The Hunger Games trilogy: more than the average young adult "brain candy"

This blog is a place for classic literature only. Austen, Keats, Gaskell, Dickens, and the like, are my favorite topics. Having finished my first semester of Mass Communications graduate courses, I decided to pick up something popular and easy to read, putting down War and Peace just for a little while (shame on me, I know...I don't know when I'll ever finish that novel). I decided to read The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins. A friend of mine--a lover of classic literature who has not read the trilogy--called the series "brain candy," or something fun, something easy, something that doesn't make you think too hard, something that really doesn't matter as far as what books you've read. I had the same sentiment about the books before I began reading them.

I had already seen The Hunger Games movie. I enjoyed the movie, and I thought that the plot was inventive and clever, but to me, it was just another trendy movie with dazzling young stars and great special effects. Admittedly, because of its unique plot, the movie did make me curious about the books. Before I gave the series too much credit, though, I remembered that The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay are contemporary young adult books, which made me so smugly ask myself, how profound and deep could they be? Granted, I love the Harry Potter books, and as intense as The Deathly Hallows is, the darkness and the light balance out well, and one can read the books with a reinforced idea of what is right and wrong, rather than making one question and decide what's right and wrong, which conveys less profundity than the moral issues presented in great works like Anna Karenina. To me, a lover of literature, and admittedly, a literature snob, any novel dubbed as "young adult" automatically has been branded as "brain candy" and something that marketers will do their damnedest to water down and make cool so they can make a profit. However, Collins' Hunger Games trilogy made me seriously question my generalization of contemporary young adult novels.

The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay all embody themes that are important for not just young people but for all people to delve into. The series brings the reader into a futuristic world that has been turned upside down by rampant social injustice, twisted politics, and an overall deficit of human compassion, empathy, and authenticity. The fact that the novels are futuristic is what gives them their surprising depth. When the horrors of the future are displayed so well, so clearly, one cannot help but wonder, "Could this happen to us?" The ridiculousness, the horror, and the shock of how some of the characters are might make the reader automatically dismiss the ideas presented by Collins as pertinent to our world, but on the other hand, the very worst characteristics of Collins' characters are disturbingly realistic. The haunting images, horrible circumstances, and absolute human evil in the series evoked the same sort of emotions and questions that Brave New World stirred within me. Collins does counter the dishonorable with the noble, much like Rowling in the Harry Potter series, so the story is not all bleak. However, countering the bad with the good takes incredible strength from her characters, who sometimes deviate from what is considered good or lose their lives because they have done what is good. The world of the series is a world of gray, not black and white, and Katniss Everdeen, the main character, must make sense of this world by searching deep within herself, her friends, and her family, and fighting for what she believes is right, which, in a world of gray, is complicated.

"Brain candy" may apply to some young adult books and of course, some adult books as well, but The Hunger Games, Catching Fire, and Mockingjay do not fit into this category. I recommend these books to both teens and adults alike. Reading these books can help readers of any age to rethink media ethics, war, politics, and overall, what we consider true entertainment.

Anton Chekhov: Analyzing Values in Objectivism

As I reminisced on my love of Russian literature, I decided to pick up my book of short stories by Anton Chekhov. I did not read any of his work in any of my literature courses during high school or undergrad, but then again, I didn’t read any Russian works for academic purposes. My love of Russian literature began when, on a whim, I bought Anna Karenina and read it over a summer. I admittedly bought Ward No. 6 and Other Stories shortly after I first read Tolstoy’s masterpiece a few years ago. I wish I would have picked up Chekhov’s works earlier because I enjoy his unique writing style. I recently found time to read and think on one short story, “The Cook’s Wedding.”

*Spoiler* Since this story is so short and I feel, cannot be appropriately analyzed without revealing the end, I suggest reading the story at the link above (or in a book, if you have it handy) before reading the rest of this post.

“The Cook’s Wedding,” appropriately titled, tells the story of how a cook for an upper class household came to be married in an obstinately un-didactic and purely objective manner, which is Chekhov’s trademark style. The cook, Pelageya, is introduced to a man by the house’s nurse and is coerced into marrying him, although she does not know him and repeatedly objects to being matched in this way. The man, a cabman who claims to make a well enough living, is more than willing to go on with the marriage. At the beginning of the story, it’s hard to imagine why, as the reader knows that he has just met Pelageya and the only way we may look into his character is through dialogue and by a description of his appearance: “a big, thick-set, red-haired peasant, with a beard, and a drop of perspiration on his nose.” But what helps the reader to grow a distinctive judgment and distrust of the man is the reaction of one of the story’s main characters, Grisha, the son of the cook’s employers and “a fat, solemn little person of seven.”

Grisha observes many of the scenes in the story, and from the beginning, he distrusts the cabman. Even the way the cabman was “crunching sugar” while drinking his tea “sent a shiver down Grisha’s back.” Of course, Grisha does not say anything to his mother or to the cook about how he does not like the cabman, although Chekhov reveals Grisha’s, and only Grisha’s, inner thoughts throughout the story concerning the upcoming wedding of the cook’s. His first thought about the cabman is, coming from a seven-year-old, quite cute, but coming as the only character whose thoughts are revealed in the story, powerful:

“‘The cook’s going to be married,’ he thought. ‘Strange--I don’t understand what people get married for. Mamma was married to papa, Cousin Verotchka to Pavel Andreyitch. But one might be married to papa and Pavel Andreyitch after all: they have gold watch-chains and nice suits, their boots are always polished; but to marry that dreadful cabman with a red nose and felt boots...Fi! And why is it nurse wants poor Pelageya to be married?’”

Through the whole of the story, the reader wonders this same question, “Why is this marriage being arranged, especially since the cook seems to be against it?” As the story progresses, the nurse and even the mistress of the house assure Pelageya that the cabman is a good match for her. The nurse assures Pelageya that she has been setting her standards too high, that she was a “shameless hussy” and “never tired of making eyes” at one of the mistress’ children’s tutors. The only person who objects to the marriage, besides Grisha, is Grisha’s papa, who asks his wife,

“‘What do you want to be getting them all married for? What business is it of yours? Let them get married of themselves if they want to.”

Grisha, who overhears all the pivotal moments in the story, heard the nurse persuading Pelageya about the cabman late into the night, and “the cook alternately sobbed and giggled.” The giggling indicates that Pelageya is eventually giving in to the matchmaking. At this statement, I thought that perhaps the match was all right. Maybe Grisha just couldn’t comprehend it all and perhaps his papa was unfeeling. When Pelageya was still refusing to marry the cabman, her mistress reminds her that if she marries, she will not let Pelageya live outside of the house and the cabman may not live at the house. I had to read this bit of information again, as first, I really wondered if all mistresses were like this, and secondly, how could she be so persuasive in such an unconventional, joyless marriage?

The wedding takes place in the kitchen, and Pelageya seems giddy at wearing a new dress and finally approaching her “big day,” but she cries as the informal and quick ceremony is commencing. Grisha, of course, overhears the crying and wonders why his parents are not taking her away from all this. After the wedding, a small celebration takes place, and the next morning, the cabman speaks to the mistress, “glancing sternly at Pelageya,”

“‘Will you look after her, madam? Be a father and a mother to her. And you, too, Aksinya Stepanovna [nurse], do not forsake her, see that everything is as it should be...without any nonsense...And also, madam, if you would kindly advance me five roubles of her wages. I have got to buy a new horse-collar.’”

All is revealed.

As per usual, no one sees the injustice of what has happened besides Grisha, who “longed passionately, almost to tears, to comfort this victim.” Instead, he reverts to a solution that speaks volumes of his childhood innocence: he finds the best-looking apple in the house’s storeroom, sneaks into the kitchen, puts it in Pelageya’s hand, and then runs away.

How extraordinary that so much is revealed about social hierarchy, gender oppression, and the truth found in innocence in a single, somewhat brief event written mostly through dialogue and superficial observation. These characters may each be analyzed quite deeply just by their few actions and words in what is essentially just a fraction, a mere photograph, of the characters’ lives. Well, all of the characters except for Grisha, since his thoughts revealed in the story reveal that his character is not complex but simply embodies ideal traits: straightforwardness, untainted reasoning, and true compassion.

To describe the other characters, though, would be to use more words, more sentences, more analysis. Let’s take the poor cook, Pelageya. Pelageya seems to be a relatively young woman whose will is unabashedly manipulated by the mistress and the nurse. She is weak, although the reader can’t help but feel sympathy for her. One wonders what the nurse may have said to her when they had a late-night talk. And one wonders if anything became of her “making eyes” at the mistress’ child’s tutor. Was Pelageya shouldering guilt? Did she carry on an elicit relationship with the tutor or any other men, or did she simply flirt too much for the mistress’ liking?

And speaking of the mistress, I believe that she is the sole manipulator of them all. Even though the nurse does much of the talking to Pelageya, the mistress seemed to orchestrate the whole match. The reader can see that she’s playing matchmaker by the protests of her husband and by the simple fact that she does nothing to comfort Pelageya when she is so obviously upset. The mistress even complains of the servants having a celebration after the wedding because the nurse smells like vodka and because simple kitchen chores are not done. The mistress seems the cruelest of all, even compared to the cabman, because she has absolutely no value for human beings “below her station.” The servants are all her dolls, and she is playing house.

We could take apart the cabman and the nurse as well. In truth, they were pawns of the mistress’. They made her plan come to life, whether it was to completely diminish the spirit of Pelageya or to simply play matchmaker for lives she deemed as not as important as her own. The cabman is selfish, brutish, and as Grisha rightly perceives from the beginning, devious. He says in the beginning of his story that his wages in his occupation will suffice for two, and yet, it is revealed at the end of the story that he instead will be taking Pelageya’s wages for himself and only himself, since after all, the newlyweds are not allowed to live together. He willingly participated in the match for a few roubles. Unlike what I’ve seen in Tolstoy, the virtues of the peasant are certainly not revered in this story. And of course, we have the nurse, who is of low moral character as well. One wonders what her motive was in taking part in the match? Was it to gain favor with her mistress? Was she bribed in some way?

Chekhov is ultimately showing the uneven distribution of power in the wealthy household. The mistress holds the power and allows the selfish and greedy to make gains while the poor, the weak, and those viewed as small (low in status or young, like Grisha) are granted no self-governance and no benefits. Grisha and Pelageya are the only ones who know the situation is wrong, and yet, neither of them are heard in their protests. Pelageya, of course, is ignored throughout the whole story. Grisha, being a child, is not expected to know anything and therefore is silenced before he may even speak.

Another extraordinary aspect of this story is that analysis is purely subjective, since the writing is objective and therefore reading it forces one to form one’s own interpretation of the situation. So what screams out to me in the story may not be so apparent to others. Some readers may find Pelageya completely at fault for her weakness and the mistress to be simply ignorant and indifferent towards the match of the cook and cabman. Maybe the mistress, still unfeeling, just doesn’t care what they do as long as they still work in her house? Perhaps the old nurse is the main player in the injustice simply because she has it out for the young cook? The story is a report from a “fly on the wall” and may be interpreted many ways.

Though Chekhov is best known as a playwright, his objective short-story writing style was quite revolutionary. Like Keats, Chekhov pursued the medical profession before he seriously focused on writing. He was noted to call medicine his "lawful wife" and writing his "mistress." Also like Keats, Chekhov lived a short life, though not quite as brief as Keats, and established himself as a prominent literary figure in a brief period of time. I encourage you to read more about him here.

Mary Barton: more social lessons and good storytelling from Mrs. Gaskell

After reading Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South and enjoying it immensely, I made a goal to read all of her novels. Of course, I decided to start at the beginning of her writings, so I picked up Mary Barton. While I have to say that I did not like it as much as North and South, I still found a good amount of enjoyment and lessons on social issues in the novel.

The novel tells the story of the title character, a girl living in poverty in the mill city Manchester. Her father is a mill worker, and her mother passes early on in the novel. The story tells of the hardships of the Bartons, with particular emphasis on Mary's struggles with vanity and selfishness. After Mary's mother dies, she and her father, John, encounter hardships that take much comfort and peace out of their existence. After a mill fire, John is unable to find work, and as a result, Mary's brother, a young boy, dies from "clemming," or starvation. The plot follows the struggles of the Bartons as well as their neighbors. One of the most heartbreaking struggles is that of the Davenports', who, due to the father not being able to find work, must live in a low-cost, dank, dirty cellar. Gaskell describes the scene in her usual frankness but with a delicateness that is characteristic of Victorian literature:

"It was unpaved: and down the middle a gutter forced its way, every now and then forming pools in the holes with which the street abounded. Never was the old Edinburgh cry of Gardez l'eau!** more necessary than in this street. As they passed, women from their doors tossed household slops of every description into the gutter; they ran into the next pool, which overflowed and stagnated. Heaps of ashes were the stepping-stones, on which the passer-by, who cared in the least for cleanliness took care not to put his foot...You went down one step even from the foul area into the cellar in which a family of human beings lived. It was very dark inside. The window-panes, many of them, were broken and stuffed with rags, which was reason enough for the dusky light that pervaded the place even at midday. After the account I have given of the state of the street, no one can be surprised that on going into the cellar inhabited by Davenport, the smell was so foetid as almost to knock the two men down. Quickly recovering themselves, as those inured to such things do, they began to penetrate the thick darkness of the place, and to see three or four little children rolling on the damp, nay wet brick floor, through which the stagnant, filthy moisture of the street oozed up; the fire-place was empty and black; the wife sat on her husband's lair, and cried in dark loneliness." ~Chapter 6

**literal translation: "Watch out for water!" This term was used in the Middle Ages in England to warn pedestrians to be careful of human waste, which was thrown from chamber pots out of windows and onto the streets.

To read this text truly wrung my heart because I know that Gaskell's descriptions come from what she saw and experienced in Manchester. Everything is black, wet, empty, almost as though the family is drowning in the pool of filth in which they reside. The last image of the children rolling on the wet floor, probably because they are hungry and trying to quell their aching for food, and the mother crying is a rather poignant one. It further shows that they are hopeless, helpless, reduced to living in the dark. It's interesting that Gaskell used the medieval reference, Gardez l'ieu!, in the text. It's as though she wanted her readers to realize that the idea of human waste in the streets is in fact a medieval idea and that those part of the progress of the Industrial Revolution should realize that the time for people to live in this animal-like manner should be long past. Alas, it was not.

Among the other hardships of the characters in Mary Barton are the absolutely heart-wrenching death of the Wilsons' very young (probably about six or seven years old) twin boys; the loss of sight, hearing and eventual stroke of Alice, a near relative of the Wilsons'; John Barton's gradual addiction to opiates and embittered state of mind; the blindness of Margaret, Mary's closest friend; and the general downfall of Mary's aunt, Esther, who runs away with a sailor, suffers through the death of her only child and becomes a ragged, wretched, alcoholic prostitute. Gaskell was indeed very graphic in the difficulties of her impoverished characters, and I'm sure this was the best way to stir her more affluent readers into action or at least into deeper thought of the lives of the poor.

The heroine, Mary Barton, is always effected in some way by all the hardships of the characters, which makes Gaskell a good weaver of relationships and relevance. As the tragedies of the people around her are laced into Mary's individual story, the reader will see Mary grow and change, eventually becoming a selfless, humble, sincere young woman. She is a character who, at first, is silly and materialistic and determined to live a life of comfort with the brash casanova, Harry Carson. She eventually learns that a life of comfort is not comfortable at all without love and regrets her refusal of the honest, hard-working Jem Wilson, who has dedicatedly loved her since they were children. From the moment she realizes the fact, which is--quite awkardly I have to say--very sudden, she sets out to make things right, only to see everything go wrong. It is at this point that the plot quickens and becomes engrossing. Murder, mystery, adventure: these words succintly describe the plot, which I will not reveal to you and spoil. However, this excitement in the story does not begin until about halfway through the book, so the novel does require some patience. Don't worry, though, I didn't lose patience (and some interest) like I did in Little Dorrit.

On the whole, I do recommend this novel. Though the plot is slow to pick up, Mary Barton presents a vivid and realistic description of the suffering of the poor, a page-turning adventure and memorable characters. Gaskell evens adds a touch of comedy and lightheartedness, so the novel is not so much a "heavy" read. The book is overall enjoyable, and it provides a great look into poverty during the Industrial Revolution. However, if you read Mary Barton, be sure to read North and South as well, as I think that this novel, written a few years after Mary Barton, shows a more developed Gaskell style.

Many writers during the Realist and Romantic movements questioned the changes that resulted from the Revolution and asked their readers whether these changes were a step forward or a step backward for humanity. If you would like to read up on the Industrial Revolution for some background, it's on Wikipedia here. Of course, you will not find in-depth information from this link. But for those who would simply like to know a little more, I think it suffices for quick reference and a good starting point for learning about this interesting era in history.

A Review of Dickens' Little Dorrit

Charles Dickens is one of my favorite authors. His masterful intertwining of subplots, delightful sense of humor, eccentric characters and sincere social advocacy make his novels moving, thought-provoking and enjoyable. I've read a few of his novels, some of which are in included in my top favorites while others, though not making that list, still proved worthwhile to read. One of the novels that didn't quite make it to my top list was Little Dorrit.

Before I read Little Dorrit, I picked up David Copperfield and Oliver Twist, two novels that are, in the usual Dickens style, lengthy but full of surprises and turns that kept my attention. Little Dorrit, though the writing is wonderfully descriptive and the imagery magnificent, did not have the same effect on me when I read it. In fact, I found myself putting the novel down for longer periods of time and wishing I could move on sooner than later. I appreciate Dickens' style enough to be patient with him. I know that his plots do not unfold quickly and that you've got to stop and notice the details when reading his work. But I found that I lost some of that patience with Little Dorrit, and the book did not finish in a manner that gave me the usual satisfaction at the end of his novels.

The primary focus of Little Dorrit is the title character, her family and their lives in the Marshalsea debtors' prison. One thing that I admired in the novel was how Dickens put together all the elements of the prison. The towering, clanging gates. The scant housing. The always busy prison pub. The animated inhabitants and turnkeys. He painted a perfect picture of the prison, and I felt sympathetic to Amy Dorrit and the other members of the community who were forced to live a life cut off from society simply because they were poor. Everything Dickens wrote about the prison seemed genuine and unexaggerated. He presented the situation as it was, probably drawing on much of his memory of the place from his childhood, and I loved how real it all seemed not simply by the description but by the apparent heart in the writing. This is one example of just a brief description of the homes when Arthur Clennam visits the prison for the first time:

The night was dark; and the prison lamps in the yard, and the candles in the prison windows faintly shining behind many sorts of wry old curtain and blind, had not the air of making it lighter. A few people loitered about, but the greater part of the population was within doors. The old man taking the right-hand side of the yard, turned in at the third or fourth doorway, and began to ascend the stairs. "They are rather dark, sir, but you will not find anything in the way." (Chapter 8, Book the First: Poverty)

While I liked the primary plot and focus of the novel, which revolved around Amy Dorrit and Arthur Clennam and the Dorrits' time at the Marshalsea, I cannot say that I enjoyed the subplots of the novel nearly as much. True, the characters were intertwined and played some part in each other's lives, but when reading the novel, I wanted to skip through the more intricate details about these characters. The story of the embittered Miss Wade luring Tattycorum away from the Meagles family was one that lost my interest early on. I honestly did not care enough about Miss Wade, the attention-seeking Tattycorum, or the Meagles, who all seemed so one-dimensionally cheerful and optimistic that they were hardly believable or interesting. How and why the intelligent, caring and socially aware Arthur Clennam would fall in love with the sugary sweet, naive, exceedingly dull and simple "Pet" (the Meagles' affectionately nicknamed daughter) was beyond my comprehension.

Another character that I felt did not meet the usual Dickens standard was Monsieur Rigaud, the novel's villain. Rigaud was a murderer, escaped from prison and seeking to simply make money and wreck havoc. He tells others that his name is Blandois and adopts a new persona to fool the other characters. In fact, he often has soliliquies in which he proclaims his great character:

"You shall win, however the game goes. The shall all confess your merit, Blandois. You shall subdue the society which has greivously wronged you, to your own high spirit. Death of my soul. You are high-spirited by right and by nature, Blandois!" (chapter 30, Book the First: Poverty)

These soliquies become tiring and unoriginal. Also, per the quote above, nowhere in the text is the explanation of how the world has "greivously wronged" Rigaud. Even his reasoning behind the blackmail of Mrs. Clennam is strictly money-driven. Dickens seemed to try too hard to make him mysterious by making his character, even moreso than the Meagles family, very one-dimensional. He was more of an annoyance to me than a person I wanted to keep knowing about or seeing in the story. His villainy seemed trite compared to that of Dickens' other antagonists, like Bill Sikes and Fagin in Oliver Twist, Mr. Murdstone and Uriah Heep in David Copperfield, or Ralph Nickelby and Wackford Speers in Nicholas Nickelby. Dickens' other antagonists had more depth of character, in that their motives were clearer.

Even though some of the characters in the novel were not as interesting and vibrant as Dickens' earlier characters, I read on. Two characters that actually made me laugh out loud were Flora Finching and the woman only referred to as Mr. F's Aunt. Flora, Arthur Clennam's former fiancee, is silly, flighty and always tightly wound, especially when Arthur is around. Her long bouts of dialogue in the novel have sparse commas, which was a brilliant touch on Dickens' part. Her hurried, rambling, usually off-topic words tell of her flightiness and marvelously add to the comedy of her character. Below is a bit of dialogue from Flora, in which she is commenting on a room in the dank house belonging to Mrs. Clennam, at least at first:

"Ah dear me the poor old room," said Flora, glancing round, "looks just as ever Mrs. Clennam I am touched to see except for being smokier which was to be expected with time and which we must all expect and reconcile to ourselves to being whether we like it or not as I am sure I have had to do myself if not exactly smokier dreadfully stouter which is the same or worse, to think of the days when papa used to bring me here the least of girls a perfect mass of chilblains to be stuck upon a chair with my feet on rails and stare at Arthur--pray excuse me--Mr. Clennam--the least of boys in the frightfullest of frills and jackets ere yet Mr. F appeared a misty shadow on the horizon paying attentions like the well-known spectre of some place in Germany beginning with a B is a moral lesson inculcating that all the paths in life are similar to the paths down in the North of England where they get the coals and make the iron and things gravelled with ashes!" (Chapter 23, Book the Second: Riches)

Quite the opposite of Flora, the elderly Mr. F's Aunt is a solemn character, though ever so comically due to her senility and feisty, brief commands that have no reason behind them. Mr. F's Aunt is left to Flora by the death of her husband Mr. Finching, and pairing the two was a genius move by Dickens. Mr. F's Aunt is described as having the same hard expression on her face and a crooked wig upon her head. For reasons completely unknown, she despises Arthur, and often glares at him and makes threatening comments to him. My favorite comments from this "respectable gentelwoman," as Dickens calls her at one point, remain "Bring him for'ard, and I'll chuck him out o' winder!" and "He has a proud stomach, this chap! Give him a meal of chaff!" The latter comment, and an increased animosity, came from Mr. F's Aunt when Arthur only stared at the woman when she told him simply, "Take that," holding out to him the crusts of the toast she had just eaten during tea. At the woman's one-line outbursts to Arthur, Flora attempts to calm her but never succeeds, which never makes Flora angry or even irritated with the woman. Indeed, she acts as though Mr. F's Aunt's behavior is quite commonplace.

While Little Dorrit has some interesting characters, the characters do little to help strengthen the major theme and overall plot, which is a bit weak. The ultimate message of the rags to riches story is that "money doesn't buy happiness," which is a good theme to explore, but after I completed Little Dorrit, I felt that this theme was quite beaten into me. And I won't give away the ending so as not to spoil anything, but I will say that the conclusion is a bit predictable and the demise of Rigaud is, well, for lack of a better word, befuddling. I appreciated Dickens' satire on the British government, the "Circumlocution Office," but not having much background knowledge on the British government of the mid-nineteenth century, I did not fully understand it. I'm sure that this added to some of my frustration with the plot.

The plot did have some unexpected twists, but I felt that the predictablity of the story outweighed the surprises. Parts of the book felt too long, even for Dickens. I particularly felt strongly about this with the Meagles/Tattycorum situation as well as the Dorrits' tour of Europe. Up until the end of their tour, the story seemed repetitive: Amy Dorrit is sad, William Dorrit is pompous, Fanny Dorrit is selfish, Tip Dorrit is vain, Frederick Dorrit is complacent. These were issues seen in the Dorrits' poverty, and perhaps Dickens was trying to make a point that having money did not improve these characters. Still, as a reader, I like to see change and evolution in characters. I will say that Arthur Clennam underwent genuine changes and evolution in persona, which I commend, but I wish I could have seen that in the other characters.

Overall, I would not recommend this novel to anyone who is not seriously devoted to Dickens. First time readers of Dickens should definitely not pick up this novel before any others. As a lover of Dickens' work, I can move on from what I've disliked in Little Dorrit and still look forward to reading his other novels.

To first time readers of Dickens, I would recommend starting with his early works and then moving on to his later works, as Dickens' style evolved as he grew older. Here is a list of Dickens' novels in chronological order. Some biography and analysis of the author's writing style is also included on the site, which may be of interest to both novices and seasoned veterans of Dickens.

A Discussion on Tom Bombadil

As an ardent fan of the Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit, I'm always excited to read anything more I can find by Tolkien. The Silmarillion is on my reading list (you will undoubtedly read a post about this book eventually), but being in the middle of Gaskell's Mary Barton, I decided to pick up a work by Tolkien that is not as lengthy. Thus, today's focus is The Adventures of Tom Bombadil.

The Adventures of Tom Bombadil is a series of seventeen poems, all legends compiled by hobbits. These poems, all rich in detail and beautiful in language in the true Tolkien style, tell fun, imaginative stories and fables. While all of the poems have great merit and are, quite simply, a lot fun to read, I'm going to limit the focus of this post to the two poems specifically about Tom Bombadil.

As Tom Bombadil is one of my favorite characters in the Lord of the Rings trilogy, I was excited to read more about him in the poems. However, the poems do not tell anything about Tom Bombadil's history or lineage, so the reader should not expect to really learn too much more who Tom is and where he comes from. The first poem tells of his meeting with other inhabitants of the forest. Each character he encounters takes something from him or tries to trap him in some way. Tom, of course, demands that each make right their errors, and they all leave him alone without a fight. Two familiar characters from the poem are Goldberry, the River-Daughter, and Old Man Willow, who both make appearances in The Fellowship of the Ring. The poem explains how Bombadil took Goldberry as his wife. He literally caught her and "held her fast," then said to her:

'...Here's my pretty maiden!
You shall come home with me! The table is all laden:
yellow cream, honeycomb, white bread and butter;
roses at the window-sill and peeping round the shutter.
You shall come under Hill! Never mind your mother
in her deep weedy pool: there you'll find no lover!'

While Tom can tell the inhabitants of the forest what to do and his requests are always met without question, he is not a tyrant of the forest. He does indeed have a charge over the forest, but he is not a king nor is he really a leader of those living in the forest. He seems to just keep the inhabitants of the forest from harming him or anyone else, namely certain hobbits who get stuck in Old Man Willow's roots in The Fellowship of the Ring. He seems to be there to keep everyone in line, except Goldberry, to whom he is obviously attached. Indeed, the interaction between them in the beginning of the poem is a flirtation rather than Tom keeping up some kind of rule of the forest.

The second poem in the series about Tom Bombadil is "Bombadil Goes Boating" and describes his journey down the forest river, all because he caught a leaf:

Tom caught a beechen leaf in the Forest falling.
'I've caught a happy day blown me by the breezes!
Why wait till morrow-year? I'll take it when me pleases.
This day I'll mend my boat and journey as it chances west down withy-stream, following my fancies.'


I especially like the comparsion of a day to a leaf in this text. Falling leaves all seem to be same. Except if you catch one and really look at it, the leaf may have little details or certain coloration that makes it stand out from the others. When we see a leaf that could be different, we should grab it and take a look because it might be something extraordinary. And so it's the same with our days: all could be one just like the other, but we have the potential to make our days good and to take a chance, take a journey perhaps, and follow our own "fancies."

Tom indeed takes his journey down the river in the poem, and he meets animals who try to trick him or lead him to harm. Tom outsmarts the animals, and again, they leave him alone after their attempts. His journey eventually leads him to hobbit territory, specifically The Shire. After a few dismissals from other hobbits, Tom eventually finds Farmer Maggot, whom readers of the trilogy remember as the farmer whom Frodo stole mushrooms from as a young hobbit. Tom and Farmer Maggot have some drinks and laughs while swapping stories. Maggot eventually falls asleep, and when he awakes Tom is gone, adding to the otherwordly, mysterious identity Tolkien has given him.


Tom Bombadil is indeed one of Tolkien's most quizzical and interesting characters. His inherent link to the forest, his wisdom in spite of his whimsy, and his disinterest of worldly affairs lead the reader to believe that he is a sort of deity or spirit. Tom was the only character in The Lord of the Rings trilogy to touch the ring and not be bothered by any of its effects. Gandalf even says at the Council of Elrond that the ring "has no power over him." Later, in Return of the King, Gandalf also tells Frodo that Tom has not been "much interested" in all the events revolving around the ring. Tom seems to be one of the few characters of Tolkiens' that has no fault. He is not on any journey to make correct any wrongs. He is not fighting with anyone. He is completely content with living in and taking care of the forest.

Given Tom Bombadil's otherworldly traits, could we consider him a model for an ideal style of living? Maybe it's a bit pretentious to assume that the tales of the carefree, "merry fellow" Tom have resonance in real life. However, Tom lives a life of simplicity, which is far from the type of life that any of us can claim to live. Nature is his source of life and his prime joy, and while he knows of the events and people outside of his world, he chooses to stay in the forest and keep his home, his livelihood there. His life is peaceful, joyful and fulfilling in its own way. Given the state of Middle-Earth in the novel, I don't think I'd mind living in the forest with Tom and Goldberry while the war between good and evil rages.

Perhaps the reader would think that he simply turns a blind eye to evil, making him selfish rather than helpful or likable. However, like the elves, Tom Bombadil wishes to stay out of the affairs of mankind, whose hearts are greedy and selfish, as Tolkien repeatedly points out in the trilogy. Unlike the elves, though, Tom succeeds in keeping himself separate from their troubles. He is a perfect manager of the forest. He keeps nature running smoothly and even houses Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin on their way to Rivendale without letting this interrupt the general flow of nature.

Tom's cheerfulness and optimism provide some relief from the heavier topics at hand in The Fellowship of the Ring. Overall, he represents unfailing, unflinching goodness. His being in the trilogy and part of the collection of hobbit legends shows that in spite of wars, evil deeds and sorrow, good does always exist in Middle-Earth because Tom Bombadil always maintains it. Sure, not everyone is effected by this goodness, as Tom Bombadil is relatively hidden away from most of the inhabitants of Middle-Earth, save the hobbits, who are, after all, a people of pure hearts and innocence. But those with hardened or despairing hearts do not likely believe that such a constant goodness exists, and if one does not believe something exists, why would one put any energy or effort toward finding it? I think that Tom knows this, and I think that he would even have simple, wise solutions to stopping the evil in Middle-Earth, similar to his straightforward reprimands to the living things in the forest when they are being mischievous. But the men, the dwarves, the elves all do not live their lives so simply, and so with complex issues comes complex solutions. Complexity is not a trait embodied by Tom Bombadil, which only adds to his spirit-like characteristics.

For further reading on Tom Bombadil, you could check out various Tolkien websites. If you're a fan of Tolkien, you know that the information about him and Middle-Earth is abundant, and rightly so. This is a Wikipedia page dedicated solely to the spritely Tom Bombadil, where you'll find info about his role in the trilogy and more about the poems discussed in this post. Also, here is a wonderful site for all things Tolkien, including analysis and description of his works and even news related to the great scholar and author.

No complications, no consequences? -- An analysis of Hemingway's "Soldier's Home"

Today I'm taking a turn from Victorian-era nineteenth century works to American modernism. And who better to focus on than the iconic Ernest Hemingway? The selection for this post is "Soldier's Home."

"Soldier's Home" tells the story of a man named Harold Krebs, the soldier who has come home to Oklahoma in 1919, much later than other soldiers from his hometown arrived. The story describes images and thoughts of post-war Krebs (as he is most often called, probably the same name he was called in the military) on ideas and objects that are seemingly simplistic, like the way girls look in his town or Krebs' father's car.

As per usual for Hemingway, the writing style of "Soldier's Home" is clean and simple, yet descriptive of what is not "seen" upfront by the reader. With simple statements like "He did not want any consequences," Hemingway seamlessly describes the depth of a character who seems to have been dulled by war. Any words spoken by Krebs is minimal. No long speeches, no long explanations of anything in dialogue is seen in this story, except when Krebs' mother speaks. I think the story's writing style alone shows Krebs' dislike of all things complicated, which is exemplified by his not wanting to date:

"He did not want [girls] themselves really. They were too complicated. There was something else. Vaguely he wanted a girl but he did not want to have to work to get her."

Like the one above, Krebs' thoughts throughout the story are decisive. While one who has never experienced war firsthand may wonder why he thinks and believes the things he does, the reader can know that he has quite decided his views and that nothing will change his mind. Girls won't, his mother won't, his father won't. However, what about the unnamed sister, whom is deemed "his best sister"? As the reader can see by the jesting conversation between the two and the fact that Krebs decides to watch her baseball game, Krebs seems to care about her more than anything else in his life. His interaction and thoughts about his younger sister are starkly different than his thoughts about anything else. Besides his sister, nothing--not faith, not work, not women--is special or interesting to him. Krebs wants to "float" through life without investing emotion or energy. He seems to believe that living this way will prevent "consequences." After all, if you do nothing and care about nothing, then nothing can happen, right?

Now that the war is over, Krebs feels that his life is meaningless and empty. He really does try to find meaning, but due to the artificiality and carelessness of the people around him, he gives up the search. The girls are "complicated" but only in a way that is annoying and far too much work to him. The townspeople are unimpressed with his war stories, even when they are completely fabricated. The other former soldiers in the town don't want to talk about the war with him and would rather go on and live normal lives. Krebs doesn't feel he can go on with a normal life and thus decides that he'll do nothing. Is it because the war has damaged him? Or is it because he sees the town for what it really is for the first time in his life?

While Krebs ardently wants to avoid complexity in his life, Krebs' mother encourages him to seek out the complexity. However, like Krebs, she does not want complications. The first time I read this story I was sympathetic to Krebs' mother, whom he tells that he does not love in a rather nonchalant way. However, Krebs' mother, while she does mean well, does not want to really try to understand what her son is going through. She's likely scared of what she'll find out, which probably hits her when he says that he doesn't love her. Like all mothers, she probably didn't want her son to go away to the war in the first place but had to let him go. Deep down, she knew he wouldn't be the same, but she does not want to accept it. She wants him to "settle down," or get married and get a job. And she begs him to pray with her when he does not believe, which is only passively acknowledging the issue. Sadly, Hemingway stated that he detested his mother. Perhaps the interaction between the two characters represents something much more real than fiction.

Though written so simply, Hemingway's short stories are all complex, deep and altogether magnificent. But don't expect happy endings. Of course, this is usually the case with the modernists, as they were weary of Victorian realism, which they believed was sentimental, trite, and ironically, unrealistic. Even so, modernism shows us the misery, complexity and often the darkness of the human heart, which is as essential as presenting the optimism, simplicity and light of the human soul.

Top Mothers in Literature

In celebration of the holiday, I am shaking things up and writing a post in a slightly different format than usual. Below is my list of great mothers in literature. These mothers fulfill their parental duties with love, wisdom, and unflinching support to the heroes and heroines of their literary works.

Marmee from Little Women

As one of my favorite literary mothers, Marmee's kindness, patience and extraordinary sense of charity makes her a great model for all of us mothers. She knows how to deal with life's trials and still raise her girls to be modest, smart, consientious, and kind women. Marmee faces extreme difficulties: raising her daughters alone while her husband is at war, taking care of the feeble Beth and later seeing her die at a very young age, and dealing with the family's poverty and lower social standing. Yet through all these hurdles, Marmee remains an ideal mother and a rock for all her daughters. While she is a not considered a heroine in Little Women, who knows where Jo, Meg, Beth and Amy would have been without her in the plots of their lives?

Mrs. Weasley from the Harry Potter series

Yes, I know the Harry Potter series is not part of the canon (yet, may I say?), but I feel it would be nothing short of an injustice to not include her on this list. Mrs. Weasley has many of Marmee's characteristics for being a good mother: kindness, patience, a sense of charity, and strength. However, Molly Weasley also has a temper and often deals with stress due to having seven children, six of which are boys. And her boys have not been easy to raise. The mischievous Fred and George wreck havoc wherever they go, Ron always finds himself in mortal peril with Harry Potter, and Percy turns against and completely snubs his family. Plus, Charlie studies and cares for dragons for a living, which can't make for any peace of mind. However, Mrs. Weasley still runs her household smoothly (even without magic, I think she could do it seamlessly), acts as a fearless protector to all of her children, has a strong sense of pride for each and every one of her children, and even considers the orphan Harry Potter as one of her own. Mrs. Weasley knows when to be firm, when to be kind and understanding, and when to let her children go and experience life for themselves. All in all, she's an ideal mom, especially since she can cook a meal with a few waves of her wand.

Mrs. Thornton from North and South

The mother of the sensible John Thornton does not embody the warm and welcoming personality of the ideal, angel-like mothers, but she has the most of one trait out of any mother included on this list: strength. Having lived a hard life in the industrial city of Milton, she has been through many types of hardship, poverty being the most difficult to overcome. After her husband squanders away all of their money through gambling and drinking, he dies, leaving her with John and his sister. As was customary during this time period, John quits school to earn the family's living. I cannot imagine the difficulty of sending your 14 year-old son to work to support the family. But John did it, and he turns out quite all right. Due to his impeccable work ethic instilled in him by his mother, John eventually goes from being a common worker to a mill owner. She believes in John more than anyone and despite her hard ways, she comforts and supports him through his own trials. Mrs. Thornton's sole thoughts lie with John and his well being, and you know throughout the novel that she'll do whatever it takes to keep him from harm or failure. However, like every understanding mother, she also knows when to let her son make his own decisions (even if she doesn't agree) and how to still proudly stand by him.

Betsey Trotwood from David Copperfield

Even though Betsey Trotwood is David Copperfield's great aunt and not his mother, she deserves to be named as a great mother in literature. Having disowned David simply because she found out he was a boy, she was not what one would call an ideal caretaker at the start of the novel. However, when David comes stumbling to her house after he has run away from the factory, she takes him in and protects him from his cruel stepfather, Mr. Murdstone. After taking David into her home, Betsey makes an exception to her prejudices against boys and acts as a loving, strong, and wise guardian to David. Betsey gives David a life of ease and comfort as a boy and sends him to a good school and even helps him get a job. David's gentle and kind ways soften Betsey, and the reader sees that despite first impressions and the fact that she had no biological children of her own, Betsey is a natural protector and provider.