Showing posts with label puzzled bookworm. Show all posts
Showing posts with label puzzled bookworm. Show all posts

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Green Dolphin Street


The first book I finished in 2016 was Green Dolphin Street by Elizabeth Goudge, a 1944 novel set in the Channel Islands, New Zealand and France. I had been looking for this book for years, even before I went to Korea, but I didn't cross paths with it until I discovered that it had been published in e-book form about six months ago. Why was I so attracted to this book? I don't even remember.

Although this book was originally published more than 70 years ago, in some ways it seems much older, a 19th century novel perhaps. I wish it were a 19th century novel, because some of the elements present would be much more forgivable if it were an older book...but I'm getting ahead of myself. I'll explain more below.

In summary, Green Dolphin Street is about two sisters, Marianne and Marguerite, who love the same man: their childhood friend, William Ozanne. After William and his father (who once loved Sophie, the girls' mother) move to the Channel Islands, the three grow up together. William (who is strong and handsome, but not the sharpest tool in the shed) loves Marguerite, who is tall and blonde and tranquil, but he enjoys discussions and adventures with Marianne, who is somewhat plain but ferociously intelligent and ambitious. William begins a promising career as an officer in the Royal Navy, but after a misadventure in China, he flees to New Zealand. After ten years, he writes to the girls' father and asks for Marianne's hand in marriage. After a lengthy voyage, when Marianne gets off the boat (The Green Dolphin) at Wellington, William has a "D'Oh!" moment worthy of Homer Simpson. He had been drinking whisky while composing the letter and the liquor, coupled with his well-established faulty memory for names caused him to write for the wrong sister. He wanted Marguerite, who bravely sewed Marianne's trousseau, then went off brokenhearted to be a contemplative nun. Instead of admitting his mistake, he spends the next 40 years still in love with Marguerite but determined to make a go of it with Marianne.

I liked the old-fashioned quality of Green Dolphin Street, and even though I really don't care for pages and pages of description, Goudge did it so beautifully. I was also amused at the novel's hook; Goudge admits in her preface that getting the sisters' names wrong but going ahead and putting a good face on it seems highly improbable, but she insists that it actually happened. There's also more than a trace of mysticism in the novel (I suspected; the introductory quote is from Evelyn Underhill) and some interesting religious discussions among characters that are attractive in their complexity.

Now the awful part: As mentioned above, a good deal of the novel takes place in New Zealand in the 1860s-70s, and this part of the book shows the worst of colonialism and the depiction of the Maoris is offensive. To make matters worse, Goudge admitted in the 1944 preface that she had never even been to New Zealand. The way the Maoris are portrayed is so insulting and inflammatory, that the publishers of the 2015 e-book considered editing out passages. In the end, they kept the novel intact with an apologetic explanation: Goudge was shining the truth on the ugliness of this period of English history and also Green Dolphin Street casts a reflection on how insensitive 1944 readers, writers and publishers could be. It's like they were trying to have it both ways. But the insensitive part is true: there is not one bit of saving irony or anything that would let the reader know that the writer has any special discernment when it comes to the Maoris or the foreigners' attitudes towards them.

Although I was holding my nose while reading the despicable Maori part of the book, I have to confess that it was the best-written chapter. The main characters are offstage, and a fine bromance springs up between Samuel Kelly, a clergyman and Tai Haruru AKA Timothy Halsam, an older Englishman who left his native country and noble upbringing and gained acceptance with the Maoris. Tai Haruru's paternalistic attitude made me cringe. He finally leaves the Maoris, but at that point he exits the novel. What a waste, because in spite of everything, he was an attractive character.

This was the first novel I have read by Elizabeth Goudge, who had a long and prolific career, and I think it will probably be my last. I was amused and entertained and disgusted and dismayed, sometimes all at once. It's been a long time since I've encountered such a mixed bag of a book.

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Naked Without Makeovers


Tomorrow BOOKLEAVES is getting together for our June meeting, and I'll be meeting Shanna from Ruby Ramblings for the first time. Through Bookcrossing and blogging, Shanna and I have known each other for about 3 or 4 years. I've been the happy recipient of some of her books and a great music CD that she made.

I'm excited to meet Shanna, but after last night, I'm wondering what she'll see when she meets me.

Let me flash back a little. About this time last year, I made a new female friend. Soon after we established our friendship, she began to assess my appearance. She pushed for me to get new glasses and a new hairdo. The roundish frames I was sporting were just wrong, all wrong for my face. Since I really wanted some rectangular frames, I readily agreed.
.
The hair? Since it's rather fine and thin and seems to have the market on cowlicks cornered, keeping it short is my best bet. I had also added some highlights. Not really working, my friend let me know. Too harsh. I should get more subtle highlights or just let the gray grow out. I did a pretty big chop with more subtle highlights. I have to admit, it was all much better. Starting last fall, I was finally beginning to be pleased when I saw myself in photographs.

In April, I decided on my own to go boy-short with the hair and was pleased with the results. It grew out very quickly, along with the gray. It's at an awkward but not unmanageable length right now, and my plan is to go back to Yongsan and get it trimmed up next week when I have some free time.

Last night, I had dinner with two teachers from my school. As we were munching on appetizers, one of them suddenly asked me to do her a favor and try on her round rimless glasses. I did so, and she murmured, "Yes, much better." Apparently my rectangular frames are just wrong, all wrong for my face. After that, she said, "Can I touch your hair?" "Okay," I said. "It's really fine, isn't it?" she commented. Then she told me how I should have it cut. It seems as if the bangs, the top, the sides, the back and the color of my current cut are just wrong, all wrong. Wow, five out of five. She stopped short of suggesting that we do a field trip to her stylist ASAP, but I'm sure that's next.

When I got home, I laughed and shook my head, and I'm still laughing and shaking my head today. What the hell?! What is it about me that as soon as I become friendly with a woman (or, in one case, a gay man) they are inspired to boldly step up, practically panting and offer to mastermind my makeover? I can't decide if it's:

A. I'm so hideous-looking that they feel compelled by a strong sense of duty to shield the rest of humankind from such a sight,
........................ *****OR*****
B. I'm a hairsbreadth away being good-looking so they feel compelled by a strong sense of duty to frogmarch me the rest of the way into spiffy.

When I first came to Korea, I was briefly staying with an American about my age. The moment I stepped off the plane, she grimly determined that something must be done and right soon. I arrived on Saturday evening. By Wednesday evening, she had me in the chair at the beauty salon, getting my sprinkling of gray covered. After that, a trip to the manicurist and a brief tutorial about how to put on eyeshadow properly, she seemed satisfied. I duly thanked her for rescuing me from the wreck of myself.

If I don't seem to welcome this kind of attention, it's because it reminds me of what I grew up with. My mother has never gotten over my having thin, fine straight hair. In her book, curly is the only beautiful hair. Even more disappointing was my longish face and my slightly protruding ears. They're just wrong, all wrong. And now age is doing a frenzied hoedown on both my flaws and my few good points. Good thing I'm half a world away, or the poor woman would have wept her life away years ago, seeing all this imperfection on a daily basis.

The people in my life all look fine to me. They're not movie-star perfect, but I can always find something to admire and even envy about them. I would never dream of shuttling them off to the styling salon or optical shop in great haste. Perhaps I lack awareness. Maybe I don't have that flash of genius that can spot potential. Could it be that I have no standards, or is it possible that these people all look fine?

The last time I read Jane Eyre, I was struck by how many times other characters commented on Jane's looks, or lack of them. If they called her plain once, they called her that a hundred times, but no one tried to make her over. Maybe my friends should just take the Jane Eyre approach, make a brief remark about my unbecomingness and go on to the next topic. I can handle it. Really.

Now that it's too late for a rejoinder, one comes to mind. Dorothy Parker (who never needed a makeover and would have cut someone to ribbons with her tongue for even the merest suggestion) said it best in the verse below. She was writing about behavior, not looks, but it'll do nicely in this case:

"I shall stay the way I am
Because I do not give a damn."


Am I alone? Does this ever happen to you?