Tag Archives: Far from the Madding Crowd

Rereading books

Do you reread books? My lovely friend Eileen suggested this topic was a good one for Bookword blog. I thought she was right and with a little arm-twisting she agreed to contribute this post. We benefit from her research skills and her colourful use of pseudonyms. And she has referred to lots of great books – read or reread them!

Eileen writes about rereading books

Ladder of Years, by my favourite author Anne Tyler, was serialized on Radio 4 a few weeks ago and I thought ‘I must reread that’. I have read all her books, some more than once, and The Accidental Tourist many times. Do you have a favourite author or book that you come back to again and again? I wondered if other people are similarly addicted so I asked Caroline if she would write a blog about it. She replied ‘Why don’t you!’ (Note to self: Be careful what you ask for.)

177 Therese R coverThe book I read compulsively is Thérèse Raquin by Emile Zola. I first read it when I was 20, found myself reading it again at 30, and then kept going. You probably know the story – two lovers plagued by guilt – gripping stuff!

My next most often reread book is To kill a Mockingbird – such fantastic story telling and powerful themes. I’m not keen on stories from a child’s perspective but this one’s amazing. Have you seen the film adaptation staring Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch? Fabulous.

177 Atticus FinchI also admit to rereading: Madame Bovary, Cold Comfort Farm, Gone with the Wind, Jane Eyre, Jude the Obscure and Far from the Madding Crowd – well anything by Hardy. And I’m planning to read H is for Hawk again soon. It’s such an exquisitely written book. Do read it if you haven’t.

In order to understand my predilection for rereading I asked 12 of my friends to consider the novels they have reread, why they do it and what they gain. I loved their enthusiastic responses and reminders of some excellent stuff.

You might want to consider your own responses before reading on? If so, Dear Reader, look away now!

The Survey results

It turns out that none of my friends reread books as often as me. Indigo was a bit indignant: ‘I have never reread a book. I don’t have the time and there are so many other books I want to read’. Would that be your reaction? About six of my 12 buddies agreed to some extent including Marigold: ‘I always feel I don’t read enough and feel like I’m wasting time if each read isn’t new’. But she often rereads poetry and short stories such as those by Raymond Carver, Alice Munro, Muriel Spark and Ali Smith. And she added: ‘I have reread The Summer Book a good few times – I find it subtle, delightful and fresh each time’.116ToveJanssonSignature

Violet told me she has only ever reread one book. If you were going to pick just one which one would it be? For Violet it was Pride and Prejudice, which she would happily read again:

I read it once at school as a set text with no appreciation, watched the various films and then reread it a couple of years ago. That brought both enjoyment and a deeper appreciation of Jane Austen’s craft. The opening sentence is a total triumph and she manages to maintain her skill throughout the book.

She surprised me by saying that when she has greatly enjoyed a book she rarely reads a second one by the same author: ‘… that may seem odd. Perhaps I feel it sets the bar too high’.

The prospect of disappointment was also on Carmine’s mind: ‘If I really enjoyed something, I don’t want to read it again in case I don’t enjoy it as much’. Magenta agrees especially after her experience of rereading Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandrian Quartet:

I picked up the first book, Justine, and it seemed so dated.  I am definitely not the 18 year old that read it in the 1960s. It just didn’t speak to me as it had done. I did not finish the first volume never mind the four. I would rather leave the good memories.

People of a certain age, like me and my mates, like to reread to gain new perspectives on books read in their youth. Carmine spoke about this in her reply saying there was bound to be things she’d missed in the first reading. The example she gave was I Know why the Caged Bird Sings. Yes, I agree. That is worth another look.

Ebony loved reading the following eclectic mix in her teens: Hundred Years of Solitude, Death in Venice and On the Road. These had made a real impression and she wondered if they still would.

Rereading them reminded me of ways of thinking and of expressing ideas that struck a chord. These books shaped my thinking and I was curious to see if I still thought they were relevant and inspiring. They were, which was reassuring.

Blanche reread Henry James’s Portrait of a Lady for a similar reason. When she first read it in 1978 she found there was much that related to her feelings: ‘Rereading was a different experience as I was not identifying with the character and so appreciated it in a new way’. Sapphire mentioned the need to reread a book straight away in order to grasp its meaning: ‘As soon as I finished The Sound and the Fury I reread it. I understood it the second time!’

Exploring far off countries and cultures was important. Jade had reread three particular books that gave her insights into places she liked or wanted to visit – A Town Like Alice by Nevil Shute, Cache Lake Country by John Rowlands and Cider with Rosie by Laurie Lee.

Ruby spoke about her passion for Barbara Kingsolver’s books, rereading to psych herself up for travelling. I savoured her reply:177 poisonwood B

I bought and read The Poisonwood Bible voraciously when it was first published in Blog.doc paperback in 1999, because I’m a big fan and am always impatient for her next book. I reread it before my trip to Mali in 2007, to get me in the mood for Africa. (OK, so Mali is in West Africa and The Congo is in Central Africa, but there are commonalities: we’d be travelling by pinasse on the Niger River, the women wear similar combinations of brightly coloured cottons as body and head wraps, carry their babies on their backs, sell similar goods in the markets, etc. Both countries struggle with poverty and instability.) More recently, I read it for the third time just prior to seeing Barbara Kingsolver discussing the book with John Mullan, and I now have my copy signed! It’s not an enjoyable reread but I valued and savoured it more.

And for those who write themselves there is another purpose for rereading. I was intrigued by Marigold’s comments about The Accidental Tourist. She saw somewhere that it’s the perfect structure for a novel: ‘I started reading it with an eye on the structure and just ended up enjoying the minutiae’. Caroline’s research for her blog inspires her to reread. Her recent posts include: What Katy Did, Brighton Rock, A Passage to India and Love, Again. Another writer, Sapphire, says she studies high quality novels in great detail, reexamining each paragraph and sentence to appreciate good construction.

177 I capturedLoving the style, or the lifestyle depicted in particular books came up. Scarlet said she had reread Perfume by Patrick Susskind and Memoirs of a Geisha. She likes both because they’re visceral and experiential and she becomes completely immersed. And Jade said she had reread I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith as she loved the lifestyle portrayed.

If you belong to a book club you might reread novels to prepare for the discussion as Caroline, Blanche and Magenta do. Caroline has recently reread The Awakening by Kate Chopin because someone mentioned it in a book group and so she wanted to look closely at that again. She returns to a book in order to read more carefully rather than relying on memory. She reads so much and so quickly that she doesn’t keep the story in her head for long. Blanche enjoys being a member of a book club to get her rereading. She still sees novels as a holiday luxury, despite retirement, filling her life with ‘doing’ things. Recognise that pattern? I do.

And, of course, new technology has an influence. Magenta says she now mainly reads on a Kindle and has a tendency to read quickly, almost skimming the book:

I don’t take it in fully on the first reading, so I often read a second time and then get a lot more out of it. I do that particularly with books that we are going to discuss in our book group. So that is a very pragmatic use of rereading that is done immediately rather than after a long gap.

Comfort reading – ah yes! Carmine said: ‘Another reason is to be taken to a place I know is OK and comfortable, when I don’t want to be challenged, like reading Alexander McCall’s books when I want something interesting but light’. And ‘for therapy’ Caroline reads Pride and Prejudice and Catch-22.

Last was rereading by mistake – starting a novel and then remembering it had been read before.

So, do you ever reread books?

  • to be intellectually stimulated – to gain new perspectives or insights or shape your thinking
  • for emotional reasons – to immerse yourself in the warmth of the familiar, the joy of meeting old friends or the feeling a character, style or place can inspire
  • to develop your own creative skills – to study the beauty of the language, structure and plot for ideas for your own writing …
  • … or do you think rereading is a complete waste of time. Do let us know.

 

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NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!

Not need to shout. It’s only a movie. Reading the book, I am sure, was a better experience. It’s no recommendation to me that a novel has been adapted for the cinema. Movies generally speaking are likely to be less subtle and complex than the original text, because the contents have to be compressed into a continuous presentation of two hours or less. A novel can be experienced in a more selective, repetitive, episodic way, according to the whims of the reader. My experience of movies is of disappointment for the most part, and frustration with adaptations on nearly ever occasion. Here’s why I avoid them.

They are different things

104 filmTo start with, movies and books are different things. I have to ask: why make a film when you have a perfectly good book? Money, of course – none to be made from books without a film option. Annie Dillard suggests that movies have an irresistible attraction.

Films and television stimulate the body’s senses too, in big ways. A nine-foot handsome face, and its three-foot-wide smile, are irresistible. Look at the long legs on that man, as high as a wall, and coming straight toward you. The music builds. The moving, lighted screen fills your brain. You do not like filmed car chases? See if you can turn away, Try not to watch. Even knowing you are manipulated, you are still as helpless as the make butterfly drawn to painted cardboard.

This is the movies. That is their ground. The printed word cannot compete with the movies on their ground, and should not. You can describe beautiful faces, car chases, or valleys full of Indians on horseback until you run out of words, and you will not approach the movies’ spectacle. (The Writing Life p18)

Films and novels share storytelling, but they tell stories in very different ways, as Annie Dillard suggests. Hitchcock spoke about the adaptations of stories for film, referring to the ‘suitability of the language of cinema for the written word’. But it hasn’t stopped some writers writing with an eye on the more lucrative cinema audience. Annie Dillard is sharply critical and suggests that such an approach harms the writing:

Novels written with film contracts in mind have a faint but unmistakable, and ruinous, odor. I cannot name what, in the text, alerts the reader to suspect the writer of mixed motives. I cannot specify which sentences, in several books, have caused me to read on with increasing dismay, and finally close the book because I smelled a rat. Such books seem uneasy being books; they seem eager to fling off their disguises and jump onto screens. (The Writing Life p18-9)

Storylines are mangled

104 ticketThey may share storytelling but adaptations are often simplifications, with storylines adjusted or changed to appeal to movie audiences. Stanley Kubrick famously offended Anthony Burgess with his adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, which prevented general release in the UK for many years. Richard Matheson’s novel I am Legend has been adapted four times but never to his satisfaction.

I don’t know why Hollywood is fascinated by my book when they never care to film it as I write it. (See Joe Dunthorne’s article in Guardian in 2013.)

Film requires less imagination

NOW A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE belittles the original. Here’s the cover of a copy of Sense and Sensibility that I own. The cover promotes the book through the film with its starry cast of great British actors.104 Now a major

104 S&S

Movies don’t let you work very hard with your imagination. Richard Ayoade (director, actor and comedian) says that movie watchers and readers experience their media differently. He suggests that in reading you can identify closely with the protagonist, but in film the separation is increased by ‘a physical otherness’, especially when the lead actor is a star, known to be famous, wealthy, good looking, etc. (See Joe Dunthorne’s article again).

Films also have big landscapes, gorgeous scenery and fabulous clothes – suffused with a kodakifying glow. The movie Sense and Sensibility, presented as a bit of a rom com, takes place in continuous English summer sunlight. And in the opening sequence of the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice starring Keira Knightley, even the farm animals behaved picaresquely. And just in case you miss their emotional drive movies have music. Novels have words, plot and character development, descriptions, dialogue, no music.

Film adaptations can stunt the imagination, fossilise the experience of the book. A strongly expressed view in our reading group is that it’s best to avoid the film until you have read the book. We were discussing Julie & Julia by Julie Powell. But even reading the book first doesn’t avoid that. Jonathan Coe suggests that ‘adaptations of pre-20th-century novels on celluloid usually end up as mummification rather than reinvention’. Exceptions are Tony Richardson’s Tom Jones and John Schlesinger’s Far From the Madding Crowd although they are really sixties romps in period costume. (See his article Made for Each Other in the Guardian Review. And shouldn’t that be Henry Fielding and Thomas Hardy?)

Films obstruct reading

It can be argued that films promote reading and add to the enjoyment of, say, JK Rowling and the Harry Potter series (involving classic British actors, of course.) But there is an argument that films stop people reading the original because the film adaptation is seen as a the same or an adequate substitute. Some people appear to get confused about reading and viewing. Have you had a conversation like this?

Me: Have you read We Need to talk about Kevin?

Them: No, but I’ve seen the film.

Which can only mean that the story is everything, and the medium is not significant. That all the work that Lionel Shriver put into it, all the craft, the skill, the detail, the nuances and complexity of being the mother of an unlikeable child. I’ve even heard someone say, ‘I’ve never read Jane Eyre, but I saw the tv series. That’s the one where she’s going to marry the rich guy, isn’t it?’ Oh yes. That’s Jane Eyre.

What I didn’t want to see

There are films I would rather not have seen, they spoiled the experience of reading the book: three examples The Borrowers, whose updating to the twenty-first century removed most of the whimsy and make-do-and-mend ingenuity that was the charm of the books. Catch-22 whose chaotic plot, overblown characters, expose of the craziness of war could not be represented by the realism of film. Mrs Palfrey at the Claremont, which updates Elizabeth Taylor’s difficult novel and gives ageing a charming or eccentric face. Read the novel to get a quite different understanding of what Elizabeth Taylor was showing about age.

Any good film adaptations?

The Hours from Michael Cunningham’s novel which is in part derived from Virginia Woolf’s Mrs Dalloway. (Although I am having doubts about it having just read Hermione Lee’s essay Virginia Woolf’s Nose.)

Shipping News adapted from E Annie Proulx’s novel, and in which the New Foundland scenery and her story is hauntingly brought to the screen.

And for Jonathan Coe one of the best adaptations is Housekeeping:

Bill Forsyth’s film version, made in 1987 is an unswervingly faithful adaptation, preserving the narrative shape, the tone, the desolate backwoods atmosphere, even finding visual correlatives for Robinson’s scriptural, luminous prose. And yet it has been almost completely forgotten. It’s never been available on DVD, and none of the Robinson fans I’ve spoken to recently, either in Britain or America, seems to be aware of it.

104 Housekeeping mineThe film, apparently, is unmarketable. So that’s one film I wont be seeing then. And I will be very happy with the novel.

 

Can you recommend any worthwhile adaptations of film to screen? Do you have anything to add about films and novels?

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