Re-reading old favourites

I re-read Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights.  Teen memories made me recall it as a tale of passion and eternal love, and the depths to which one might fall once losing that.  I wasn't so naive to think it a love story, but I did think that the book as a story of revenge was coupled with and as a result of a story of unconsummated love.

I was a little sickened upon reading it anew.  I couldn't recognise a single healthy relationship in there, whether it be romantic or not.  The closest to one was the new couple at the end, between Catherine Linton and Hareton Earnshaw, even if it did begin with him enduring such abuse from her merely because of her beauty.  (I was glad though, to see Hareton come to some good eventually.  To be inspired to be more than he had been, to push himself to learn to read, to recognise he might be worthwhile.  I like to think that maybe he ended up allowing a relationship between them because without meaning to and despite herself, she made him want more for himself, rather than because he was bewitched by her beauty and kisses.)

Rather, now I recognise it as a tale of obsessive, undeserving passion, and how it can destroy a person.  The reminder of how obsession is not the same as love, and how revenge can engulf a person such that they cannot define themselves outside of it.

I'm not saying that I don't still enjoy the book, that I don't think it's worth reading.  But I don't remember myself or any of my peers recognising how icky all the relationships are.  Edgar proposing to Cathy after she physically abuses him and he realises that she's always lied to him about her personality tendencies?  His doting on her through all her unpleasantness, and her manipulation of her husband and sister (and everyone else) through either being pleasant infrequently as a reward or having fits otherwise?  Actually, the way that just about everyone has fits when they don't get their way, lies, and how they treat servants, even those who've been with them their entire lives?  I suppose the treatment of the servant class is not considered, really, but how it does reflect the people their "betters" actually are.  Not that I particularly like the person of Nelly Dean.  And given the time of the writing, maybe a lot of other stuff is considered fine.  But the confusion between love and covetousness is still yucky.

Other yucky moments include Cathy and Heathcliff crying out passion for each other and making out and whatever else while she's just about to give birth to her child with Edgar, young Catherine fancying herself in love with Linton, Nelly so easily tricked and manipulated, despite receiving some sort of education and growing up exposed to such behaviour, Heathcliff impregnating Isabella even with his dislike of her coupled with his belief that he truly loves Cathy.  So many others too.

The worst part, really, is that I remembered how in love Cathy and Heathcliff were.  The romance of them together after death, on the moors.  Rather than remembering how abhorrent every person in that book is.  (I think that Hindley's wife might have been okay, if she weren't so compliant with how her husband treated Heathcliff.)  The interesting story now is a man who wishes to be completely consumed with hatred and revenge.  Who is at a loss when he fears that he isn't as committed to hatred as he thinks he should be.  A petty boy, becoming a petty man, who confuses passion for other feelings.  And how others can confuse this for either love or hatred, failing to see at the heart is a petty, greedy, unpleasant person, unable to accept responsibility for consequences.  And the people around him whose own passions and regard for Heathcliff's consequently see him as being more than he is.  People, including the readers, end up seeing Heathcliff as being greater than what he was.  (Greater not necessarily meant as a positive adjective.)

It really isn't pleasant to look at oneself and see what you used to think of as romantic, and what you used to be able to explain away.  How one can convince themselves that certain continuing behaviour is somehow not that bad because there were extenuating circumstances.

And yet I love Bronte for choosing to write about such unpleasant people and circumstances.  For the reminder of the consequences of excesses, and how overwhelming, self-devouring passion, while compelling, is dangerous and unappealing with enough reflection.  And what skill to be able to write of such horrible people and circumstances, of so many unhappy endings, and yet still to be able to keep so many reading all the way through, again and again, and to remember.


Note: It can be confusing, differentiating the older and younger Catherine/Cathy.  As Heathcliff refers to the older one as Cathy, I think I kept consistent with that.

Science Fiction Surprise

Here's something I didn't expect before his death...  Ray Bradbury finally allowed Fahrenheit 451 to be published as an ebook.  He has traditionally been anti-internet, and specifically against ebooks.

Somewhat related is the subject matter of Fahrenheit 451.  Most people who read it think that the main theme is censorship, and it's not difficult to see why.  But it's not.  And you know why I know it's not?  Because Bradbury, the author himself, insists that it is not.  Rather, it is on how television and other mass media is in conflict with written literature, and is a danger to reading.  And how technology can break down communication between people.

And while I think that's a little harsh on technology (after all, reading books at the table or with family also gets in the way of talking with each other), I do consider it when you see a table of people together at a pub or restaurant, and most, if not all, are busy texting or whatever on their smartphones.

Post-Apocalyptic Fiction

I've been on an old sci-fi kick, stuff from the 60s and earlier.  In reading The Pocket Book of Science Fiction, (published in early 1943), I came across "By the Waters of Babylon," by Stephen Vincent Benét.  (Excitingly, the book itself is in near-perfect condition.  As a 69-year old paperback.  My used book store rocks hard.)   Among the better and more engaging post nuclear war disasters I've read.  But wait... 1943.  And the author actually published it in 1937 before it was included in this anthology.  Before the war.  Before the Manhattan Project was started.  No, the atom bomb was not mentioned specifically, but it felt so much like that was the disaster that I didn't even question it.

Some of the beneficial technology, I can see scientists specifically working towards duplicating the ideal described.  The end of civilisation as we know it?  I'd like to think that that wasn't a specific goal, at least not to the point of attempting to emulate an awesome story.  It's creepy that I at first assumed it was from my 1950s or 1960s literature, before checking the copyright page.

End of the world and literature

While full-length novels are fantastic, especially Heinlein and the classics, SF short stories are sometimes the way to go.  You can find new authors that way, without having to commit to a potentially awful book.

One that hasn't really ever completely left my mind since I read it sometime in the past year is World Without End, by F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre.  Even that story on its own makes it worth buying the collection The Mammoth Book of the End of the World.  (Try to find it in a local independent book store if you can!)  Although it sounds like he was a strange and unstable man in life, I will be looking up some of his other works.

But then today I came across In Fading Suns and Dying Moons by John Varley.  That one is definitely getting another reading or seven.  Another end of the world story, with a more sudden and defined end than the aforementioned story.  Which in turn, makes me think of the absolutely brilliant The Nine Billion Names of God, by Arthur C. Clarke.

What is it about these kinds of stories that can draw one in so thoroughly, even a not-very-often morbid person?  How do some people manage to draw you into their imagination in such a way that it sticks, possibly forever?

And how sad is it that at least in Ontario, fewer children seem to be reading for pleasure?  Books were my world when I was little.  When I needed them, books were there as an escape, as a journey, as an enhancement.  As any freaking thing I wanted.  Even now, it's nice to curl up on the couch with a warm drink and a new (or old) book.


P.S.  Yes, in fact I did discover an online version of The Encyclopaedia of Science Fiction today!

Books, energy, and nuclear wolves

Been spending the last several days devouring some of those books.  When I've had the time.  And doing work-related stuff, and trying to finish up the little bit of xmas shopping that I have to do.

Something relating two of the three above is that I found a LIFE magasine from before WWII, in almost perfect condition.  Hope my aunt hasn't secretly found this blog, because she's going to love it.

And one of the things keeping me busy is trying to put together a coherent, non-rambling response to my friend Leslie, who is wanting to keep believing in nuclear energy.  So much to say, it's almost like being in school again and putting together a position paper!  The "green" renewable sources generally need a back-up as things like wind and solar can rarely be at full capacity.  Hydroelectric is fantastic, but not every country has that option.  People are backing away from fracturing because of possible environmental concerns.  And really, nuclear isn't as terrible as most think, the accidents are so few and far between that it's ridiculous, and even then, the consequences are generally not as terrible as initially assumed.  Well, the radioactive wolves near Chernobyl sound scary.  As The Bloggess says, "We may have over-planned for zombies, and under-planned for nuclear wolves." 

Do you think that being bitten by a radioactive wolf would give you super powers?

Old book stores

I adore old book stores.  Especially used book stores.  Everything there is possibly a volume that somebody has loved and maybe agonised over passing on for somebody else to love.

To paraphrase Giles from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, there's something about the feel and smell of an actual book.  A computer or e-reader can never replace them, at least for me.  Maybe an e-reader for a one-time read of a popular book, but I'd rather my classics and my beloved sci-fi be right there, allowing me to turn the page, bring in anywhere without worrying about power left.

There's a lovely used book store a block or two from me.  The man who works there seems to know most of the store intimately.  He can chat with you about the genre you're interested in for ages.  If somebody comes in and says they want a particular volume, he can generally tell them directly where to go, and know without a computer that there is still at least one copy left.

And the treasure-trove behind his front desk!  Well-preserved and old books and magasines galore.  For my father's birthday last year, I found him an excellently-preserved LIFE magasine from the 1940s, and have seen some from as early as the 30s.

For me, one of the sadder things in life is a person who doesn't enjoy, or doesn't know how to read.  On a personal note, one of the sadder things is the realisation that I don't have enough shelf space, or room for for shelves in which to keep all my books.  But maybe through some place like this store, somebody else can love some of my treasures.

Zombies and Classic Literature

Anybody who hasn't read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies is seriously missing out.  It takes a Jane Austen classic, and modifies it slightly to not only add zombie action, but to also make Lizzie a woman who today's women can relate to.  Somebody who stands up for herself and others, and is willing to fight people to the death for lack of honour.

I've read the aforementioned book several times, but just found an exciting-looking related book.  The Readers Unauthorized Guide to Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.  (Am I incorrect in thinking there should be an apostrophe at the end of "readers?")

Now I'm in the mood to re-read Max Brooks' World War Z:  An Oral History.

Can't blame anyone but myself when I get a week's worth of zombie dreams.  Oh well.


Updated: OMG, I just found The Zombie Survival Guide Journal.  I suppose it'd be viewed as unprofessional if I used it for work, but there are surely other uses.

That was fast

Today I received the book The Internet is a Playground in the mail, written by the hilarious David Thorne.  No, I'm not getting paid to write this, and yes, he's one of the funnier people I know of.

As somebody apparently still living in the dark ages, I do not own a computer device smaller than a wide laptop, plus I love real books, so it's lovely to be able to curl up on the couch to read.  I confess, I've even been known to buy bound copies of some webcomic collections.  I'm dangerously close to buying the Dr. McNinja books, actually.


UPDATED:  I bought the Dr. McNinja books.  And they are as fantastic as I hoped and dreamed.