New Grub Street

 This book is a hidden gem. Wait, is it? I had not heard of New Grub Street, not even George Gissing. I mean, I know I am very ignorant and it may be the case that he is well known in Britain but I am going to be very bold and say that he is not one of the best known, world famous, English authors. Such a shame, because he should be. Granted, this is the only novel I have read of his out of 23 of his published novels. But I loved it. I do think it is a masterpiece. One of which I probably would have never heard of had not my friend Maddy bequeathed her library to me when she left Deans Court, and with it a copy of New Grub Street.
  New Grub Street tells a harrowing story of literary men in 19th centrury England. Its story was heavily influenced by George Gissing's experiences, and it is told in a way that feels very much like it could have been a true story. Because of that it was interesting to compare certain aspects of life in England back then and life in England now. The book focuses on authors that mostly live under economic hardship, and at some point I did wonder how poor they actually were. Were they the poorest of the poor? Fortunately, the book addresses that point somewhat tangentially when it talks in this way about Harold Biffen: "In his present state of mind he cared nothing how disreputable he looked to passers-by. These seedy habiliments were the token of his degradation, and at times he regarded them (happening to see himself in a shop mirror) with pleasurable contempt. The same spirit often led him for a meal to the poorest of eating-houses, places where he rubbed elbows with ragged creatures who had somehow obtained the price of a cup of coffee and a slice of bread and butter. He liked to contrast himself with these comrades in misfortune. 'This is the rate at which the wold esteems me; I am worth no better provision than this.' Or else, instead of emphasising the contrast, he defiantly took a place among the miserables of the nether world, and nursed hatred of all who were well-to-to." (p. 301). Meaning, they were not the poorest in society. That made sense to me. Because, even when the characters (Edwin Reardon, Harold Biffen, Jasper Milvain, Alfred Yule) are poor, to me they did not appear to be living the grimmest aspects of economic hardship. They were educated, well spoken, and were fine authors who were quite committed to literature. Now, with respect to contrasting life in England in the past with life in England now, I wonder how the healthcare system worked back then. And to some extent I wonder how it works now. What I mean is, Alfred Yule had cataracts and is at first given a prognosis by what seemed to be a doctor with an independent practice—well, he was more of a destitute person than a practicing medic. Alfred Yule paid this destitute medic for his prognosis, and was later vexed not knowing how he would pay for the surgery he needed. I understand most common medical procedures are currently covered by the NHS, but I also know there are some other medical expenses that are not covered (like egg freezing.) Was the healthcare system more commonly private in the past? Would a cataract surgery be covered by the NHS now? It was very sad that Alfred Yule was so stressed by his situation, especially knowing that he most likely would not have had to worry about such matters had he lived in present-day Britain. Lastly, and just as a minor note, Katherine Mullin (the editor of the edition I read) noted that in England, back then, "railway accidents, often fatal, were relatively common, widely reported in newspapers, and frequently provided plot twists in fiction" (p. 483). What?! Nowadays one does read about railway accidents, with more frequency than one might like, but in places other than Britain.
  There are two main love stories in the book. Edwin and Amy Reardon, and Jasper Milvain and Marian Yule. Both ending in unexpected ways, the descriptions of human life and interactions are told in a detailed style worthy of Leo Tolstoy's War and Peace. The way in which the book ends very much reminded me of Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and Damned. Except, of course, Fitzgerald's novel was published 31 years after New Grub Street. The reason I am comparing both books is because both authors seem to be (correctly) saying that there is no karma. Life is unfair. But we do not need to read anything to know that. That said, I was quite affected by the experiences of Edwin and Amy Reardon. After their reconciliation I genuinely forgave them both, and was even left thinking of Amy as a good person. Precisely because of that I could not accept the narrative that followed. I felt like George Gissing betrayed her in favour of a quick and easy ending for the book. He could have invented some other character. Why did it have to be her? I was very annoyed, very disappointed. But perhaps that was the point.
  My last remark is: George Gissing later revised New Grub Street and shortened it. I am usually in favour of shortening novels for the sake of eliminating the boring and banal parts of the book. However, this time I did not feel like the book needed to be shortened. I thought it was great the way that it is. I am intrigued to know which parts George Gissing deemed unnecessary.
  All in all, I am very grateful that I read this book. The feeling might be enhanced by the fortuitous way in which I happened to own my copy of the book. I do hope I may read more novels by George Gissing. He deserves to be better known.

References:
[1]. Gigging, G. New Grub Street. United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: Oxford University Press, 2016.

The Silvered Heart

Not knowing anything about the legend of the Wicked Lady, except after reading the bonus material at the end of the book, I read this novel as if it were simply fiction. Well, the only thing I did know about that period in time in England was thanks to me having recently watched the film "Cromwell" (1970). This book, written from a royalist's perspective, of course has a different feel from that of the movie.
  I imagine one can enjoy the book only if one sympathises with the Lady Ferrers portrayed in the book. I did not sympathise with her. Her logic at all times felt bogus, her motivations childish, and despite her constant insistence at every new chapter of her life that she was now finally aware of how wrong she had been in the past, she never truly changes, she never truly learns anything. She is doomed to make the same fey mistakes over and over again. The way in which the story developed did feel like it would make for a classic Netflix film or series.
  Honestly, the most interesting part of the book was the bonus material. Those extra six pages on actual history were the most interesting and most enlightening.

Essays in Idleness

I just learnt that this is a classic, and that in Japan students often get questions on their exams about this book, but I did not find it very interesting. One can tell that Kenko was quite of a conservative mind—which is not a bad thing per se. But it appeared to me that he could not hide his contempt for people who did not stick to tradition. Suddenly Marcus Aurelius's Meditations came to my mind. In it Marcus Aurelius says that much of our dissatisfaction with other people's behaviour is due to our judment of their actions; that we should get rid of our judgment and that way we would be happy. I find myself siding with Marcus Aurelius. It is fine if Kenko, or anyone else, wants to stick to tradition, but one should not judge others because they do not behave the way we expect them to behave.

  There are other essays with which I disagree, like the one where Kenko basically says that there is no such thing as an intelligent woman. There was only one essay in which Kenko explicitly expressed misogynist thoughts. But finding those opinions in his book was still quite concerning.

  At some point, when I was trying to figure out why I was not agreeing with many of his thoughts I said to myself: "It must be because the book is so old." Except, Meditations is even older and there are many more things with which I agree in that book. I guess there are people that lived in the distant past whose opinions I like, and likewise others who lived in the distant past whose opinions I do not like. Maybe I should stop judging people just because they lived in the past. Maybe I should just stop judging people, period.
  Oh. I almost forgot. There are some good ideas in Essays in Idleness. Like: we should be humble and not be quick to show off the knowledge we have, that we should not procrastinate, that death is inevitable and therefore we should not waste our time. But there are other books that say the same things and are much better than this one. Starting with Marcus Aurelius's book.

War and Peace

 What a masterpiece. Even more, I think that anyone who might read this book will agree that it is a masterpiece. That being said, I will mention a few things that I believe could have improved my enjoyment of the novel. Amy Mandelker, the editor of the edition I read, said in the introduction that there is a way of thinking of War and Peace as having "three separate components—a philosophical essay, a family chronicle, and a historical novel about the Napoleonic wars" [1, p. xi]. I would agree with two of those components. In my opinion War and Peace can be divided into the following three different components: nonsensical rambling, a family chronicle, and a historical novel about the Napoleonic wars. Although I admit my opinion might betray my feelings about philosophy more generally.
  Perhaps the first thing one can admire about War and Peace is simply the astonishingly immense amount of knowledge and intellect that it is required to write a novel like this one. Not only did Leo Tolstoy must have had to research very deeply about the Napoleonic wars, he  must have also been a master of languages, and even if I disagree with his philosophical discourse, I do acknowledge he made some good points.
  The component I liked most was the family chronicle. All the couples I know in real life that are of a certain age (fifty years old or older) have separated from their spouse. Giving me little evidence that there might be a point in marriage at all. Tolstoy seems to be of a similar opinion, with several of his characters being in disappointing relationships. That is not what made me like the family chronicle so much. What I did like, however, was the vivid descriptions of the feelings that each of the characters experience in situations that have faithful equivalents in contemporary society. How easily one can convince oneself of one thing, and just how equally easy it is to suddenly change our mind about anything.
  That leaves the historical novel about the Napoleonic wars as my second favourite component. As we all know by now, I know nothing about the world. And I knew nothing about the Napoleonic wars prior to reading War and Peace. I did not know the Russians fought the French in 1805. I knew nothing of the European events in the years between 1805 and 1812. What I did know is that at some point in history the French invaded Russia but were defeated somewhere near Moscow, but never made it to Moscow. Well, I was wrong. The French did make it all the way to Moscow and captured the city! What?! I found the retelling of history by Tolstoy quite fair, as much as I can judge fairness knowing nothing about the topic. What I meant is that it seemed to me that Tolstoy did not appear to me as having a noticeable bias in favour of the Russians, at least not in the core of the text. He was much more critical of Napoleon in the epilogue. It might have been my general ignorance that made learning any and all bits of history very interesting to me.
  Now, I do not want to say much about the philosophical ideas in the text. Maybe I will just say that I believe that just because in mathematics or in science one can deal with knowledge in certain way that does not mean that those same ways can be applied to or have direct equivalents in history. I do, however, admire Tolstoy's keen interest not only in history but in mathematics, statistics, and science.
  With respect to the length of the novel, Amy Mandelker also says in the introduction that "Tolstoy cut down his novel and discarded hundreds of pages of drafts, including complete episodes in which, for example, Pierre adopts and travels with an orphan and saves the life of a young Italian count. Early drafts even contain an entire novella based on the exploits of this Count Poncini, who arranges Pierre's marriage and who is taken captive by Nikolai Rostov" [1, p. xv]. Well, I believe Tolstoy should have whittled down his novel even more. There were certain parts where he talks about the nature of historical thought that in their aggregate were too repetitive for my taste. But there were also passages, like the one where Nikolai Rostov goes hunting, that I simply did not enjoy reading, and I thought added virtually nothing to the novel. And the epilogue could have been omitted altogether.
  I know I may have appeared too critical of War and Peace. But if I was it was only because I enjoyed it so much. That may not make any sense. Except, maybe it does. I swear, you will not regret taking the time to read this book.

References.
  Both quotes above were taken from
[1]. Tolstoy, L. War and Peace. United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: Oxford University Press, 2010.

Meditations, with selected correspondence

 First, thank you to my friend Claire Young for recommending this book to me, and to my sister for giving it to me as a Christmas present.
  It is quite a decent book. The only other book whose "literary style" is close to Meditations is perhaps How to Be a Gentleman, which is another great read for everyone. The thing I thought most interesting was that this must be the closest thing to having a conversation with and listening to the personal thoughts of someone who lived virtually two thousand years ago. It is thus interesting to see how those thoughts are so similar to and could very well be those of a person who is alive today. I do not think I read in it any idea that was revolutionarily new to me, but I did like how many things it contained with which I did agree. I was happy to learn about stoicism and, to a lesser extent, about cynicism and epicureanism. I was surprised to see that I agreed with stoicism to a lesser extent than I had previously believed—this I say not having ever formally learnt anything about it before. One of the "chapters" I liked most was:
  "Practise even at the things that you have lost all hope of achieving. For the left hand, though inefficient at everything else through lack of practice, is more powerful than the right when it comes to gripping the bridle; for it has had good practice at that."
(Aurelius, M. Meditations. p. 148. United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: Oxford University Press, 2011).

  Which is advice I have given to myself at least on a couple of ocassions. Most recently when I started running, I genuinely thought I would never be able to run 5 km. I gave up on that goal, but continued running nonetheless. Now I can comfortably run 23 km.
  And there was another "chapter" that made me think of people who have been victims of HIV stigma:
  "[I]n other words, let it judge nothing to be good or bad if it can happen to a good person or bad without distinction."
(Aurelius, M. Meditations. p. 64. United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland: Oxford University Press, 2011).
  Not that I believe that there are "good" people and "bad" people. But if something can happen to anyone, do not judge them for what has befallen them.
  There are indeed many other ideas that are very much worthy of consideration and discussion, so do read this book of you are looking for some guidance or reassurance. Now, my book came with a selection of letters between Marcus Aurelius and Fronto, one of his eighteen tutors. They are an excellent complement that allows us to take a further look into Marcus Aurelius's mind and life. There are some people who think that Marcus Aurelius and Fronto had a homoerotic relationship. What do I think having read those letters? It is hard to tell. Yes, there are certain letters that had me convinced that they must have had a romantic relationship. But having read all of the thirty-one letters included in my book, I was left thinking: "Well, maybe they were simply truly very good friends". I do not know. Perhaps the reason I am inclined to dismiss their affectionate style in the letters is because Marcus Aurelius did make a couple of homophobic remarks in Meditations, which was not intended for publication, it was simply his personal record of thoughts. I guess, I am unable to form a verdict having only read this book. Maybe if I read more about his life and work I would be better able to form an opinion with regard to his relationship with Fronto.

Romeo and Juliet

 I am happy and pleased to see that this book lives up to expectations. Wait, did I have expactations about it? Perhaps what I wanted to say is that, in my opinion, this is a book that deserves the reputation that precedes it. The book I read (The Oxford Shakespeare) contains the first and second quartos. Only The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet comes with extensive commentary, which I really appreciated. It made me enjoy the play so much more. It did take me several months to finish reading it, but I admit that I tended to procrastinate and that greatly increased the time it took me to read it. Whereas, once I got to the first quarto (which comes second,) I finished reading it in only three days. I definitely noticed certain differences between the second and first quartos, and I want to say that I did enjoy the second quarto much better. Not only because I was guided by the editor to the meaning of virtually all the lines in the play. I also, genuinely, noticed how some parts of the dialogue in the first quarto were shorter, and consequently, just a little less elegant than in the second quarto.
  Well deseved praise to Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It was so much more than I imagined. I highly recommend it.

The Oxford History of Mexico

 Hmm. I am having a little trouble understanding how I feel about this book. I am certainly glad I finally got the chance to read it. I cannot stop thinking that my prior knowledge of the history of Mexico was really useful when trying to better understand it. Not that I knew much. What I am trying to say is that, in my opinion, this might not be a book for complete beginners. At the same time, this is also not an in-depth perspective on the history of Mexico. As perhaps no single book that covers such a large period of time can be.
  I am grateful that I got to learn many interesting details of history, and that I got to read the opinion of several people who have devoted much of their time to studying the history of my country. Yes. I am glad.
  Simultaneously, though, I am somehwat... dispirited. Is that how I feel solely about the book? Or could my feelings be inevitably mixed with the thoughts I get when I look around me?
  Meditate on this, I will.