Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe: Book review

Drink with this

Bloody Beer

Bloody Mary was the obvious choice of cocktail for a book which delights in dwelling on the screaming agonies of Londoners infected with the Black Death. Bloody Beer, a variation which substitutes vodka for light beer, is more appropriate given the gallons of ale guzzled by the denizens of London throughout their times of hardship. Bloody Beer is also commonly served with a ‘beef straw’ which sounds more like a 17th C pub nibble than a cocktail ingredient of today. The typical Bloody Beer adornment of Worcestershire sauce is satisfyingly English, while its black pepper and hot sauce are in keeping with the pungent remedies resorted to in vain attempts to stave off death.

What’s what

I discovered this book - to give it its proper name, A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London - by way of an insalubrious Goodreads search for plague novels. Sometimes I feel as if The Stand has spoiled me for every other plague book out there - a sad realisation as my interest in infectious diseases has only burgeoned in the years since reading King’s masterwork.

Anyway I knew I had to have this Defoe as soon as I learned of its existence. Its not often I find a book which allows me to pretend to be intellectual whilst indulging my dirty literary cravings.

For a 17th C text this was surprisingly readable. I learned afterwards that it was an attempt by Defoe at historical fiction, and that the narrator is not actually meant to be Defoe himself but some anonymous third person. On these terms the book does not work at all. It is not a journal as we understand it today and doesn’t really have a narrative either.

“therefore I desire this account may pass with them rather for a direction to themselves to act by than a history of my actings, seeing it may not he of one farthing value to them to note what became of me.” Pg 5

However as a sort of unstructured collection of musings, speculation and facts on the infection in London in 1665 it’s worth a look. It’s written more like a report or a guide than a novel and is all the more interesting for that reason, with its dispassionate accounts of horrific scenes interspersed with comments on the official response to the disease and advice to future readers.

I did find it frustrating that we weren’t given more hands-on accounts of the fate of individuals and their families, or more details of the situation throughout the country as a whole. Some of the most interesting parts of the book were those which referred to the small everyday aspects of life in London in 1665, such as the mention of bear-baiting being banned due to the illness. Likewise it was very revealing of the prejudices and snobbery in place at the time. Defoe makes no secret of his contempt for the working classes or for women, or indeed for those who do not share his religious beliefs. It was instructional and more than a bit apposite in today’s climate to read his disapproval of the poor, including the ‘labouring poor’ who spent money ‘with abandon’. The more things change…

“But it was impossible to beat anything into the heads of the poor. They went on with the usual impetuosity of their tempers, full of outcries and lamentations when taken, but madly careless of themselves, foolhardy and obstinate, while they were well. Where they could get employment they pushed into any kind of business, the most dangerous and the most liable to infection; and if they were spoken to, their answer would be, 'I must trust to God for that; if I am taken, then I am provided for, and there is an end of me', and the like.” Pg 134

I loved the constant speculation on the causes of the plague and the efficacy of various treatments. It was remarkable and a bit spooky to read Defoe skirting around the edges of what we know now to be the facts of the Black Death.

“that many people had the plague in their very blood, and preying upon their spirits, and were in themselves but walking putrefied carcases whose breath was infectious and their sweat poison, and yet were as well to look on as other people, and even knew it not themselves; I say, they all allowed that it was really true in fact, but they knew not how to propose a discovery. My friend Dr Heath was of opinion that it might be known by the smell of their breath; but then, as he said, who durst smell to that breath for his information?” pg 130

Parts of the book are pretty gory, and these are the parts which read as a typical dystopian novel. In my opinion though the book isn’t nearly as grisly as I hoped expected, probably due to its focus on the facts and its distant and objective stance. With my historical ignorance coupled with my over-familiarity of cheap dramatic novelistic tricks, I expected the book to end with the whole of London and its plague-ridden inhabitants going up in cleansing flames as the city is consumed by the Great Fire. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“lamentations were seen almost in every house, especially in the first part of the visitation; for towards the latter end men's hearts were hardened, and death was so always before their eyes, that they did not so much concern themselves for the loss of their friends, expecting that themselves should be summoned the next hour.” Pg 10

Verdict

Definitely worth a read if you are interested in the history of 17th century London or in disease. Otherwise you probably won’t find much to relish here.

On the big screen

Would love to see a BBC miniseries focusing on the plague in London in 1665. Ideally in the style of The Wire, illuminating the corruption and failed attempts to address the problem as much as the disease itself.

Highbrow/Lowbrow

Yes, the subject is about as grisly as it gets, but it still passes as highbrow due to its literary pedigree, its age, and its columns of statistics.

The Divine Comedy (Cary’s Translation) by Dante Alighieri: Book review

Drink with this: Campari and soda

Italian to the core of its fiery red depths. An acquired taste, appreciated by the connoisseur. The bitter herby tang of the campari is almost punitive, but stick with it and there are moments of glory.

What's what: 

                                                                                                                         

In the midway of this our mortal life,

I found me in a gloomy wood, astray

Gone from the path direct:

Pg 2, Ibid

                                                                                                                     

How to review a 14th century classic, which the venerable Wikipedia describes as “the pre-eminent work of Italian literature, and….one of the greatest works of world literature”? In my case, as flippantly as possible!

Around two pages into the 650 page translation I realised a two-pronged approach would be advisable. First, an initial skirmish, a casual, shallow, skim over the surface. Much, much later – perhaps years  or even decades, who can say -  an in-depth re-reading and analysis, backed up by true scholarly understanding.

Unfortunately I don’t think The Divine Comedy lends itself very well to the 21^st C casual reader. There is a wealth of historical and mythological information needed to fully tackle this classic, which in previous centuries would have been inherent to a gentlemanly education. Lacking even in Latin, I didn't muddy the waters by attempting to read any notes as I went along. Instead I read it in the same way I would any other book, in little bursts on the Northern line, straight up and on the rocks, no embellishments to sweeten the experience.

Centuries later, what endures is Alighieri’s command of language. The pain of never-ending sections where for pages I too was lost in the woods of indecipherable verse and convoluted sentence structure were almost eclipsed by the occasional blinding image or evocative phrase. The air in hell is ‘with solid darkness/ Stain’d,’ (pg 11, Ibid) and it’s impossible not to grasp Dante’s meaning when he says of the souls suffering in Inferno:

These of death

No hope may entertain: and their blind

Life

So meanly passes, that all other lots

They envy.

Pg 12

I love the idea of the story as well. Symbolism aside, the premise of an Italian dude lost in the underworld, then on a journey through hell, purgatory and heaven seeking a beautiful woman sounds pretty awesome.

Having said that, much of the plot seemed pretty irrelevant now. Dante’s Odyssey was ultimately very parochial, and at times accompanying him didn't feel much different than walking to the shops of our small town with my gran – everybody was Italian and everybody knew him or at least his family and wanted a bit of a blether. This endless recitation of Italian names heightened the reader’s disconnection, and yes, boredom. I had constant sense of an entire story passing me by because I was too stupid to decipher it beneath the 14^th C version of in-jokes.

I'm not a stranger to a bit of classic lit and in years gone by have munched through every Shakespearean sonnet, Ulysses, the majority of Dickens and so on and so forth. But Dante nearly did me in. There were whole pages, reams and reams of text, where I had no clue what was happening and cared less.

                                                                                                                     

O foolish wrath! Who so dost goad us on

In the brief life, and in the eternal then

Thus miserably o’erwhelm us.

Pg 49

                                                                                                                                                                   

The biggest frustration for me was that I somehow had formulated an idea that this whole journey through the underworld was a mission to rescue Beatrice. I was greatly disappointed when she only appeared half-way through, in the form of an untouchable and awfully smug angel goddess oracle. Then her perfection was played up so much I thought (hoped) she was going to turn on Dante and banish him back to the Netherworld. But no, she genuinely was perfection incarnate,

‘with such a smile,

As might have made one blest amid the

Flames’

Pg 400

There are ideas here which must have been big and revolutionary in their time, but which we are so accustomed to now that they seem commonplace. The image of a man lost in his own life, unsure of the way forward. The idea of purgatory as a never-ending toil up a mountain without end, trying to see through the fog. Heaven as a place of light and beauty where our deepest and most complex questions are explored.

Inferno was the most vivid section, with some of the most powerful imagery, which is no doubt why it is the best known. Purgatory was less impactful but easier to understand – more enjoyable with more of a clear story thread. Here it was actually possible to work out what was happening from one canto to the next. Paradise was densely impenetrable and deeply tedious. Lengthy metaphysical and religious speculations formed the body of this section, with little plot development. 

                                                                                                                     

and that, which next

Befalls me to portray, voice hath not

Utter’d

Nor hath ink written, nor in fantasy

Was e’er conceived.

Pg 508

                                                                                                                                                             

This was in keeping with the general movement through the work, with the first section dealing with the more base bodily functions (references to sex and excrement) the middle section dealing with prosaic actions such as exhaustion, endless toil, and confusion or other overpowering emotions, while the third section was concerned with the mind and the soul.

The shades Dante meets are all principally concerned with their reputation, and continuation in the world below. Yet throughout it is stressed that renown amongst other men is transient and what is crucial is the eternal life of the soul. Dante tells us that everything else passes while only God’s love remains. 

                                                                                                                     

Wherefore if thou escape this darksome

Clime,

Returning to behold the radiant stars,

When thou with pleasure shalt retrace the

Past,

See that of us thou speak among mankind.

Pg 67

                                                                                                                                                             

Verdict: How can you evaluate something when you are fully aware that most of it has completely passed you by? There were some powerful phrases and beautiful language but I’m not sure the experience of reading it is one which has much to offer the average modern reader. Thematically powerful with glimpses of enduring brilliance hiding in a thicket of punishing verbiage.
 On the big screen:There are several, none of which I think I’ll ever be able to face. There is also a video game which it turns out follows the plot (rescue Beatrice) I wistfully imagined while reading. All adaptations I’ve discovered seem to focus on the visually stimulating Inferno, with good reason.

Highbrow/lowbrow:  Right up there with the Bible in terms of pedigree, but with a more tedious conceptualisation of heaven. Doesn’t quite live up to Milton with regards to its interpretation of hell, but certainly as reputable.

Five Children and It, The Phoenix and the Carpet, Story of the Amulet, : Book review

Drink with this: Shirley Temple.

Classic non-alcoholic cocktail, with overtones of an earlier age of childish simplicity and innocence. Sickly sweet pink grenadine foiled by spicy and mischievous Blytonesque ginger ale.

The deal: Five Children and It, The Phoenix and the Carpet and The Story of the Amulet are a series of books featuring siblings who encounter various magical objects. As a child reading Nesbit I was gripped by Five Children and It. Re-reading as an adult was a comforting experience, and FCAI would more than hold up for the first-time adult reader too. The second and third novels in the series were in essence reprisals of the first, with ever more plot holes and narrative inconsistencies. If you didn't read these as a child it's probably not worth bothering now.

However this series is a good place to start in familiarising yourself with Nesbit, whose writing still has a lot to offer today. Five Children and It has never been out of print since it's initial publication in 1902 and along with a rollicking plot line, Nesbit's narrative tone has a lot to do with this.

Unusually for the period she was writing in, she engages her reader (assumed to be a child) directly and as an equal. A compact is formed in which it is is given that magic is a literal matter of fact, grown-ups will never get it, and bonds between siblings are sacrosanct. Within the space of the novel, adults are marginal and suffer from both stupidity and an inability to perceive things obvious to children.

Her world is inclusive and timeless, a cosy and nostalgic environment. Misfortune, usually occuring in the form of being sent to bed without supper, is a fact of life but is rarely insurmountable. The Story of the Amulet sees real-life problems insinuate themselves into the plot but thankfully these are easily dispensed with by the end of the novel.

                                                                                                                            

"Manages to make even the modern adult reader feel like a refugee from a childhood filled with magic"

                                                                                                                            

Along with this comes the deep and abiding satisfaction of narrative resolution. Of course we all want to read about children who have the ability to travel through time, or place, or be granted wishes! And then we want to see these wishes unfold, sometimes with dire consequences. It's this underlying pragmatism and prim denial of happy ever afters which stops this series descending into saccharine fairy-tale territory. Wishes don't last forever and usually have a down-side.

Verdict: Holds it own despite being over a century old. Satisfyingly nostalgic after an inital suspension of disbelief. Manages to make even the modern adult reader feel like a refugee from a childhood filled with magic.

On the big screen: Both a film and TV series of FCAI have already been done. I've seen at least one of these but it left only a vague impression. With its absurd elements though, this might be a series of novels which better exist in the imagination. Or maybe I just hate how 90's CGI they made the Psammead look....

Highbrow/lowbrow: As a relic of a bygone era, it has now been elevated to classic status by default. I'm going to go with highbrow, as easy entertainment of its day requires effortful detachment now to enjoy in the same way.

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins: Classic Review

Drink with this: Gin and tonic.

Gin, as well as our classic under review, was hugely popular in the Victorian age. Tonic, originally containing quinine, was added to create a refreshing, anti-malarial drink ideal for empire-building in steamy climates. Therefore the gin and tonic is where mass popularity and aristocratic sensibilities meet. Invented eleven years after the publication of TWIW, so drink alongside to be as avant garde as the novel itself.

The Woman in White has never been out of print since 1859. This kind of enduring popularity is hard to dismiss. (But I intend to anyway.) When first published, it represented a remarkable innovation in terms of narrative structure and thematic concerns. But like any good ideas, the features which originally made the novel stand out have since been explored, exploited and improved on by so many authors that their original incarnation feels dated, and even irritating.  This is not to say the novel isn’t still worth reading. As a study in Victorian mores and in the context of 19^th century literature, it’s fascinating. It just doesn’t necessarily stand alone as an enjoyable and suspenseful read in the way it seemingly did 150-ish years ago. 

 It is often described as a precursor to the detective story, but it really bears no resemblance to the modern detective novel. Collins’ characters fumble around for whole chapters, clueless about what’s going on. Meanwhile the reader skims impatiently through, having figured out the ‘mystery’ pages ago. It is de rigeur in the genre nowdays for the ending to leave certain details unexplained. (See: Stieg Larsson, Jo Nesbo) The careful advanced signaling of every single secret in the novel felt clumsy in comparison.

                                                                                                 

"If the cinematic idea of the male gaze can exist in literary form, it undoubtedly exists here."

                                                                                                      

TWIW was revolutionary in its heyday for its treatment of motifs such as forbidden secrets hidden underneath a veneer of respectability, and its examination of the lack of legal standing afforded to married women. But even by the standards of its contemporaries, its investigation into woman’s rights feels unsatisfactory. Tenant of Wildfell Hall, for example, (Anne Bronte) takes a much more impassioned and considered look at the same issues, which also happens to be from the viewpoint of the character affected. And compared to other sensation novels of the Victorian era – Lady Audley’s Secret, anything by Oscar Wilde, and even Dracula – TWIW seems rather tame.

My biggest issue with the novel was its treatment of female characters. If the cinematic idea of the male gaze can exist in literary form, it undoubtedly exists here. Wilkie’s female characters never really felt believable to me. The clammy, leering presence of the author was something I was uncomfortably conscious of in every scene which involved a woman. Laura, the ostensible heroine, is stripped of both agency and voice in the novel, while also running the gamut of insulting female stereotypes. (Attractive dimwit, subservient angel, child-like romantic heroine, hysterical/insane woman).

 Marian, with her intelligence and bravery, arguably represents a more positive portrayal of a woman; yet each of her admirable qualities is filtered through the prism of her ‘masculinity’. She is clearly established as a ‘deviant’ woman, unworthy of sexual consideration except by the monstrous Count Fosco. Only within this context is she allowed to act as narrator, and engage with the male characters on their own terms.

                                                                                                  

"Too tedious to enjoy in an ironic ‘so bad it’s good’ kind of way" 

                                                                                                  

 Even within the genre of gothic romance, The Woman in White stretches credulity to its utmost limit. In Dickens’ capable hands, melodrama and coincidence are intrinsic parts of the world he creates and the themes he develops. Compared to his masterful command of these devices, Wilkie’s writing feels like a desperate attempt to keep the story trundling along, by any means possible.

It’s hard to evaluate TWIW fairly today. Too tedious to enjoy in an ironic ‘so bad it’s good’ kind of way – just as Kipling is too racist for this game – it is better appreciated as product of its times than by comparison to its modern equivalents.

Verdict: Worth reading, but only while taking part in an elaborate drinking game. Rules as follows – shot every time a woman faints/has hysterics. Chug every time Collins uses six words when one would do. Drink every time the ‘working classes’ are described in a condescending manner.

On the big screen: There have already been several films and TV series made of this, none of which I’ve seen. The book’s narrative structure, with first-person narratives from various characters, make it well suited for film adaptation. The fact that Laura is a pathetic idiot would be no obstacle to Hollywood success. I would love to see a Todd Haynes take on this, with the gothic melodrama amped up.  

Highbrow/Lowbrow: It’s a Classic, which automatically makes it highbrow, although it wasn’t regarded this way in the 19^th C.