that many fresh ideas for all that. What, Leontes in The Winter’s Tale acts like a jerk? Shylock in The Merchant of Venice is hard done by? You astound me.

Having said that, I do think there is room for entertaining and even thoughtprovoking retellings of the classics. But it’s a tricky balancing act to provide variations on a well-loved author’s themes while in some sense staying true to the spirit of the original. In the “set in modern days” retelling subgenre, Sittenfeld fares better than most, but though I liked it, it reinforced my impression that prequels, sequels and retellings from other characters’ point of view do – at least in theory – provide more scope for the author and more fun for the reader. That is, as long as they are done well.    

onsdag 12 juli 2017

Becoming unstuck in novel reading – again

It seems that half the time when I blog about books, I write about the difficulty in finishing them rather than the books I actually have read through. Do other readers have the same problem? The book bloggers I’ve come across not only appear to read at an impressive rate, but also to finish the novels they’ve started as a matter of course. Since the spring, however, I’ve had several slightly depressing “I really don’t want to spend hundreds of more pages in these characters’ company” experiences.

First, it was a sort of crime story set in late 19th century New York. The settings were glamorous, the villain passably suave, if something of a gentleman gangster cliché, but after two hundred pages there was nothing to compel me to go on, as the protagonists – a well-to-do family who gets more and more involved with underworld activities due to their own stupid choices – did not interest me one jot. A little later, I started on Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which I might eventually get through, but not for a while. The Swedish translation is lively enough, but a little of this whimsy goes a long way: it’s awkward when a novel that would make a good lunch-time read during a working week is too bulky to lug to work (700 pages plus). Unlike with Kafka On The Shore, I don’t feel sufficienly drawn into a fascinating parallel world to want to spend hours of my precious summer holiday there. Then, there was the time-travel yarn in the vein of Jasper Fforde – complete with ballsy heroine – which was sadly not as good as anything by Jasper Fforde. I know that’s a pretty high standard to hold something up to, but it’s difficult to find the motivation to go on with something that is supposed to be light entertainment but which you don’t actually enjoy. I’d rather wait around for the real Thursday Next (where is she?).

A book I really must finish, as I’m already on page 426, is Anne O’Brien’s The King’s Concubine. And, well… It’s not bad. One quoted review calls it “better than Philippa Gregory”: I’d put it on the same level as Gregory novels I’ve read, but then I’ve not always been bowled over by those. The subject matter – Alice Perrers, a maligned mistress of the English king Edward III – sounds juicy enough. There’s a love interest with villainy attributes that jollies things along for a bit. But 620 pages? The rivalry between Alice and the king’s daughter-in-law Princess Joan, of which I had some hopes after a foreshadowing encounter between the two women when Alice was still a lowly novice in an Abbey, hasn’t really gone beyond petty court sniping yet. It doesn’t help that Edward III is the kind of chivalrous warrior king the English love, i.e. dull: not like his bruiser grandfather or his father of poker and unsuitable boyfriend fame. A plus when reading a novel about an historical figure you have no previous knowledge of is that you don’t know what will happen to him or her. The problem in Alice’s case is I don’t care that much. She rises from nothing, she’s ambitious, and a hard-headed businesswoman: the novel convinces me that she has a case. I just wish it hadn’t been such a lengthy one.

My own mood may be part of the problem here. The annual summer holiday is when you finally have time to relax hours on end with a book – which means that at least my expectations of a gripping summer read are sky high. Every page wasted on padding or less-than-thrilling exposition is deeply resented, as valuable holiday time ticks by. There’s also the fact that I’m on a bit of a daydreaming high at the moment. Daydreams are great when you have to wait in queues or perform the odd menial household task, but maybe they make it harder to engage in other alternative worlds: the ones you can reach by fiction. Perhaps the doors to other magical realms remain closed because I don’t push at them hard enough, being quite content to dwell in dream scenarios of my own.

Anyway, Eligible by Curtis Sittenfeld is quite pleasant so far. If I finish that one, I might be in the right frame of mind to give Alice another try afterwards.