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Caribbean Literature World literature

ImoReads… ‘The Mermaid of Black Conch’ (2020) by Monique Roffey

Blog Nº 29

“The sea, that expanse of nothingness, could reflect a man back on himself. It had that effect. It was so endless and it moved around underneath the boat. It wasn’t the same thing at all as being on any expanse of earth. The sea shifted. The sea could swallow the boat whole. The sea was the giant woman of the planet, fluid and contrary. All the men shuddered as they gazed at her surface.”

I have always enjoyed stories that contain elements of myth and legend, but this is the first time I have delved into the world of Caribbean folklore. The Mermaid of Black Conch is arresting and powerful while unravelling all pre-conceived notions of what a mermaid is. It gives an insight into the long and fascinating history of the Caribbean through the unique story of Aycayia, the girl cursed to be a mermaid for all eternity.

The story begins in 1976 in the small town of St Constance, located on the island of Black Conch in the Lesser Antilles. An unsuspecting young fisherman, David Baptiste, is out in his pirogue boat singing and playing the guitar whilst waiting for a catch. What he doesn’t expect to attract is the mermaid Aycayia, a beautiful young woman cursed long ago by jealous wives who has been swimming in the Caribbean Sea ever since. So entranced by his music, when Aycayia hears David’s boat engine again she follows it, only to find herself a target for American tourists visiting the island for its annual fishing competition. Dragged out of the sea by the Americans and strung up on the dock like a trophy, Aycayia believes her fate is sealed. However, when night falls it is David who rescues her and takes her home. Slowly, Aycayia begins to transform back into a woman, much to the joy of David who has become completely enamoured with her. Unfortunately, transformations are not always permanent, especially when centuries-old jealousy is at play. Even the love between Aycayia and David may not be enough to break the curse.

Author Monique Roffey has succeeded in producing a spellbindingly rhythmic narrative often through simple literary devices such as repetition. For example, “she was floating port side of his boat, cool cool, like a regular woman on a raft, except there was no raft”, “I am an ol’ man now, and sick sick so I cyan move much”, or “after the fish-rain I realise curse strong strong.” She uses this technique frequently throughout the novel, indicating that it has been inspired by folkloric tales passed down for centuries through nothing but spoken word, made memorable by repetition. The fact that all dialogue is spelled phonetically – “Dou dou. Come. Mami wata! Come. Come, nuh” – only adds to the significance that spoken word has in stories like this. Roffey continues to show how important different voices are in The Mermaid of Black Conch by having several narrators sharing the storytelling duties. We hear from David through his retrospective diary entries in 2016, an unknown narrator present in 1976 who tells us the words and actions of all characters, and Aycayia herself who speaks in verse, which further emphasises the memorable quality of the narrative and her difference from the other characters. Furthermore, Aycayia always speaks in the present tense, yet it is clear she is looking back on events, suggesting that being stuck in an everlasting curse has made all notion of time and tense completely meaningless. This fusion of unique voices and narrative styles makes for a highly enchanting read.

It’s also important to focus on Aycayia herself. She in no way conforms to the trope of a siren sitting atop a rock, combing her hair and luring men to their deaths with her beauty. In fact, Aycayia is distinctly ‘unbeautiful’ when compared to Disney-esque mermaids. She has matted dreadlocks which are full of sea creatures who have made a home there, her teeth are sharp and pointed, she has dorsal fins on her back, she smells of salt and fish, she has webbed hands, and her tail is enourmous and scaly. Personally, I think she is a more authentic mermaid because she is at one with the sea, and is striking in a magical, sharp kind of way. Significantly, she has no idea how to lure in a man because she was cursed to this fishlike form when she was just on the brink of womanhood. It transpires that she used to dance for the men of her village centuries ago, not realising in her innocence why the men enjoyed it so much. Consumed by jealousy, the wives of these men chose to make her a mermaid when cursing her because they knew her tail would bind her ‘sex’, making her unable to seduce a man let alone sleep with one. It is not until she is on land, tailless and human, that she is able to finally ‘become a woman’ and understand what it is to physically love a man, a joy that she finds with David. Even though the long-dead wives can still wield their power over Aycayia, it is satisfying to know that whatever her fate, she has bested them through her relationship with David and this can never be taken away from her, despite the eternal cruelty of these scorned women.

I have read several books featuring mermaids, but I have to say that The Mermaid of Black Conch is now my standout favourite. It encompasses myth and legend, love and the cruelty of human nature as well as the beauty of the Caribbean and its complex history. I highly recommend this captivating and unique novel.

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
Caribbean Literature World literature

ImoReads… ‘The Orchid House’ (1953) by Phyllis Shand Allfrey

Blog Nº 28

“Miss Joan paused on the threshold, for a beautiful thing was holding her prisoner there. Just outside the orchid house was a frosted pink hibiscus bush, one of the rare ones which Old Master cultivated. A little fou-fou humming-bird had chosen the largest and most perfect of flowers to drain its sweetness. The flower was three times larger than the bird which was only like a flashing black-and-emerald moth. The bird was fluttering and humming at such a speed that it seemed to lie still along the bright warm air, its tiny claws curled up; its long sharp bill was deep in the bedecked trumpet of the hibiscus. Seconds and seconds it remained suspended there, appearing rigid, then like a drunken spirit it reeled away and wiped the sword of its beak on some lichen. Shocked by this exquisite sight, Miss Joan sighed deeply and sat down again.”

The Orchid House is Allfrey’s only novel, and it certainly makes a statement. Heavily autobiographical, the novel is set in Dominica in the Caribbean and explores themes including love, money, politics and family relations, all seen through the lens of colonial decay. 

Three sisters are returning to their childhood home in the Caribbean after being away for several years. Though the family are directly descended from colonial settler heavyweights, the family has sunk into a state of near poverty with the coming of the end of empire. Each sister wants to change the family’s fortunes but in different ways. I believe that Joan is the sister that is based upon Allfrey herself – she is concerned with empowering the locals through politics, influenced by her strong socialist ideals. Interestingly, Allfrey has chosen to have the sisters’ childhood nurse Lally narrate the book. Throughout the book we see Lally’s devotion to the family come up against her awareness of the destruction left in the wake of colonialism on the island.

The choice of narrator is interesting to me. Given the time of the book’s publication, the character of Lally is in some ways reminiscent of the ‘loyal faithful slave’ character depicted in many novels written by white authors in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Lally is completely devoted to the family she has been serving her whole life, and even looks down on other black characters for being unsuitable associates of said family. She always speaks about each family member with care and compassion. Though Allfrey was engaged in socialist politics and activism, it seems unlikely that she was not influenced by these stereotypes as she herself did grow up in the very same colonial environment with house servants who it would be assumed were completely loyal. On the other hand, Lally is becoming more and more aware of the downward turn in fortunes for the island. Furthermore, there are times when she wonders why at her age she is still as active in her service to the family as she was several decades ago. The narrator being black also means the reader interacts more with other black characters than if one of the sisters had been narrating. Therefore, I would say this is a slightly more well-balanced portrayal than some other books I’ve read.

A standout feature of The Orchid House is its descriptions of Dominica’s vibrant nature juxtaposed with its colonial decline. An example of a powerful quote from Lally is, “beauty and disease, beauty and sickness, beauty and horror: that was the island.” There are many similar moments in the novel that evoke the same emotions. The occurrence of a formidable storm also indicates the power that nature wields in the Caribbean, suggesting that it is strong enough to battle against the decay being brought on by its colonial past.

This book lives up to its reputation as a Caribbean classic – it deals with a lot of important themes whilst also regaling a very personal story. I would recommend it to anyone with an interest in recent Caribbean history.

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
English literature

ImoReads… ‘Shuggie Bain’ (2020) by Douglas Stuart

Blog Nº 24

“Sadness made for a better houseguest; at least it was quiet, reliable, consistent.” 

I was given this 2020 Booker Prize winner for Christmas and it is quite unlike anything I have read before. Shuggie Bain is at once tragic, funny, harrowing and compassionate, forming a beautifully sad tale with lasting effect. It is a deeply moving account of poverty, addiction and childhood trauma in 1980s Glasgow.

1980s Glasgow

The novel is set in 80s and 90s Glasgow and centres on the young boy Hugh – or Shuggie – Bain. At the outset Shuggie and his older siblings Leek and Catherine live with their mother Agnes, father Big Shug and Agnes’ parents in a flat on the Sighthill Estate. Though it is obvious from the outset that the family do not have means, there is not yet a sense of despair in their situation. After the philandering Big Shug promises Agnes a fresh start in their own house everything begins to go wrong. Shug leaves Agnes and the kids in a mining town on the outskirts of Glasgow that has been decimated by Thatcherism, shattering Agnes’ dreams of a comfortable life bought and paid for. As she increasingly turns to alcohol for solace, each of her children try their hardest to save her. Yet, one by one as they get older, they leave Agnes behind to try and save themselves from a life of poverty and hardship. Shuggie holds out the longest, spurred on by unadulterated love for his mother and a youthfully innocent sense of hope. However, Shuggie has his own problems. Though he tries his hardest to fit in with the other boys his age, it becomes increasingly clear that he is ‘no right’, leaving him exposed to abuse and bullying. Agnes wants to be there for her son, but her addiction is slowly destroying her relationships with everyone around her, even Shuggie. 

Blackhill Estate, 1980s Glasgow

What is striking about this novel is how the ruthlessness of poverty is laid bare so forcefully. Stuart really captures the bleakness of life in Glasgow during this time. His descriptive passages of the mining town Pithead (likely based on Cardowan) particularly stand out. Small, squat, grey houses packed closely together with no privacy; the surroundings don’t get more scenic than slag heaps and overgrown wilderness. The men are lost without work in the mines. Stuart describes the women as having rings of dirt round their necks and the children as running amok with matted hair and unkempt clothing. The language is coarse, the future prospects are non-existent and the vice is drink. I was always filled with despair to read how Agnes and other adults in the town scrambled to buy drink with most of their weekly benefit money while their children looked on hungrily. It is hard not to feel sympathy for Agnes nonetheless – her alcoholism manifests itself in endless cans of Special Brew lager and bottles of vodka. Time and time again she is mistreated and abandoned by men, rejection which she often takes out on her children. Even as young as eight, Shuggie is dismayed whenever his mother picks up a drink, leaving him to courageously deal with the trauma of her drunken disappearances, suicide attempts and blind rages. 

Slum in 1980s Glasgow

Shuggie Bain is Stuart’s debut novel and it is largely autobiographical. It is clear to the reader that Shuggie does not fit in with the other boys – though we know why, Shuggie just thinks he is ‘wrong’. Stuart has spoken about how difficult it was growing up in a housing scheme where there was a real stigma around being gay. The idea of being ‘out and proud’ did not fit into this hard, working-man’s world. Particularly in a world without internet, he could not easily find any solidarity with the wider gay community or comfort in his identity. Stuart’s struggles are heartbreakingly played out in Shuggie. Though Shuggie tries everything – changing his walk, pretending to like football, hiding the fact that he likes ‘girly’ toys – he is still a target for bullying. He is often beaten up, verbally abused or made to do unspeakable things by other boys at school or in the neighbourhood. It brings me joy to know that Stuart has found happiness and acceptance with his husband Michael Cary in New York City, where he has resided since 2000.

Stuart grew up without books or any formal education in literature making the calibre of his debut novel even more astounding. I am thankful that I have been exposed to such a heart-wrenching story of love, struggle and pride about an era and city that I know shamefully little about despite living in Scotland’s neighbouring country. I will close this blog with a powerful quote from Stuart, which sums up the essence of Shuggie’s Glasgow:

“I have a complicated relationship with my hometown—but there’s no place I love more. I hope “Shuggie Bain” is a love story to Glasgow, not a fawning love story but one that sees the city clearly. It’s very Scottish to be direct about difficult things, so there’s no point in pretending it wasn’t a hard place to live. The city is a place of contrasts; in all its devastation and deprivation, the people still remain strong and fiercely proud, and I know of no one who is warmer, kinder, and more blackly funny then Glaswegians.”

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
Australian Literature World literature

ImoReads… ‘My Brilliant Career’ (1901) by Miles Franklin

Blog Nº 23

“I am afflicted with the power of thought, which is a heavy curse. The less a person thinks and inquires regarding the why and the wherefore and the justice of things, when dragging along through life, the happier it is for him, and doubly, trebly so, for her.”

Anyone who knows me knows that I love a good old Australian novel, and I was not disappointed by My Brilliant Career. Written in 1901, the year of the Federation of Australia, this novel is unashamedly sharp, romantic and vivacious. I read it in a matter of days, being so taken in by the entirely convincing narrative voice and vivid display of Australian life.

My Brilliant Career is told in the first-person narrative by sixteen-year-old protagonist Sybylla Melvyn. For the first part of her childhood, Sybylla loves life with her family in rural Australia. She is clever and devours any book in sight, reading works extremely advanced for her age. When a series of poor business decisions from her father relegate the family from owning a sprawling cattle station to subsistence farming in the outback, teenage Sybylla becomes frustrated and bored with the hardship and monotony of life. She longs for a more refined lifestyle where she would be surrounded by likeminded others who enjoy intellectual thinking, reading and music. To aid the struggling family, Sybylla’s grandmother offers to take Sybylla in to live with her at her gracious property Caddagat. Sybylla fits right in at Caddagat; her sharp tongue, wit and frankness are a triumph among her extended family and for Caddagat’s wealthy neighbour, the handsome Harold Beecham, who becomes completely enamoured with her. Over the next two years, Sybylla will find herself choosing between everything a conventional life offers and her own plans for a ‘brilliant career’.

What is amazing about this book is the link between Sybylla and the author. Sybylla Melvyn is based on the author Miles Franklin (Stella Maria Sarah Miles Franklin). Sybylla’s childhood timeline is very similar to that of Franklin’s – for example, Franklin’s grandmother’s property Talbingo was simply renamed Caddagat in My Brilliant Career. Like Sybylla, Franklin was set on having a career in music. Reduced family circumstances making this impossible, Franklin turned to writing and as such wrote My Brilliant Career at age sixteen. The sheer literary skill, wide-ranging vocabulary and vibrant narrative are simply astonishing given that the author is a sixteen-year-old girl with an unconventional education, notwithstanding that the book was “conceived and tossed off in a matter of weeks” as a romance to amuse her friends. Furthermore, Franklin’s (and therefore Sybylla’s) burning desire to have her own career rather than do what was expected and marry is a view far more akin to feminists of the 1960s and 70s rather than of a teenage girl born and raised in the Australian outback at the turn of the century. For me, this novel indicates that someone’s sheer genius can shine through no matter what circumstances they have grown up in.

I think the fact that Franklin is the same age as the protagonist really helps legitimise Sybylla’s narrative voice. As you read, it is completely clear that the author is also a teenage girl – on the one hand Sybylla is unapologetically passionate and unpredictable, while on the other she carries insecurities about her looks and personality, portrayed like this in a way that only someone feeling the same things could. The narrative style is quite different to other books from the time that I’ve read; it is impetuous and brazen much like the mind of a teenage girl. Towards the end of My Brilliant Career, when the romance is heating up between Sybylla and Harry Beecham, I was completely hooked as Sybylla lays bare her emotions – torn between her desire for independence and her affection for Harry. I, like many other female readers I’m sure, felt that whatever decision she made, the outcome would be bittersweet. 

Overall, I was completely blown away by My Brilliant Career and think it is an essential read for any young person, especially young women. It is engaging, emotional, humorous and offers a candid representation of Australian life in the late 1800s/early 1900s. This was only the beginning of Franklin’s success and I take comfort in the fact that she did indeed get to have a ‘brilliant career’.

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
nineteenth century

ImoReads… ‘Love and Youth: Essential Stories’ (1852-1860) by Ivan Turgenev

Blog Nº 22

‘O youth! youth! You care about nothing, you believe you possess all the treasures of the world; even sorrow gives you pleasure, even grief amuses you, you are bold and daring, and everything melts in you like wax in the sunshine, like snow in springtime’

I got this collection of short stories as a Christmas present; my dad thought it was ‘about time’ that I get acquainted with one of Russia’s best nineteenth-century writers, Ivan Turgenev. I was excited to read it to see how differently/similarly the themes of love and youth were tackled in Russian writing compared to Western European writing at this time. The collection comprises Turgenev’s great novella First Love and five short stories, all managing to feature vibrant and arresting characters and plotlines in so few pages.

My favourite tale in the book is undoubtedly First Love. Three middle-aged friends are looking back on their first loves, and of the three it is Vladimir Petrovich who has the most youthfully turbulent tale to tell. Petrovich writes down his story in a notebook, and this is how we hear it. We are taken back to the summer of 1833 when Petrovich was 16, living in Moscow with his parents. Studying for his university entrance exams goes out of the window when the beautiful and sharp Zinaida moves in next door with her mother, the old Princess Zasekina. Zinaida is a few years older than Petrovich but he is instantly infatuated with her; we hear first-hand how he begins to experience the paradox of being in love – how it can be at once painful and glorious. Petrovich begins to spend all his time with Zinaida and the several other young men she has expertly cast under her spell. And yet, when we eventually find out who it is that Zinaida truly loves, it is clear that she is in just as much pain as the men she is toying with, and the revelation is as much of a shock to the reader as it is to poor Petrovich.

What I enjoyed about this story is how Petrovich’s emotions and actions transcend the time period of the book; any 21st-century teenager or young adult who has ever experienced a crush, heartbreak or a relationship reading First Love would be able to identify with elements of Petrovich’s struggle. Older readers I’m sure would share the wistful reflection clearly felt by the fortysomething Petrovich looking back on his younger self. It is an interesting insight into humanity that no matter where you’re from, no matter the social customs and outlook of your time, everyone collectively shares in and relates to the emotional rollercoaster that is love and relationships.

The five other short stories in the collection are Bezhin Meadow; Biryuk; The Rattling!;The District Doctor;The Lovers’ Meeting. Though several of these also tackle the theme of love, the majority are tales filled with the grandiose flights of youthful imagination. For example in Bezhin Meadow, a lost traveller shelters for the night in the meadow with a group of peasant boys guarding a herd of horses. They talk round the fire of bogeymen, ‘russalkas’ (wood sprites) and local rumour of strange happenings. Turgenev is an excellent storyteller, interweaving mysterious wails and jumpy moments into the narrative as the boys tell these tales. This made me as a reader feel the eerie presence of the meadow bearing down upon me just as these young boys with runaway imaginations would have felt. In fact, in each of these short stories Turgenev evokes his chosen landscapes vividly, with the consequence of making them appear distinctly Russian. In The Rattling! Turgenev expertly uses the wild landscape paired with an ominous rattling of a far-off carriage to convince the main characters that they are being pursued along the road by bandits. As their own cart fails to keep ahead the rattling gets closer and closer, making for an extremely gripping few pages.

Turgenev was a key figure in popularising Russian literature in the West, and after reading this engaging collection I can see why. I look forward to introducing myself to more Russian literary greats in future.

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
American Literature

ImoReads… ‘The American’ (1877) by Henry James

Blog Nº 21

“I want to bring them down,—down, down, down! I want to turn the tables upon them—I want to mortify them as they mortified me. They took me up into a high place and made me stand there for all the world to see me, and then they stole behind me and pushed me into this bottomless pit, where I lie howling and gnashing my teeth! I made a fool of myself before all their friends; but I shall make something worse of them.” 

The American is my third foray into James’ literary repertoire (after The Bostonians & What Maisie Knew) and once again I was not disappointed. However, this novel is different from the previous two that I’ve read, given that as well as the tragicomedy typical of James, there are also overwhelming elements of a crime thriller. I found The American to be a gripping read that at once reveres and admonishes the unbreakable customs of European polite society, from the perspective of an American outsider.

James’ protagonist is wealthy American businessman Christopher Newman. Having made his millions, Newman descends on Europe seeking a beautiful wife to complete his fortune. While staying in Paris, he meets the arrestingly beautiful Claire de Cintré of the ancient House of Bellegarde. Newman is determined to make Claire his wife and while Claire likes him back, she is always cautious due to her family’s haughty expectations. The House of Bellegarde is a longstanding unbroken aristocratic French bloodline; as a result of the family’s pride in keeping their ancestry ‘pure’, they are running out of money. This is perhaps the only reason Claire’s mother, the intimidating Old Marquise, and Claire’s eldest brother, Urbain, even consider Newman’s courtship of Claire, given his immense riches. The only family member truly allied with Newman is Claire’s energetic younger brother Valentin, who becomes a firm friend of the American. James uses this dilemma to tell a tale of clashes between the old and new world, resulting in thwarted desire, comedy, tragedy, romance and crime.

The tensions that arise from the collision of the old and new world in the novel are worthy of further discussion. In the late 1800s, American society was less constrained by stiff social customs than its European counterparts. For example, it celebrated people from any background, such as Newman, going out and making their own fortune, both socially and financially, from commercial enterprise. In fact, many upper-class Americans at this time were self-made. Newman, and others like him, were ‘nouveau riche’. There was also such a thing as the ‘American Gentry’, quasi-aristocratic families whose wealth stretched back to the British colonial period, but I’m not sure that someone from this background would even be good enough for the Bellegardes. 

Newman’s bid for Claire’s hand is met with an extremely icy reaction from her mother and eldest brother, though they let him visit Claire frequently for six months. Evidently, they are trying to see if they can swallow their pride and stomach Newman’s American manners, outlook and background for the sake of the boost of wealth that he would bring them. In his innocence to the deeply ingrained prejudices and traditions of the Bellegardes, Newman believes his visits and introductions to their friends are all working in his favour, meaning it is an even bigger blow when they simply say, after all that time, ‘no’. It is interesting to observe the struggle between Newman and the Old Marquise; their views of the world are completely incongruous and represent the wider tensions between old and new money in the West. It is at this point sadly that Claire rejects Newman’s proposal after being forced to do so by her mother, even though she loves him and would like to escape with him to America. This leads the devastated Newman to sniff around for the leverage the Bellegardes have over Claire, resulting in a shockingly criminal discovery.

As an American who lived much of his adult life in Europe, I wonder how many comparisons James drew between himself and Newman. In his early novels such as The American and The Portrait of a Lady (1881), his aim was to analyse the impact of older European civilisations on American life. James himself had a distinct affiliation with Great Britain rather than France, living in London for twenty years before moving to Rye, East Sussex. I have seen his house in De Vere Gardens many times while strolling through Kensington. Some people find James’ writing style unwieldy, but I rather like it; he has managed to use consistent, extremely long sentences to excellent narrative effect in each novel of his that I’ve read so far. While reading The American, I was nothing short of hooked, firstly by the colourful nature of the characters and secondly by the climactic finale, in which James uses the tensions built up throughout the novel to culminate in a melodramatic and unexpected end.

Generally, it is James’ later novels that are considered his greatest, but I think a case should be made for The American to join this roster. If you’re after an eye-opening insight into the social norms of late nineteenth-century Europe and America, with a good dose of drama thrown in, then please step this way.

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
English literature

ImoReads… ‘The Two Towers’ (1954) by J.R.R Tolkien

Blog Nº 19

“The world is changing: I feel it in the water, I feel it in the earth, and I smell it in the air.”

I have now completed my third foray into Middle-earth by continuing on with the next LOTR instalment, The Two Towers (TTT). This has to be my favourite so far; Tolkien’s storytelling reaches a new peak now that the Company has splintered. Sauron’s power is growing, and this is represented in the land becoming ever more menacing and treacherous. And yet, the burning hope of the fellowship cannot be dimmed, even when separated from one another. This tale captivates with even more mysterious and vast landscapes filled with strange people, all which bring us closer to the horror of Mordor where the One Ring must be destroyed.

TTT is split into two parts. The first deals with those in the company who Frodo and Sam left behind, namely Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. Their first mission is to rescue Merry and Pippin who were taken by orcs at the Falls of Rauros. Along the way they encounter old friends and new allies, all intent on bringing the evil wizard Saruman to his knees. Lurking in Isengard, Saruman is in league with the dark lord Sauron, so the group knows that this victory will help Frodo and Sam from afar in the completion of their wretched quest.

In the second part, we return to Frodo and Sam who are continuing on to Mordor. A key player in this section is Gollum, who has been shadowing the pair of hobbits for miles and miles with the aim of reclaiming the Ring for himself. Through some clever manoeuvring from Frodo, Gollum remains unaware of the true nature of the mission and ends up being their guide to Mordor. He can never quite be trusted, making the long journey across such desolate lands even more uneasy. As the burden of the Ring weighs ever more heavily on Frodo, it is up to his trusty and loyal companion Sam to keep his master safe from the dangers looming on all fronts.

One particularly magical happening in TTT is the introduction of the Ents, who are without a doubt my favourite Middle-earth creatures. Guardians of the forests, Ents are an ancient race of tree-like beings, most likely inspired by longstanding folklore tales of talking trees. ‘Ent’ comes from the Old English word for giant, indicating that despite their ability to blend in with the forest, they are much larger than regular trees. Merry and Pippin are fortuitously rescued by Treebeard, the oldest of the Ents and indeed the oldest living thing in Middle-earth. Confirming what he already feared, Merry and Pippin inform Treebeard of Saruman’s orc army desecrating the forests to provide fuel for their war machine. This leads to a particularly wondrous event, an ‘Entmoot’. That is, a large meeting of the Ents – in this case to determine the best course of action against Saruman. 

I like the Ents because they are patient, kindly, wise and methodical and because despite all this, you should never underestimate their strength or power in their duty as tree protectors. Treebeard and the other Ents successfully march on Isengard, entrapping Saruman in Orthanc Tower and simultaneously reuniting Merry and Pippin with Gandalf and the others. I have developed a serious soft spot for these magical trees with booming voices; the only sadness is that they have lost their ‘Entwives’ and are yet to discover their whereabouts. I like to think that they did eventually reunite.

Another standout section of the TTT comes in part two with Frodo and Sam. They are struggling to find their way to Mordor until Gollum offers to be their guide. The closer they get, the more bleak and menacing their surroundings become, indicating the cruel grip Sauron’s kingdom has over its neighbouring lands. As I have said previously, Tolkien is truly a master of language. Never have I been made to feel such dismay, hopelessness and distress from descriptive passages alone. One poignant chapter is ‘the passage of the marshes’, in which Gollum leads the two hobbits across the Dead Marshes to avoid being seen by orcs on the main path to Mordor. The way Tolkien describes the marshes makes it seem as though goodness and light have long forgotten this vast and sinister place. One foot wrong and the hobbits would flounder and sink, joining the ghosts of the many soldiers who were slain there long ago. Tolkien emphasises the foul stench of the marshes and the haunting floating lights that surround them on their difficult path across. There is no sound or sight of a single living thing in these marshes or overhead, making our three characters seem utterly and completely alone in this desolate and unwelcoming land. Immediately I thought that Tolkien must have been inspired by his time fighting in the trenches in World War Two to create this bleak and frightening landscape.

I also discovered that Tolkien’s time in the industrial Black Country of the English Midlands was an inspiration for Mordor and its surrounding lands. This is clear to see when comparing the explicitly evil, industrial land of Mordor, which has a cost of environmental decay and destruction, with the light, homely and nature-abundant Shire, which is more akin to some of England’s picturesque rural counties. 

At the end of The Two Towers we are still unsure whether Frodo’s quest will ever be completed and what will become of all the members of the fellowship, and indeed of Middle-earth itself. TTT has been a thoroughly enjoyable, exciting and suspenseful read; I am anxious to get going on The Return of the King so I can see this long and treacherous journey come to an end, hopefully with the conclusion that goodness always prevails…

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
American Literature

ImoReads… ‘Apartment in Athens’ (1945) by Glenway Wescott

Blog Nº 18

“Naturally they were not a happy family, but they had good hearts, and did their best to console each other in bereavement and impoverishment.”

After reading Apartment in Athens for the first time, I am wholly convinced that it should be more widely-known and read as one of the great novels to come out of World War Two. I didn’t know much about Germany’s occupation of Greece during WWII and as such, Apartment in Athens was an educational and eye-opening read. In addition, I was surprised and enthralled by Wescott’s unique narrative style. It’s extremely frank, and this style compliments the plot beautifully to build up an atmosphere of tension, high emotion and exhaustion in an apartment in war-torn Athens.

Wescott’s novel focuses on Greek couple Mr and Mrs Helianos who are struggling to get by in Nazi-occupied Athens. Their favourite son Cimon has been killed in the Battle of Greece, leaving them with their two younger children – sickly Alex who wants to kill a German and simple Leda who is plain and strange, neither of whom the Helianos’ particularly love or understand. The family is forced to share their modest apartment with German officer Kalter who is not shy about his clear and unadulterated disgust for Greeks. The novel takes place exclusively between the walls of this small apartment in Athens, and within this space Wescott stages a disquieting and intense triangular drama between Mr Helianos, Mrs Helianos and Kalter, with the added collateral of the children. As the novel goes on the issues of accommodation and rejection, resistance, and compulsion reach a boiling point; Wescott effectively depicts a great and terrible war through the lens of one family’s everyday existence. The plot takes some unexpected turns, and despite Wescott’s starkness of language it is almost impossible to decipher between triumph and defeat in this unusual tale of spiritual struggle.

As I mentioned, the language in Apartment in Athens is striking for its ability to multitask as being so simple and frank yet so demonstrative of emotion. On a practical level, Wescott was writing the novel as the war played out meaning that paper was hardly in ample supply – it would have been difficult to publish a novel in a more unwieldy and passionate style. Besides, I think the language style he has used is extremely effective in stressing the intensity of emotion experienced by the Helianos’ throughout the novel; sometimes silences and fewer words say more than long and impassioned speeches. The simplicity of language even extends to the characters themselves – never do we find out the first name of Mrs Helianos, and we are only told once that Mr Helianos is called Nikolas right towards the end of the book. They are just referred to as Mr and Mrs Helianos or even just ‘Helianos’ and it’s up to the reader to distinguish who is being talked about.

Language and setting combined are what make Apartment in Athens a potent tale of repressed emotions reaching an unbearable boiling point. Setting the novel strictly in the apartment means that interestingly, the wider war itself does not really get much airtime. It is all about one German officer invading the space of one Greek family, which of course mirrors Germany’s invasion of Greece as a nation, but for the reader it creates an atmosphere of high drama, claustrophobia and emotion in one tiny cross-section of the war. Relationships between the conquerors and the conquered were a popular literary topic during the war, with one notable French novel being La Silence de la Mer (1942) by Jean Bruller (under the pseudonym Vercors). This novel is also a striking read in terms of language because the old man and his niece who must house a German officer show resistance to his presence by refusing to speak a single word to him for the duration of his stay.

A key turning point in Apartment in Athens is Kalter’s sudden change of attitude towards the family from disgust to civility and almost kindliness after suffering a personal tragedy. At first this bodes well for the Helianos’, but it eventually leads to their hopeless disintegration as a family between the crushing walls of their apartment. As a reader you can’t help but hope for a happy outcome for the Helianos’ but the novel ends abruptly and ambiguously as the family deals with its helpless situation. Of course, Wescott was writing in 1944 so he himself could not know the outcome of the war or Germany’s occupation of Greece, and he perhaps represents this through ending his novel on a cliffhanger.

I have read many books and watched many films set in WWII and I always find that stories which revolve around individuals are just as important as those that take in the war as a whole. This is because stories like Apartment in Athens are impactful to our understanding of individual human experience of the conflict rather than the political, economic and cultural impact on a global scale.

I thoroughly recommend Apartment in Athens; it’s an intense and gripping read which will see you ensconced in one of the many human struggles that contributed to WWII.

Happy reading,

Love Imo x

Categories
English literature

ImoReads… ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ (1954) by J.R.R Tolkien

Blog Nº 17

” Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens”

After finishing The Hobbit, I was more than happy to continue on my adventure through Middle-earth by delving straight into the first volume of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, The Fellowship of the Ring (TFOTR). I thoroughly enjoyed this novel as we start to see the consequences of Bilbo Baggins taking the One Ring from Gollum in The Hobbit playing out with ominous effect. More mature than The Hobbit, which Tolkien wrote for his children, TFOTR wrestles with themes of greed, power and violence as its heroes fight to keep the all-consuming darkness at bay. And yet the warming moments of humour, friendship and courage which often prevail against the gloom of evil keep the reader faithful in the power of good and fully ensconced in this exciting adventure.

Set 60 years after The Hobbit, TFOTR deals with the fallout of Bilbo’s innocent taking of a gold ring from the creature Gollum. We discover that years ago, the dark lord Sauron created a set of Rings to give to the rulers of Men, Elves and Dwarves. However, Sauron deceived them by secretly making another, the One Ring to rule them all. Lost and forgotten about, this is the extremely powerful and dangerous Ring that came to be in Bilbo’s possession, unbeknown to him. To stop Sauron regaining the Ring and therefore bringing Middle-earth into an era of evil and darkness, a great quest must take place to destroy the Ring in the place of its creation, the fires of Mount Doom in Mordor. This is a mighty challenge which is why a select few, ‘the fellowship of the ring’, are chosen for the task.

The nine members are: Frodo Baggins, his gardener Sam Gangee, the wizard Gandalf, the elf Legolas, the dwarf Gimli, the men Aragorn and Boromir, and the two young hobbits Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took. 

As had been proven by Bilbo, the corrupting influence of the Ring works much more slowly on hobbits as they are truly good creatures less easily swayed by greed and lust. This is why it is Frodo who bears the Ring while the others act as his guides and protectors. Met with much peril and evil along the way, the group also become firm and loyal friends. Although they encounter much danger and loss, their spirits are never fully dampened as they are often assisted by magical allies in their darkest hours. 

I know I waxed lyrical about Tolkien’s use of language in The Hobbit, but it deserves a quick nod here as well. He manages to create a real sense of disquiet and ill-omen in his narrative which is as thrilling as it is alarming for the reader. Let’s take for example the Black Riders, faceless, evil beings – formerly the nine Men gifted with Rings but who have faded away under their influence to become Ringwraiths dominated under Sauron’s will. Seated astride ebony black horses, they plague Frodo and company throughout the novel trying to obtain the One Ring. Tolkien portrays them as menacing phantoms always close at hand but not always seen. The feeling of being watched seeps eerily through the chapters; so much so that the reader feels as anxious for the characters to get to somewhere safe as if it were they themselves being constantly chased.

As TFOTR went on I found myself growing fond of every member of the fellowship, but I have to say my favourite character is Legolas the Wood Elf. Not only a moral and brave character who forms an unlikely friendship with Gimli, he also (like all elves) can slay an enemy with a delicate yet ruthless grace. In fact, all his movements are silent, swift and elegant which is always admirable to the average awkward human. One of the most wondrous sections of the book is when the company takes refuge in the dreamlike Elven realm of Lothlórien, ruled over by the Lady Galadriel and her husband Lord Cereborn. Tolkien’s imagination knew no bounds in creating this extraordinary place where each elf captivates the company and the reader with their endless poise and refinement.

Yet alas it is soon after this moment that the fellowship encounters great difficulty and splinters, which is where the novel ends. Luckily, I won’t be left on this cliff hanger for long as volume two, The Two Towers, is already in my possession. 

I’m glad to say that TFOTR is an extremely worthy successor to The Hobbit, and I look forward to continuing on with the saga of Middle-earth.

Happy reading,

Imo x

Categories
English literature

ImoReads… ‘The Hobbit’ (1937) by J.R.R Tolkien

Blog Nº 16

“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him”

Dedicated to: OJP

The Hobbit is a great example of a novel that caught me off guard in how much I actually really enjoyed it. Alas, I admit that before I was bought a beautiful set of all the novels in the Middle-earth saga and was convinced to read them, I had never felt compelled to enter into Tolkien’s world of magic and myth. I’m embarrassed to say that I’d pretty much written off the Lord of the Rings series as being ‘for boys’, but how wrong I was. In fact, The Hobbit is one of the best adventure novels I have read; Tolkien’s mastery of plot, language, humour and imagination is superb, and somehow it retains an element of something quintessentially English despite its setting in a fabled, faraway land.

Although a relatively short novel, The Hobbit is rich in plot and detail. It tells the tale of an unassuming and unambitious hobbit named Bilbo Baggins, resident of Bag End in the Shire, who one day receives a visit from the wizard Gandalf the Grey and a company of dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield. Quite suddenly, Bilbo is whisked away on an adventure to reach the faraway Lonely Mountain where resides the terrible dragon, Smaug the Magnificent, whose treasure they plan to raid in order to reclaim the dwarves’ homeland. Many trials and tribulations befall the company en route before the showdown with the dragon, and though at first Bilbo feels completely out of his depth, he soon surprises everyone (including himself) with his bravery, resourcefulness and strength in the face of peril.

I must dedicate a section purely to language here. Tolkien, aside from his world-famed career as an author, was recognised as one of the world’s leading philologists (philology: the branch of knowledge that deals with the structure, historical development, and relationships of a language or languages). His expertise comes through continually in The Hobbit, most obviously in Middle-earth character and place names, and his own creation of viable languages. Across all the Lord of the Rings books there are fifteen invented languages present, the most developed of which are the Elvish tongues. Amazingly, Tolkien started working on these while he was at school and continued refining their grammar and fictional history until his death in 1973.

However, on a more familiar level, I was captivated by Tolkien’s use of English. There is an urgency to his language that really allows the reader to feel the tension of various perilous situations along with the characters, whether they be trying to trick trolls or escape from the clutches of giant spiders in Mirkwood forest. The descriptive passages are phenomenal – particularly of the Elf stronghold Rivendell and of the Lonely Mountain itself – as a reader you become lost in these vibrantly imagined landscapes. And yet, not so lost that you miss the elements of quintessential ‘Englishness’ that permeate The Hobbit. I confess that I am always charmed by 1930s English diction so, even though the story is timeless, I can still appreciate the novel as completely of its era thanks to the diction (a particular highlight – Bilbo’s rather eloquent chat with Smaug the Magnificent amongst the treasure troves).

Amidst all the Middle-earth gallivanting, we should not omit the quiet country life of the Shire (a name which itself evokes a rural English county). Its humble, jolly folk who love a drink on occasion and its pleasant, familiar rural surroundings and lifestyle are not so far removed from the idealised English country life that has been the subject of many a non-fantasy novel across the centuries. I think Tolkien has imagined the Shire this way to help us bond with Bilbo, meaning we can be just amazed as him upon encountering all the elements of magic later on.

Tolkien initially wrote The Hobbit as a story for his children and despite its maturity (as all great children’s books possessed in the 19th& 20thcenturies), there are certainly some ‘children’s book’ elements that come through. Apart from the magical elements like dragons, elves, wizards, goblins and orcs facing off in a mythical land – which would likely have the earnest attention of most children – we must acknowledge the notion of ‘hobbits’ themselves. Kid-sized, friendly, human-esque creatures who love fireworks, food and adventures would certainly be relatable to children – this familiarity with hobbits would surely encourage children to imagine themselves in Bilbo’s shoes throughout the quest, making it even more exciting. I’m 23 and was fully enraptured!

I’m so glad I have finally delved into Middle-earth to discover the delights of The Hobbit – from now on I’ll be making a more conscientious effort not to judge books by their covers so to speak. Next, The Fellowship of the Ring…

Happy reading,

Imo x