Is it all right to give up on a book that is actually well-written and cannot be accused of being boring? I've asked myself the question since laying aside Sleep, Pale Sister by Joanne Harris after 70 pages, and not feeling any great urge to pick it up again. Joanne Harris is a good writer, no doubt about it, and she can draw you into a plot with great skill. I enjoyed both Gentlemen and Players and the historical yarn Holy Fools, which came with the added bonus of a charismatic villain. In Sleep, Pale Sister, Harris sets her story in Victorian England, which should be a great match. Or maybe not, because Harris doesn't seem to "get" the Victorian mindset, or want to. Her male protagonist is full of complexes of - you guessed it - a sexual kind which he has picked up during a - you guessed it again - cold and loveless childhood as the son of a clergyman. He is a painter of fierce tigers in the jungle and a forerunner of impressionism. No, I jest. He is a painter of sentimental pictures of fair maidens, likes to be compared to the Pre-Raphaelites and is a member of the Royal Academy, and consequently, it is hinted, is Not Much Good. He marries one of his models, whom he has watched over and groomed since her childhood to be the perfect woman, but shrinks when she shows a streak of sensuality and fails to make her happy. And for this he must needs be punished.
So, that is quite a lot of prejudices about Victorian gentlemen rolled into one, then. As with Mr Timothy, I hesitated to buy Sleep, Pale Sister because of the blurb text, which this time states that the heroine (called Effie, just like Ruskin's wife - hmmm) "must finally plan her revenge". Why? Why must she? Isn't hubbles wretched enough as it is, without his wife going all vindictive on him? In the circumstances, you could understand an elopement. But revenge, as if the poor sap had wilfully done her wrong and had to be paid in kind? The pursuit of happiness is one thing, malevolence surely another.
I realise that I've become far too sensitive to anything close to Victorian-bashing after reading too many boo-those-uptight-but-secretly-perverse-Victorians novels. Here, again, is why we should be less sanctimonious about the poor Victorians:
They weren't half as uptight as we think: Yes, their sexual morals were stricter. And there were Victorians with strange hang-ups: Dickens was obsessed with virtuous young maidens; Gladstone became somewhat over-enthusiastic about saving prostitutes; poor old Ruskin was freaked out by the whole marriage-consummation thing. But they were not representative of the whole age: their quirks were their own, and no worse than individual neuroses and obsessions which we encounter today. We need go no further than to Queen Victoria herself to see another side of the Victorians' supposedly "inhibited" love life. She and Prince Albert were not the world's greatest parents, but as for marriage consummation? Not a problem.
We're no better: The main accusation against Victorians is that they were killjoys who put a ban on innocent pleasures and, as a consequence, got hooked on less innocent ones. Well, we're nice ones to talk. Self-abnegation in the name of virtue may be out, but other reasons for hankering after a hair shirt have popped up in its place: health, environment, good parenting, even (bizarrely) political causes. The simple truth is that no-one is likely to be better off just because you deny yourself a little, or even a lot, of what you fancy. But mankind is strangely reluctant to get its head round this. Remember those boycotts of French wine because of France's nuclear tests somewhere in the Pacific? I recall meeting someone who still boycotted French wine a long time after the tests had stopped and who expected us to be impressed by her steadfastness. When it comes to pointless self-denial, we offer the Victorians a pretty good match.
Sensualism can be tyrannical too: I admit it reluctantly, I who often find myself warbling "I belong to the earth, I belong to the wind, and the rain, and the hills, and the heeeatheeer". Indulging one's creature comforts is one of life's great pleasures, but it is not all of life. The wish to find a spiritual side of life as well is part of what makes us human, and not to be dismissed out of hand. Harris is clearly an advocate of sensual pleasures: good for her. But the heroine in Holy Fools couldn't understand why anyone would wish for more from a convent life than companionship and planting potatoes, or why it mattered if the convent saint never existed as long as she constituted a suitably life-affirming figurehead. It is this blank incomprehension of non-earthbound matters that makes me feel ill at ease and less than hopeful that Sleep, Pale Sister will give its neurotic anti-hero a fair shake. Enjoy the good things in life, by all means, but let's not force French wine down anyone's throat.
Perhaps I'm being colossally unfair. I've not even read a hundred pages of Sleep, Pale Sister. It may turn out to be a subversion of all the usual stereotypes belonging to novels set in Victorian times: maybe the wife will get the comeuppance she deserves, maybe there will be mercy for the husband. But somehow, I think not, and I'm not wild about finding out.
Wednesday, 23 January 2013
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
All that glitters is not high-quality costume drama
I know it is unfair to pour sarcasm over a series after only having watched the first episode. Firstly, few series get in their stride until the second episode at least - anything can happen. Secondly, the series in question - the BBC's The Paradise - is so clearly made with an audience like myself in mind. This is not one of those period dramas - unlike The Bletchley Circle, another BBC drama I trudged through recently courtesy of Swedish Television - which carries a whiff of disdain with it for what the genre usually has on offer. Instead, like the eager sellers of its department store, The Paradise really wants to give the customers what they want. Glitter, dresses, romance, a large cast of characters involved in more or less epic plots, a hero and heroine who have to overcome obstacles to end up together, that is if we really want them to? Oh, yes, Madam, I'm sure we can manage that. In view of this unashamed courting of the costume drama vote, I really should let the series find its feet before commenting on it.
Except commenting is irresistible. Partly, it's because I have very little else to blog about. I started the new year with repeats, rereading a Jude Morgan novel, which was faintly self-indulgent, and rewatching Downton Abbey from the very beginning of series one, which was and is downright unhealthy in my current frame of mind. (Is the gobbiness of Bates just a tiny bit annoying, or is it just me? It's just me, isn't it?) The only other alternative I could see would have been to have a good grumble about the aforementioned dreary Bletchley Circle, which looked from the description as if it could have been a sort of combination of Sherlock and Call the Midwife with a bit of Foyle's War thrown in - Fifties setting, clever women with lipstick solving crime by being incredibly brainy - but which turned out to be a gloomy tale of a serial killer of the worst kind. It didn't really seem tempting. Another reason for blogging about The Paradise - and the main one - is that it promises to be such complete codswallop.
Where to begin? Maybe with the hero, or main male protagonist or whatever one should call him. The story is set in late-Victorian London, and a lot of the plot hinges on the supposed charisma of the owner of the department store where the fresh-faced heroine, newly arrived from Scotland, finds employment. The department store is the eponymous The Paradise, the owner is called Mr Moray, and just about every woman in the series lusts after him. "If there is a more attractive man within a hundred miles, I'll kiss my husband", coos the friend of the conniving heiress who wants to bag him. Well, sweetheart, you can start kissing your hubby right now. It was always going to be tricky to convince contrary viewers like myself that a man over whom such a fuss is made is really that attractive. And, true enough, I don't understand Mr Moray's charm at all. He seems to me to be an oily, self-fancying mountebank with a ghastly beard. Not that I always disapprove of oiliness, or mountebanks, or self-fancying for that matter. Maybe it's the beard that clinches it. I wouldn't buy so much as a handkerchief from him. His worried partner is somewhat cuter, but then he doesn't have much competition: menfolk are, understandably considering the setting, thin on the ground.
As to the other characters, I wonder if one can even call them that. Yes, here things may improve. There is not much room for in-depth characterisation in a first episode. Still, the worrying thing is not only that there seem to be only function characters about, but that they fulfil their functions so badly. The Ladieswear department in the store is run by a Miss Audrey, who is meant to be the Dragon of the piece. But she is not given any withering put-downs, nor any real authority. All she does is witter on about this and that being "a sin", reminding one of Miss Lane in Lark Rise and her "one weakness". I felt tempted to tell her, in my best Downton-baddie accent, "give it a rest, luv, you're clearly not up to this kind of thing". The Jealous Rival is little better, and as for the Pampered Heiress - good gracious. Patrick Malahide, as always, raises the tone as the doting heiress-dad, and there is a perfectly serviceable minor villain in the form of a snooping old employee on the sidelines, but otherwise it is a stilted and unconvincing affair. I'll not dwell on how it's not a patch on Downton - who would have thought otherwise? But The Paradise also suffers by comparison to the BBC's own costume dramas. For instance, the new Upstairs Downstairs, though not as good as the old one, was still a very good effort and a great deal better than this tripe. I must say this much for The Paradise, though: the settings are sumptuous. I'll keep watching, just for the pleasure of being sarky about it. At the end, though, I'll be very surprised if there is one single character I will care a smidgen for.
Except commenting is irresistible. Partly, it's because I have very little else to blog about. I started the new year with repeats, rereading a Jude Morgan novel, which was faintly self-indulgent, and rewatching Downton Abbey from the very beginning of series one, which was and is downright unhealthy in my current frame of mind. (Is the gobbiness of Bates just a tiny bit annoying, or is it just me? It's just me, isn't it?) The only other alternative I could see would have been to have a good grumble about the aforementioned dreary Bletchley Circle, which looked from the description as if it could have been a sort of combination of Sherlock and Call the Midwife with a bit of Foyle's War thrown in - Fifties setting, clever women with lipstick solving crime by being incredibly brainy - but which turned out to be a gloomy tale of a serial killer of the worst kind. It didn't really seem tempting. Another reason for blogging about The Paradise - and the main one - is that it promises to be such complete codswallop.
Where to begin? Maybe with the hero, or main male protagonist or whatever one should call him. The story is set in late-Victorian London, and a lot of the plot hinges on the supposed charisma of the owner of the department store where the fresh-faced heroine, newly arrived from Scotland, finds employment. The department store is the eponymous The Paradise, the owner is called Mr Moray, and just about every woman in the series lusts after him. "If there is a more attractive man within a hundred miles, I'll kiss my husband", coos the friend of the conniving heiress who wants to bag him. Well, sweetheart, you can start kissing your hubby right now. It was always going to be tricky to convince contrary viewers like myself that a man over whom such a fuss is made is really that attractive. And, true enough, I don't understand Mr Moray's charm at all. He seems to me to be an oily, self-fancying mountebank with a ghastly beard. Not that I always disapprove of oiliness, or mountebanks, or self-fancying for that matter. Maybe it's the beard that clinches it. I wouldn't buy so much as a handkerchief from him. His worried partner is somewhat cuter, but then he doesn't have much competition: menfolk are, understandably considering the setting, thin on the ground.
As to the other characters, I wonder if one can even call them that. Yes, here things may improve. There is not much room for in-depth characterisation in a first episode. Still, the worrying thing is not only that there seem to be only function characters about, but that they fulfil their functions so badly. The Ladieswear department in the store is run by a Miss Audrey, who is meant to be the Dragon of the piece. But she is not given any withering put-downs, nor any real authority. All she does is witter on about this and that being "a sin", reminding one of Miss Lane in Lark Rise and her "one weakness". I felt tempted to tell her, in my best Downton-baddie accent, "give it a rest, luv, you're clearly not up to this kind of thing". The Jealous Rival is little better, and as for the Pampered Heiress - good gracious. Patrick Malahide, as always, raises the tone as the doting heiress-dad, and there is a perfectly serviceable minor villain in the form of a snooping old employee on the sidelines, but otherwise it is a stilted and unconvincing affair. I'll not dwell on how it's not a patch on Downton - who would have thought otherwise? But The Paradise also suffers by comparison to the BBC's own costume dramas. For instance, the new Upstairs Downstairs, though not as good as the old one, was still a very good effort and a great deal better than this tripe. I must say this much for The Paradise, though: the settings are sumptuous. I'll keep watching, just for the pleasure of being sarky about it. At the end, though, I'll be very surprised if there is one single character I will care a smidgen for.
Sunday, 30 December 2012
Matthewgate – the fallout
Well. So he
did it after all – Dan Stevens opted out of Downton
Abbey. Leaving Fellowes no choice but to kill Matthew off, in an unexotic
car accident, and in the Christmas special too. This was almost the unkindest
cut of all: couldn’t the blasted man have agreed to be bumped off in episode
one of the new series at least, so the otherwise peace-and-goodwill-full
special didn’t have to end on a tragic note?
So, one of
my wishes for the new year is blown already. I am still concerned how the
series will go on without the hero, but the rest of the Downton crew used the special to persuade us that they will do
their level best to keep the show on the road, and I’m more hopeful than I was
that the hero vacuum will be filled
somehow (probably by Branson, tamest revolutionary on the planet). And at least
an heir is born, so there will be no Heir from Outside Mk II coming in – this,
I believe, the fans would not have stood for. As for Stevens, I do understand
why he may have a yearning to play something else than the decent, somewhat
priggish Matthew. But I wonder if it was a wise career move. It’s not as if he
was a household name before Downton,
so his fans will for the most part be Downton
fans, and they will be put out with him for some time to come for jumping ship.
I’m almost
starting to feel that there’s a jinx on my Downton
blogs. I praise the villain alliance between Miss O’Brien and Thomas – and they
fall out. I dare to hope that Matthew won’t be written out – and he is written out. On the upside, it works
in a positive way as well. Thomas has braved the Errol Flynn curse and came out
of his latest misadventure surprisingly well at the end of series three. In my
opinion, Rob James-Collier would have deserved a Golden Globe nod for so
believably making the transition from arrogant prat to poor little black
baa-lamb. Taking full responsibility for
his latest disaster with quiet dignity; sobbing vulnerably in the rain; in a
word, Thomas completely floored me, and
I’m now more than ready to give this particular baddie a dispensation for his
lack of brains. At least the ridiculously easily-suggestible darling isn’t
thick the way Alfred is: you couldn’t suggest anything to Alfred, as he
wouldn’t be able to take the hint.
As for Miss
O’Brien, her plots achieved a black grandeur far from petty shirt-pilfering, so
we can expect more high-quality villainy in the future. There was a suggestion
in the Christmas special that she was longing for a change: well, she can keep
on longing. Her talents are needed in Downton.
Her nephew, though, should feel free to pursue his dreamed-of career in food.
Scripting a
hit show like this must be frustrating, as the characters who leave are not
necessarily the ones who would, normally, be the most likely to. Not only the
actors, but also the (real or perceived) wishes of the viewers, are far more
important than the characters’ own wants. Why Thomas would choose to stay, even
as under-butler, in a house where his relationship to just about all the male
staff is problematic to say the least is a mystery. Also, you’d expect Daisy
to jump at the chance of taking over her father-in-law’s farm rather than stay
on slaving in the castle kitchen. Branson wanted to get away, but was hauled back
(even at the price of killing off Sybil rather than keeping her on as an
invisible off-shore family member). I suspect (though I hesitate to say it and
jinx it) these characters are not going anywhere. As long as the actors don’t
quit, Downton fans will keep them
exactly where they are.
Thursday, 20 December 2012
Wishes for the new year
Today, anything too tiring blog-wise is right out. It's December and my holiday starts tomorrow, which means I'm in my all-too-usual, pre-Christmas, I-don't-want-to-work-anymore grump. But a wish list is fairly easy. All I want (or some of them anyway) for the new year cultural-consumption-wise is:
A new villain (or several) Obviously, always. I'm not complaining, mind. It's not exactly been a villain-free year, though I have sometimes felt like the protagonist in some fin-de-siècle cautionary tale, in search of ever more depraved kicks. I comfort myself with the fact that however far I fall, the low point was already reached years and years ago with Monsieur Lheureux in Madame Bovary (though he was admirably mean to the ghastly Madame, no-one can call him glamorous). The main reason I'm always on the lookout for new villains is I want to be reassured that there are still new ones to discover out there. I can't quite get over the unhappy suspicion that there will never be another villain-writer like Dickens. Which leads me to point two:
A new Dickens TV adaptation I know, that is never going to happen. They did Great Expectations and The Mystery of Edwin Drood this year and there was all the extra Dickens publicity about the bicentenary, which means the Beeb will probably want to, in the charming phrase of a few years' back, "take a rest from Dickens". There's always ITV, but they'll never risk adapting any of the lesser-known novels. And it's the lesser-known novels I would really like done: Dombey and Son, above all, but also Barnaby Rudge. Imagine what a great Sir John Charles Dance would be! And then he'd have a hat trick in Dickens villains: Tulkinghorn, Ralph Nickleby and Sir John Chester. Ah, what a trio.
If not Dickens, then at least lots and lots of new costume dramas I very much hope that the BBC has learnt its lesson by now, after that disastrous period when they consciously avoided "bonnet dramas". Then ITV's Downton Abbey happened and became a smash hit, and the BBC was left looking rather silly. I see signs that they've thrown in the towel and are now desperately trying to catch up with their commercial rival. There was Parade's End which the critics loved, and The Paradise which they hated. I look forward to watching both and am wishing for more try-to-catch-the-Downton-crowd dramas. And while on this subject:
Dan Stevens signing up for a fourth series of Downton All right, I promised not to Downton-blog until after Christmas, but just a teeny-weeny bit, without giving anything away? And yes, I know Stevens is the one playing Matthew. So, do I suddenly have a thing for Matthew now? Ha, no fear!
The reason for this wish is that I've heard the rumour that Stevens hasn't signed up for series four of Downton Abbey yet, and I'm worried about what this will mean for the future of the series. I can understand if he hesitates. There was only ever talk of three series at the start: I remember it well. But now a fourth series is on the way, and it looks like Downton could run and run, but only if it keeps its act together. And the centre of this act is the main plotline, what could be called The Heir's Tale.
Matthew may not have turned out to be the middle-class champion I'd hoped for when he first came on the scene in series one. The Downton set had him house-trained in a trice. There was much caustic talk among TV reviewers about how little time he spent in the trenches, but at least he's spent more time there than in his lawyer's office - now, the estate appears to be his full-time job, and he is as gentrified as anything, even to the point of being snooty to Sir Richard Carlisle. Having said that, the main plot of Downton, the one all the other plots are latched on to, is how Matthew faces up to his inheritance, and how his romance - now marriage - to the present Earl's daughter Lady Mary will work out. Just because I (normally) don't fall in love with heroes doesn't mean I don't appreciate the way they keep things together. After all, you can't have David Copperfield without David Copperfield. No, you really can't.
New novels by favourite authors This is the up-side of having authors like Morgan and Fforde on one-book-a-year-contracts (well, I assume they are, anyway). From Fforde, what I wish for most - as always - is another Thursday Next novel. It is greedy of me, because we had one this year - The Woman who Died a Lot. Wonderful read as always, but sadly there were no BookWorld outings this time. Not even a visit from the Emperor Zhark. So, next time, some fiction-fun please, preferably not all relating to the Dark Reading Matter - I'd like adventures in/about books that are actually read. I want some more!
More Doctor Who Of course. And stop splitting the series up - send it in one go, so I can get proper whole-series box sets.
Sweden doing really well in the Eurovision Song Contest but not necessarily winning again - I don't think we can afford it. And, naturally, I hope that we put on "a fantastic show".
A new villain (or several) Obviously, always. I'm not complaining, mind. It's not exactly been a villain-free year, though I have sometimes felt like the protagonist in some fin-de-siècle cautionary tale, in search of ever more depraved kicks. I comfort myself with the fact that however far I fall, the low point was already reached years and years ago with Monsieur Lheureux in Madame Bovary (though he was admirably mean to the ghastly Madame, no-one can call him glamorous). The main reason I'm always on the lookout for new villains is I want to be reassured that there are still new ones to discover out there. I can't quite get over the unhappy suspicion that there will never be another villain-writer like Dickens. Which leads me to point two:
A new Dickens TV adaptation I know, that is never going to happen. They did Great Expectations and The Mystery of Edwin Drood this year and there was all the extra Dickens publicity about the bicentenary, which means the Beeb will probably want to, in the charming phrase of a few years' back, "take a rest from Dickens". There's always ITV, but they'll never risk adapting any of the lesser-known novels. And it's the lesser-known novels I would really like done: Dombey and Son, above all, but also Barnaby Rudge. Imagine what a great Sir John Charles Dance would be! And then he'd have a hat trick in Dickens villains: Tulkinghorn, Ralph Nickleby and Sir John Chester. Ah, what a trio.
If not Dickens, then at least lots and lots of new costume dramas I very much hope that the BBC has learnt its lesson by now, after that disastrous period when they consciously avoided "bonnet dramas". Then ITV's Downton Abbey happened and became a smash hit, and the BBC was left looking rather silly. I see signs that they've thrown in the towel and are now desperately trying to catch up with their commercial rival. There was Parade's End which the critics loved, and The Paradise which they hated. I look forward to watching both and am wishing for more try-to-catch-the-Downton-crowd dramas. And while on this subject:
Dan Stevens signing up for a fourth series of Downton All right, I promised not to Downton-blog until after Christmas, but just a teeny-weeny bit, without giving anything away? And yes, I know Stevens is the one playing Matthew. So, do I suddenly have a thing for Matthew now? Ha, no fear!
The reason for this wish is that I've heard the rumour that Stevens hasn't signed up for series four of Downton Abbey yet, and I'm worried about what this will mean for the future of the series. I can understand if he hesitates. There was only ever talk of three series at the start: I remember it well. But now a fourth series is on the way, and it looks like Downton could run and run, but only if it keeps its act together. And the centre of this act is the main plotline, what could be called The Heir's Tale.
Matthew may not have turned out to be the middle-class champion I'd hoped for when he first came on the scene in series one. The Downton set had him house-trained in a trice. There was much caustic talk among TV reviewers about how little time he spent in the trenches, but at least he's spent more time there than in his lawyer's office - now, the estate appears to be his full-time job, and he is as gentrified as anything, even to the point of being snooty to Sir Richard Carlisle. Having said that, the main plot of Downton, the one all the other plots are latched on to, is how Matthew faces up to his inheritance, and how his romance - now marriage - to the present Earl's daughter Lady Mary will work out. Just because I (normally) don't fall in love with heroes doesn't mean I don't appreciate the way they keep things together. After all, you can't have David Copperfield without David Copperfield. No, you really can't.
New novels by favourite authors This is the up-side of having authors like Morgan and Fforde on one-book-a-year-contracts (well, I assume they are, anyway). From Fforde, what I wish for most - as always - is another Thursday Next novel. It is greedy of me, because we had one this year - The Woman who Died a Lot. Wonderful read as always, but sadly there were no BookWorld outings this time. Not even a visit from the Emperor Zhark. So, next time, some fiction-fun please, preferably not all relating to the Dark Reading Matter - I'd like adventures in/about books that are actually read. I want some more!
More Doctor Who Of course. And stop splitting the series up - send it in one go, so I can get proper whole-series box sets.
Sweden doing really well in the Eurovision Song Contest but not necessarily winning again - I don't think we can afford it. And, naturally, I hope that we put on "a fantastic show".
Thursday, 6 December 2012
And now for the Dark Side - Gashford and Sir John
"[T]his man, who has crawled and crept through life, wounding the hands he licked and biting those he fawned upon"...
Oooh. He licks hands. And then wounds them. Only methaphorically, but even so! What promising representative of the villain fraternity is this? Answer: Mr Gashford (we never learn his first name), the oily and entirely fictional secretary of Lord George Gordon in Barnaby Rudge. As the quote above suggests, he's a great fawner and manipulates his naive employer effortlessly: one of his tricks is to be "caught out" praising Lord George to himself while supposedly under the impression that the lord was sleeping. He is a hypocrite, who affects mildness while egging the Gordon rioters on, especially his own little band of trusted helpers. Even Maypole Hugh, who is no fool, is taken in by such strategies as Gashford's "nothing" speech, containing gems such as "When one of them was struck down by a daring hand, and I saw confusion and dismay in all their faces, I would have had you do nothing - just what you did, in short". His manner is described by one of his minions as "so awful sly". He foreshadows other Dickensian villains of the same embittered, upwardly-mobile type. Like Carker, he "smiles as if for practice". Like Uriah, he is "angularly made, high-shouldered, bony, and ungraceful". According to his enemy Geoffrey Haredale's account (from which the quote about the hand-licking is taken), Gashford seduced his benefactor's daughter, married her, and then broke her heart "with cruelty and stripes". This is the kind of proceeding both Uriah and Carker would heartily approve of (except for the stripes bit, which is a bit unsubtle when there are more cunning ways of making a girl miserable).
Gashford should, in short, be close to being my ideal baddie. And yet, and yet... He doesn't really come alive. He's more a collection of admirably villainous characteristics than a real character. We never really learn what makes him tick. He's not quite as much of a join-the-dots-villain as Bitzer in Hard Times - once you've made up answers to all the open questions about Bitzer's motivation, chances are you'll have ended up with a completely new character - but all the same, there are mysteries about the way Gashford acts, and not because Dickens means him to be mysterious (like Tulkinghorn), but more, one feels, because Dickens didn't really care that much about him as a human being. Why does Gashford encourage the riots? What has he to gain from them? Why does he hate Haredale so much - is it merely because Haredale humiliates him publicly by denouncing him and striking him down, or has Haredale crossed him in his past (of which he knows so much) as well? Why would Gashford go so far as to try and abduct Haredale's niece Emma, a girl he's most likely never set eyes upon? The author's answer would perhaps be an irritated "Why? Why? Because he's a total bastard!" But that just isn't good enough.
And so, for once, the most enjoyable villain in a Dickens novel is the dandy rather than the social climber. Sir John Chester (Mr Chester until about half-way through the book, but the title suits him) is marvellous fun, and somehow completely different from other Dickensian dandy villains such as Steerforth, Henry Gowan and Harthouse. Yes, Sir John is of high birth, disdainful of those more plebeian than he is and physically lazy, but unlike the often listless gentlemen mentioned above, he keeps his mind active. He has two goals: his own comfort, to be brought about by pimping his son to an heiress, and revenge on Haredale, whom he dislikes (plausibly enough) because he, Sir John, has done Haredale wrong in the past. Sir John pursues these goals with a single-mindedness and cunning that would honour the most diligent bourgeois villain in the Carker mould. And he has great style. Because of the nature of the good characters in Barnaby Rudge and their weakness for moral platitudes, Sir Johns runs rings around them without breaking into a sweat. Haredale's boorishness, Edward Chester's honourable speeches, Gabriel Varden's uprightness - they are all made to look sligthly ridiculous by the worldly and sham-amiable Sir John. When Haredale thunders: "Mark me [...] If any man believes [...] that I , in word or deed, or in the wildest dream, ever entertained remotely the idea of Emma Haredale's favouring the suit of anyone who was akin to you [...] he lies", Sir John responds blithely: "it's extremely manly, and really very generous in you, to meet me in this unreserved and handsome way. Upon my word, those are exactly my sentiments, only expressed with much more force and power than I could use". Try beating the wits of a man who can dress an insult up as praise as well as that. It can't be done - Sir John has to be brought down with violence at the end.
I was going to dwell a little on the likeability of Maypole Hugh - the most sensible rioter you are ever likely to meet, and fond of Barnaby, too - but I see I've already gone on at some length about the Barnaby baddies. Time, I think, for a little lie-down Sir John-style, maybe with a mug of hot chocolate. Too bad I don't have Lord Chesterfield's letters in the house for perusal.
Oooh. He licks hands. And then wounds them. Only methaphorically, but even so! What promising representative of the villain fraternity is this? Answer: Mr Gashford (we never learn his first name), the oily and entirely fictional secretary of Lord George Gordon in Barnaby Rudge. As the quote above suggests, he's a great fawner and manipulates his naive employer effortlessly: one of his tricks is to be "caught out" praising Lord George to himself while supposedly under the impression that the lord was sleeping. He is a hypocrite, who affects mildness while egging the Gordon rioters on, especially his own little band of trusted helpers. Even Maypole Hugh, who is no fool, is taken in by such strategies as Gashford's "nothing" speech, containing gems such as "When one of them was struck down by a daring hand, and I saw confusion and dismay in all their faces, I would have had you do nothing - just what you did, in short". His manner is described by one of his minions as "so awful sly". He foreshadows other Dickensian villains of the same embittered, upwardly-mobile type. Like Carker, he "smiles as if for practice". Like Uriah, he is "angularly made, high-shouldered, bony, and ungraceful". According to his enemy Geoffrey Haredale's account (from which the quote about the hand-licking is taken), Gashford seduced his benefactor's daughter, married her, and then broke her heart "with cruelty and stripes". This is the kind of proceeding both Uriah and Carker would heartily approve of (except for the stripes bit, which is a bit unsubtle when there are more cunning ways of making a girl miserable).
Gashford should, in short, be close to being my ideal baddie. And yet, and yet... He doesn't really come alive. He's more a collection of admirably villainous characteristics than a real character. We never really learn what makes him tick. He's not quite as much of a join-the-dots-villain as Bitzer in Hard Times - once you've made up answers to all the open questions about Bitzer's motivation, chances are you'll have ended up with a completely new character - but all the same, there are mysteries about the way Gashford acts, and not because Dickens means him to be mysterious (like Tulkinghorn), but more, one feels, because Dickens didn't really care that much about him as a human being. Why does Gashford encourage the riots? What has he to gain from them? Why does he hate Haredale so much - is it merely because Haredale humiliates him publicly by denouncing him and striking him down, or has Haredale crossed him in his past (of which he knows so much) as well? Why would Gashford go so far as to try and abduct Haredale's niece Emma, a girl he's most likely never set eyes upon? The author's answer would perhaps be an irritated "Why? Why? Because he's a total bastard!" But that just isn't good enough.
And so, for once, the most enjoyable villain in a Dickens novel is the dandy rather than the social climber. Sir John Chester (Mr Chester until about half-way through the book, but the title suits him) is marvellous fun, and somehow completely different from other Dickensian dandy villains such as Steerforth, Henry Gowan and Harthouse. Yes, Sir John is of high birth, disdainful of those more plebeian than he is and physically lazy, but unlike the often listless gentlemen mentioned above, he keeps his mind active. He has two goals: his own comfort, to be brought about by pimping his son to an heiress, and revenge on Haredale, whom he dislikes (plausibly enough) because he, Sir John, has done Haredale wrong in the past. Sir John pursues these goals with a single-mindedness and cunning that would honour the most diligent bourgeois villain in the Carker mould. And he has great style. Because of the nature of the good characters in Barnaby Rudge and their weakness for moral platitudes, Sir Johns runs rings around them without breaking into a sweat. Haredale's boorishness, Edward Chester's honourable speeches, Gabriel Varden's uprightness - they are all made to look sligthly ridiculous by the worldly and sham-amiable Sir John. When Haredale thunders: "Mark me [...] If any man believes [...] that I , in word or deed, or in the wildest dream, ever entertained remotely the idea of Emma Haredale's favouring the suit of anyone who was akin to you [...] he lies", Sir John responds blithely: "it's extremely manly, and really very generous in you, to meet me in this unreserved and handsome way. Upon my word, those are exactly my sentiments, only expressed with much more force and power than I could use". Try beating the wits of a man who can dress an insult up as praise as well as that. It can't be done - Sir John has to be brought down with violence at the end.
I was going to dwell a little on the likeability of Maypole Hugh - the most sensible rioter you are ever likely to meet, and fond of Barnaby, too - but I see I've already gone on at some length about the Barnaby baddies. Time, I think, for a little lie-down Sir John-style, maybe with a mug of hot chocolate. Too bad I don't have Lord Chesterfield's letters in the house for perusal.
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
Sweet Barnaby (shame about the other good guys)
How very vexing. I've seen the whole series three of Downton Abbey now, but because of Swedish Television's scheduling, my fellow Swedes won't be finished watching it until Christmas - which means, for the sake of loyalty, I'll have to postpone any further blogging about it until after the Christmas special (ages away). Maybe it's just as well - a Downton blog post at this stage would probably just turn into a list of twenty-odd more or less good excuses for rooting for a dolt (sterling acting; O'Brienishly manipulative script; hormonal imbalance on part of villain-loving viewer - that's three already). Come the new year, I may be in a more reasonable state of mind. Or not.
So, moving on to something completely different. For the past weeks, I've been rereading Barnaby Rudge. I thought it moved a bit slowly the first time I read it, and I was interested to see whether I'd matured and gained some patience since last time. The answer is, not really. It's a novel that's big on atmosphere but a bit short on pace. The Gordon Riots, which form the backdrop of the second half of the book, slow things down considerably. The truth is a little of angry-crowd-in-fire-scenes go a very long way with me, especially as Dickens insists on embellishing them with long, semicolon-full sentences. Yes, they contain powerful images, but there is only so much of those you can take in, and anyway I can't say I care that much. I want to get on with the story. After all, if I wanted to read up on the Gordon Riots, I'd probably choose a more trustworthy source that the opinionated Dickens.
All the same, even if you're not really into angry-mob scenes as told by a shocked model citizen, there is much in Barnaby Rudge to enjoy. Barnaby himself is an acquaintance worth making. The Wise Fool is one of my least favourite stock characters normally, but with Barnaby the conceit works because he's not such a fool as all that. He's not "wanting" as people used to say; his wits are over-heated rather than slow. A madman with a surfeit of imagination and a certain instinct for what is right - though it leads him astray more than once - he easily engages the reader's sympathy, not least when he's bravely but wrong-headedly fighting for a misguided cause.
A shame the characters who are in their senses aren't always as compelling. I seem to remember an Amazon review complaining that the villains in Barnaby Rudge weren't really up to Dickens's usual standards. In my view, the villains do their job well enough: it's the good characters, aside from Barnaby, who are the problem. The two young heroes are ciphers, especially Edward Chester (Joe Willet shows a little more spirit, but he's not what you'd call a memorable personality). Edward's love Emma Haredale is just as colourless. Dolly Varden, the other heroine, at least has some humanising flaws - she's a flirty piece - but if you are a woman, and straight, it's hard to share Dickens's cooing admiration of her charms. I felt more than a little sympathy with her mother's latently malevolent (and plain) maid, Miss Miggs, who has no time for her young mistress. Emma's gloomy, hard-done-by uncle Geoffrey Haredale stands out by his uningratiating manners; given that he is such a bear it's not so strange that various villains should take against him (especially as they're of the Dickensian, easily-slighted kind). Barnaby's suffering mother is such a model of hand-wringing selflessness it's almost ridiculous. And don't get me started on the awful John Grueby, staunch British-bulldog servant of the deluded Lord George Gordon. One of my main pleasures when I'm in a how-would-I-adapt-this-novel-for-television fantasising mood and am thinking of Barnaby Rudge is to imagine how I would cut out John Grueby completely from the story.
The main good character besides Barnaby, Gabriel Varden, is one of two examples in the book of a tried and tested Dickensian recipe for a character not working out quite as well as it usually does. Varden shares many characteristics with famous good Dickens characters such as Mr Pickwick. He is good-natured; he is generous; he is quick to forgive; he likes to spread good cheer wherever he goes. The phrase P.G. Wodehouse used about Dickensian characters - "yeasty benevolence" - springs to mind. And yet somehow he doesn't quite "take". I couldn't warm to him, and yes, I do warm occasionally to good characters in Dickens as well as the bad ones. Part of the problem is Varden's role in the story. The tale of how a locksmith refused to help the rioting crowd pick the lock to Newgate was what inspired Dickens to the idea of Barnaby Rudge in the first place; the trouble is, once we get to the Newgate bit, we want the prison to be taken. Why, Barnaby's in there! Gabriel Varden's refusal to comply with the mob's demands doesn't inspire the thrill of admiration for his courage which it's probably supposed to.
The other character who follows a Dickensian recipe but isn't a whole-hearted success is Gashford, a typical fawning Dickens villain on the make who somehow does not attain the dizzying heights of Uriah or Carker. But more of him and the other Barnaby Rudge villains some other time.
So, moving on to something completely different. For the past weeks, I've been rereading Barnaby Rudge. I thought it moved a bit slowly the first time I read it, and I was interested to see whether I'd matured and gained some patience since last time. The answer is, not really. It's a novel that's big on atmosphere but a bit short on pace. The Gordon Riots, which form the backdrop of the second half of the book, slow things down considerably. The truth is a little of angry-crowd-in-fire-scenes go a very long way with me, especially as Dickens insists on embellishing them with long, semicolon-full sentences. Yes, they contain powerful images, but there is only so much of those you can take in, and anyway I can't say I care that much. I want to get on with the story. After all, if I wanted to read up on the Gordon Riots, I'd probably choose a more trustworthy source that the opinionated Dickens.
All the same, even if you're not really into angry-mob scenes as told by a shocked model citizen, there is much in Barnaby Rudge to enjoy. Barnaby himself is an acquaintance worth making. The Wise Fool is one of my least favourite stock characters normally, but with Barnaby the conceit works because he's not such a fool as all that. He's not "wanting" as people used to say; his wits are over-heated rather than slow. A madman with a surfeit of imagination and a certain instinct for what is right - though it leads him astray more than once - he easily engages the reader's sympathy, not least when he's bravely but wrong-headedly fighting for a misguided cause.
A shame the characters who are in their senses aren't always as compelling. I seem to remember an Amazon review complaining that the villains in Barnaby Rudge weren't really up to Dickens's usual standards. In my view, the villains do their job well enough: it's the good characters, aside from Barnaby, who are the problem. The two young heroes are ciphers, especially Edward Chester (Joe Willet shows a little more spirit, but he's not what you'd call a memorable personality). Edward's love Emma Haredale is just as colourless. Dolly Varden, the other heroine, at least has some humanising flaws - she's a flirty piece - but if you are a woman, and straight, it's hard to share Dickens's cooing admiration of her charms. I felt more than a little sympathy with her mother's latently malevolent (and plain) maid, Miss Miggs, who has no time for her young mistress. Emma's gloomy, hard-done-by uncle Geoffrey Haredale stands out by his uningratiating manners; given that he is such a bear it's not so strange that various villains should take against him (especially as they're of the Dickensian, easily-slighted kind). Barnaby's suffering mother is such a model of hand-wringing selflessness it's almost ridiculous. And don't get me started on the awful John Grueby, staunch British-bulldog servant of the deluded Lord George Gordon. One of my main pleasures when I'm in a how-would-I-adapt-this-novel-for-television fantasising mood and am thinking of Barnaby Rudge is to imagine how I would cut out John Grueby completely from the story.
The main good character besides Barnaby, Gabriel Varden, is one of two examples in the book of a tried and tested Dickensian recipe for a character not working out quite as well as it usually does. Varden shares many characteristics with famous good Dickens characters such as Mr Pickwick. He is good-natured; he is generous; he is quick to forgive; he likes to spread good cheer wherever he goes. The phrase P.G. Wodehouse used about Dickensian characters - "yeasty benevolence" - springs to mind. And yet somehow he doesn't quite "take". I couldn't warm to him, and yes, I do warm occasionally to good characters in Dickens as well as the bad ones. Part of the problem is Varden's role in the story. The tale of how a locksmith refused to help the rioting crowd pick the lock to Newgate was what inspired Dickens to the idea of Barnaby Rudge in the first place; the trouble is, once we get to the Newgate bit, we want the prison to be taken. Why, Barnaby's in there! Gabriel Varden's refusal to comply with the mob's demands doesn't inspire the thrill of admiration for his courage which it's probably supposed to.
The other character who follows a Dickensian recipe but isn't a whole-hearted success is Gashford, a typical fawning Dickens villain on the make who somehow does not attain the dizzying heights of Uriah or Carker. But more of him and the other Barnaby Rudge villains some other time.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
Tom, Tom, turn around - you can't beat O'Brien
All right, so it's not the most shocking or sad thing to happen in the third series of Downton Abbey. However, I admit that I'm still grieving for the demise of the Old Villain Alliance. Miss O'Brien the spiteful lady's maid and Thomas the wicked valet (formerly footman) have fallen out.
As I've purchased the DVDs, I have been able to cheat and watch ahead of other Swedish fans of Downton. I'm now on episode five while Swedish Television are showing episode three this weekend. I'll be a little careful with spoilers, if not overmuch.
The baddie falling-out already started in episode one, though. Poor old Thomas. Like Errol Flynn (according to a famous quote), you know where you are with him: he lets you down every time. I like the idea of a villainous footman/valet so much that I've always been inclined to cut Thomas a lot more slack than he deserves. But he is an idiot. If you think he could not possibly do anything stupider than not checking the goods he plans to sell as a war racketeer before sinking all of his savings in them, think again. Suddenly, he picks a quarrel with O'Brien, and for what? Because she brings in her nephew to the household as footman and wants him to advance to the position as valet eventually. Thomas is miffed because it took two whole series for him to become a valet proper, and he doesn't want anyone else to manage the jump in just one episode. Is that a good reason to antagonise someone who has been a good friend, and is known to make a formidable enemy? No, I should think not indeed.
Clearly, Fellowes couldn't resist the temptation of manufacturing a quarrel between his two head villains so they can tear each other's throats out. I wish he had resisted. A villain alliance that stands the test of time is a rare and beautiful thing, and I really enjoyed this one, as I've commented on before. What's more, it's an uneven fight. There is absolutely no contest: of course Miss O'Brien is going to win. She was the brains in the Downton villain club from the start, while Thomas followed her orders and quite often messed them up. He is officially toast. Not that he needs O'Brien to get into trouble. I can see the new Thomas Catastrophe on the horizon already, and it ain't gonna be pretty. One can always hope that the accident-prone Tom realises the pickle he's in, gets down on all fours and grovels to O'Brien before it's too late. But I'm not betting on it.
Things aren't helped by the fact that the cause of the unrest - O'Brien's nephew Alfred - is such a clod, the point of whom I still struggle to see. I think Fellowes is trying to set him up as a goodie, but the only worthwhile thing he has done so far is to say a nice thing about Edith at a time when it mattered. He spends most of his time flirting with a pretty new kitchen maid while being oblivious to the obviously yearning Daisy. Somehow, I don't think that will win him many viewers' hearts.
Otherwise, Downton delivers its usual pleasant mix of intrigues up- and downstairs. There are a few mysteries. For instance, why is everyone of the opinion that Sir Anthony Strallan is "too old" for Edith? One, as she herself points out, there aren't that many young fellows left after the war; two, in the first series the Granthams were quite happy at the prospect of marrying off any one of their daughters to Strallan (well, maybe not Sybil); three, he's not that old, is he? He's played by sweet-seeming Robert Bathurst, who was the yuppie in Cold Feet. What, are Helen Baxendale, James Nesbitt and Hermione Norris thought of as ancient too, now? And what happened to the threat of Sir Richard Carlisle? Did he decide not to print the scandalous story about Mary, and in that case, shouldn't someone mention it and give him some credit for his decision?
Well, Downton wouldn't be Downton if you couldn't pick holes in it. It's a pity though, to come back to the theme of villainy, that dastardly plans in Downton tend to be so - well, petty. The corrupt screw and drug-dealing prisoner who are harassing Mr Bates are no better than the baddie servants in this regard. Say what you like about dour Sir Richard, he was at least an adult. He didn't hide his Lordship's shirts, and had he been caught out in a drug racket he wouldn't whine "it's all his doing" about a burly innocent he'd been trying to frame. Come back, Carlisle, all is forgiven.
As I've purchased the DVDs, I have been able to cheat and watch ahead of other Swedish fans of Downton. I'm now on episode five while Swedish Television are showing episode three this weekend. I'll be a little careful with spoilers, if not overmuch.
The baddie falling-out already started in episode one, though. Poor old Thomas. Like Errol Flynn (according to a famous quote), you know where you are with him: he lets you down every time. I like the idea of a villainous footman/valet so much that I've always been inclined to cut Thomas a lot more slack than he deserves. But he is an idiot. If you think he could not possibly do anything stupider than not checking the goods he plans to sell as a war racketeer before sinking all of his savings in them, think again. Suddenly, he picks a quarrel with O'Brien, and for what? Because she brings in her nephew to the household as footman and wants him to advance to the position as valet eventually. Thomas is miffed because it took two whole series for him to become a valet proper, and he doesn't want anyone else to manage the jump in just one episode. Is that a good reason to antagonise someone who has been a good friend, and is known to make a formidable enemy? No, I should think not indeed.
Clearly, Fellowes couldn't resist the temptation of manufacturing a quarrel between his two head villains so they can tear each other's throats out. I wish he had resisted. A villain alliance that stands the test of time is a rare and beautiful thing, and I really enjoyed this one, as I've commented on before. What's more, it's an uneven fight. There is absolutely no contest: of course Miss O'Brien is going to win. She was the brains in the Downton villain club from the start, while Thomas followed her orders and quite often messed them up. He is officially toast. Not that he needs O'Brien to get into trouble. I can see the new Thomas Catastrophe on the horizon already, and it ain't gonna be pretty. One can always hope that the accident-prone Tom realises the pickle he's in, gets down on all fours and grovels to O'Brien before it's too late. But I'm not betting on it.
Things aren't helped by the fact that the cause of the unrest - O'Brien's nephew Alfred - is such a clod, the point of whom I still struggle to see. I think Fellowes is trying to set him up as a goodie, but the only worthwhile thing he has done so far is to say a nice thing about Edith at a time when it mattered. He spends most of his time flirting with a pretty new kitchen maid while being oblivious to the obviously yearning Daisy. Somehow, I don't think that will win him many viewers' hearts.
Otherwise, Downton delivers its usual pleasant mix of intrigues up- and downstairs. There are a few mysteries. For instance, why is everyone of the opinion that Sir Anthony Strallan is "too old" for Edith? One, as she herself points out, there aren't that many young fellows left after the war; two, in the first series the Granthams were quite happy at the prospect of marrying off any one of their daughters to Strallan (well, maybe not Sybil); three, he's not that old, is he? He's played by sweet-seeming Robert Bathurst, who was the yuppie in Cold Feet. What, are Helen Baxendale, James Nesbitt and Hermione Norris thought of as ancient too, now? And what happened to the threat of Sir Richard Carlisle? Did he decide not to print the scandalous story about Mary, and in that case, shouldn't someone mention it and give him some credit for his decision?
Well, Downton wouldn't be Downton if you couldn't pick holes in it. It's a pity though, to come back to the theme of villainy, that dastardly plans in Downton tend to be so - well, petty. The corrupt screw and drug-dealing prisoner who are harassing Mr Bates are no better than the baddie servants in this regard. Say what you like about dour Sir Richard, he was at least an adult. He didn't hide his Lordship's shirts, and had he been caught out in a drug racket he wouldn't whine "it's all his doing" about a burly innocent he'd been trying to frame. Come back, Carlisle, all is forgiven.
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