S&S Read-Along: Ch. 43 & 44

But wait!  There's more!  Now, in the space of only two chapters, you can get a near-deadly illness AND a visit from a self-absorbed ex-lover!  All for the low, low price of learning to understand your actions and the people around you.  Act now, Marianne, before these opportunities are gone for good!

Um, so, yeah.  Exciting times in these two chapters, eh?  First, Marianne almost succumbs to a terrible fever, which Mrs. Jennings suspects is a "putrid" fever.  My annotated copy says that means she thinks she probably thinks it's typhus.  So you can understand why Mrs. Palmer evacuates her baby as swiftly as possible!  They did understand that being near a sick person could spread that disease to you, even if germs weren't quite understood yet at this time.

And once again, hurrah for Mrs. Jennings!  I love how she, "with a kindness of heart which made Elinor really love her, declared her resolution of not stirring from Cleveland as long as Marianne remained ill" (p. 574).  What an absolute wonder she is. 

Oh, quick note about them calling the apothecary for Marianne, since my mom asked me what was up with that.  According to the annotated edition, "The apothecary was the most basic medical practitioner, who would respond to normal illnesses, give advice, and prescribe medicines" (p. 573).  Elsewhere, it explains that when someone got sick, you would first try home remedies, and most women had at least some experience nursing ill people because most illnesses would be treated at home.  And home remedies were generally about as effective as a doctor's for most things, honestly.  

So you would maybe call an apothecary to get some medicines or remedies you didn't have on hand, but you only called a physician in very extreme cases.  Physicians had attended school to learn medicine, and they treated illnesses, but didn't do surgery.  Surgeons did surgery, and they tended to have the most medical training, but they didn't treat illnesses, just did things like stitching up wounds and amputating limbs and other surgical things.  ANYWAY, that's why they called the apothecary, who was kind of like our pharmacists today, but did house calls?  And why they talk about sending for an actual physician when Marianne gets worse.  They probably would have had to send to a large town or even to London to get one of those.

But all within a few pages, the danger is past and Marianne is recovering, whew.  I'm really glad Austen doesn't drag this out for chapter after chapter.  Aren't you?  I think that could be a big temptation for an author to milk the illness for lots of drama, but Austen knows their lives are dramatic enough already without a prolonged illness.

And then she just tosses Willoughby into the very end of the chapter, like *BOOM!* 

And now, yeah, any shred of sympathy I might maybe have been feeling for Willoughby are completely blown out of sight by his absolute self-absorbtion.  Notice that he's not here to check on Marianne and make sure she's okay, or even to ask how she's doing.  He's only here because he can't bear the idea that she might die while thinking badly of him.  Everything he says is focused on himself, his feelings, his desires.  It's a giant pity party he tries to disguise as concern for Marianne, and I am just... done with him.  He even flat out says that the reason he came himself instead of just writing a letter was because it "was necessary to [his] own pride" (p. 604).  So at least he's self-aware enough to realize that, but still.  Ugh.

Elinor is pretty done with him too, I think.  She even scolds him, pointing out, "You have made your own choice.  It was not forced on you.  Your wife has a claim to your politeness, to your respect" (p. 614).  From Elinor, that's a pretty fierce scolding.

And here we are again, with people making Elinor relay news for them.  Prevously, Colonel Brandon asked her to tell Marianne all his revelations about Willoughby's mistreatment of his ward.  Then he asks Elinor to offer the living at Delaford to Edward.  And now Willoughby wants Elinor to tell Marianne he really did love her and never intended to seduce her.  Poor Elinor!  All these hard messages to relate.  Yeesh.

Anyway.  Good-bye, Willoughby, and good riddance.

Discussion Questions: 

1.  Why do people keep making Elinor give other people messages and news?

2.  Do you have any sympathy left for Willoughby by now?  Do you think I'm being too harsh on him?

"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" by Lewis Carroll

Well, I've discovered that, like The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien, this book is pretty fun to read out loud, even though if I read it silently to myself, it annoys me.  So I did enjoy reading this aloud to my kids over a couple weeks, mostly because I got to do lots of silly voices.  Though, by the end, I was running out of new silly voices for all the characters!  So, yeah, that was an interesting challenge, and did make it fun for me.

But, on a whole, this book is very silly and nonsensical and I am... not a fan.  There's no actual point to the story, aside from "will Alice ever get to be a normal size again?" and it turns out to all be a dream, so even that isn't an actual point.  And I just don't enjoy pointless stories.

(Mine from my Instagram account.)

If This was a Movie, I Would Rate It: G.  Nothing unacceptable for kids here.

This is the 19th book I've read and reviewed for my third Classics Club list.

S&S Read-Along: Ch. 41 & 42

And now, for something completely different:  Lucy says nice things to and about Elinor!  And then reverts to being conniving and greedy, secretly planning to mooch milk and eggs off Colonel Brandon's estate once she and Edward are married and living near him.  Pardon me while I roll my eyes very far back into my head like a twelve-year-old.

I had to chuckle over John Dashwood saying, "I am convinced that there is a vast deal of inconsistency in almost every human character (p. 548).  Um, yeah, way to describe yourself there, dude.  But at least he's been friendly and polite to Elinor and Marianne all along, not shunning them while Elinor had a chance with Edward, only to try to make friends with them now.  I guess his greatest inconsistency is in not being able to see how unfair his wife and mother-in-law have been, and thinking he's been totally fair and generous himself.

Also, Elinor makes some very icily sarcastic remarks to her half-brother that go way over his head, which makes me laugh too.

Anyway, off we go to Cleveland, as in the home of Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, not the city in Ohio.  Where you will probably be shocked to discover that Marianne does not catch a terrible cold by wandering off in a storm to recite poetry while staring at Willoughby's home.  She also does not get carried home in a downpour by a heroic Colonel Brandon.  That's one of the biggest deviations from the book that Emma Thompson did in her screenplay for the 1995 film, but since it makes such a nice parallel to Willoughby's first entrance in the story and gives Brandon something very manly to do, I never mind it at all.  But here, Marianne just gets chilled sitting around in the damp grass while indulging her passion for dead leaves.

I'm struck by Austen's description of Marianne once again insisting on being unhappy.  She writes, "In such moments of precious, of invaluable misery, she rejoiced in tears of agony to be at Cleveland" (p. 564).  Oh, come on, Marianne, stop making yourself miserable on purpose!!!

Discussion Questions:

1. Are you starting to lose patience with Marianne's rejoicing in self-perpetuated agony?

2. Are you like Marianne in that she "had the knack of finding her way in every house to the library" (p. 566)?

3. Are you surprised that Mr. Palmer is "very capable of being a pleasant companion" (p. 568)?

S&S Read-Along: Ch. 39 & 40

Well, finally!  Something goes right for somebody!  Isn't Colonel Brandon just the sweetest, most thoughtful man?  Offering this "living" to Edward, whom he barely knows, simply because he sympathizes with the injustice of parents interfering in the love lives of their children.  Of course, Brandon has no way of knowing that he's actually hurting his friend Elinor by this, because now Edward will be able to marry Lucy instead of putting off the marriage because of insufficient money to support a wife.  But Brandon doesn't know Elinor loves Edward, he just knows Edward is a friend of hers, and he thinks this means Elinor will be glad to see her friend have a home and a way to earn a living.

Which, you see, is the trouble with being SO guarded of your feelings as Elinor is -- you may end up getting hurt by people who are trying to be kind to you because they don't know what your feelings and thoughts are.  Better to be a little less reserved, at least with those you can trust, I think.

Here's a little aside from my annotated edition:  although several characters her believe that a clergyman who makes only 200 pounds a year is too poor to marry, that's actually a bit more than Jane Austen's father was making as a clergyman when he married her mother.  So it might not be enough to live well, but it's do-able.  

The whole thing where Mrs. Jennings and Elinor misunderstand each other is pretty funny, isn't it?  And it goes on just long enough, but stops before it becomes tiresome and ceases to be funny.  At least, I think so.

Quick note:  I'm so sorry I'm very behind on replying to comments and discussing this book with you!  The last two weeks have been ridiculously busy, and I have had almost no time to do even ordinary internet things like check my email.  I'm trying to fit blogging in, but even that has been tough, as evidenced by my posting this at 10:30 on a Friday night.  Next week should be much calmer!  So I promise I'm not ignoring y'all!  I will reply when life has settled down again!

Discussion Questions:

1.  Did you think the misunderstanding about what Colonel Brandon was asking Elinor was funny?

2.  Do you think it's better to marry sooner and be kind of poor, or put off marrying a few years until you will be more comfortably off?

S&S Read-Along: Ch. 37 & 38

And so, the secret is out.  Finally.  Anyone else breathing a huge sigh of relief on behalf of Elinor because she doesn't have this awful secret hanging over her head anymore?  Whew.  Even though it means Edward is firmly and publicly engaged to Lucy Steele now, which is sad for both Elinor and Edward, it's just... got to be a big relief to have it known.

Random note:  the "Nancy" they keep mentioning is the elder Miss Steele, the one with the fixation on some doctor.  Her first name is Anne, but Nancy was a common nickname for Anne at that time.  So if you were reading along and suddenly went, "Who in the world is this Nancy person?" now you know.

I find this line so... illuminating?  Enlightening?  Interesting?  Something:

"But unwelcome as such a task must be, it was necessary to be done, and Elinor therefore hastened to perform it" (p. 482).

Elinor does not avoid necessary tasks just because they're annoying or unwelcome.  She hurries up and does them.  Are you that way?  Because I totally am not, usually.  I will put off an annoying or unwelcome task, like telling someone bad news or sweeping the kitchen or taking out the compost, for as long as I can by coming up with other tasks to do first.  But not Elinor.  Rip off the bandage and get it over with, that's her philosophy, maybe?

Anyway, Elinor here gets to state something that we see over and over again in Jane Austen's books, which I quite agree with:

"And after all, Marianne, after all that is bewitching in the idea of a single and constant attachment, and all that can be said of one's happiness depending entirely on any particular person, it is not meant -- it is not fit -- it is not possible that it should be so (p. 486/88).

I heartily agree.  I think if you're depending on one human being to make you happy, you're in for a lot of disappointment.  I have a loving, affectionate, happy marriage that has lasted nearly 19 years... but I do not depend on my husband to make me happy.  I have friends, he has friends, we both have dearly loved family members -- we are not each others' whole worlds.  And if we had not met, I feel sure God could have led us to other people we could have been very happy with too.  I think happiness in marriage is a blessing, but also largely a choice and a decision that two people make -- we like each other, so we shall be happy together.  And we keep on working to promote each others' happiness, but not insisting that our own happiness must be entirely supplied by them and them alone.  

Anyway.  That got long-winded.  Clearly, I have Many Thoughts on that subject.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Are you like Elinor, and like to get unpleasant, yet needful, tasks over as fast as you can?

2.  Do you agree that it's not possible/healthy for one's happiness to depend entirely upon one particular person?

"A Girl from Yamhill" by Beverly Cleary

Have you ever wanted to know what Beverly Cleary's own childhood was like?  Was it anything like that of any of the kids she wrote about so vividly, like Ramona Quimby and Henry Huggins and Ellen Tebbits?  Well, this book is your chance to find out!

In fact, bits of Cleary's own childhood, as related here, did make it into her books.  Playing "brick factory," getting called a "nuisance" by a teacher, making stilts from tin cans, and other little details like that are here.  But Cleary's own childhood was not so carefree and innocent as the ones she wrote about.  She grew up during the Great Depression, and her family struggled like most in America in those days.  Her mother was something of a cipher, and tried to live vicariously through her teenage daughter.  An uncle tried to molest her.  Cleary made friends her mother didn't approve of, had to move several times, and gradually discovered she had a talent for writing stories other people wanted to read.

This book follows Cleary from toddlerhood through the end of high school.  She published a second volume of memoirs that I suppose picked up where this left off.  I might try to read that one, but I didn't particularly love this book, even though it was a fast, engrossing read.  I mean, I did enjoy it, but not enough to want to reread it, you know?  I'd rather reread one of her fiction books for kids.  Though maybe her weird mom would not be in the other memoir so much?  She bothered me, to be honest.

Particularly Good Bits:

To this day, I cannot outline fiction.  I find that an outline limits the flights of imagination which are the joy of writing.  I write and then rewrite, bringing order to the second draft (p. 263).

If This was a Movie, I Would Rate It: PG-16.  Cleary talks about things like never having sex explained to her, dating a man in his twenties when she was in high school, and her uncle's attempts to molest her -- things that are NOT something I would read to kids, tweens, or younger teens.  Don't think this is a book you can read aloud to your kids. 

This is the 18th book I've read off my TBR shelves this year for #TheUnreadShelfProject2021.

S&S Read-Along: Ch. 35 & 36

Okay, not only is Lucy a poisonous little viper, she's entirely delusional.  She's completely convinced herself that Mrs. Ferrars and Fanny Dashwood truly like her for who she is, and absolutely oblivious to the fact that they were only being nice to her to spite Elinor.  Which, honestly, is hilarious.  Oh. My. Word.

Of course, Fanny inviting Lucy and her sister to stay with them is only going to encourage Lucy in this notion.  Which is understandable.  And I have to say, Fanny and Lucy are a fun pair to watch because they're both so determinedly insincere, both saying nice things and not meaning them at all.

But I really can't stand either of them.

Also, so, is it terribly mean of me to absolutely love the scene where Edward walks in on Fanny and Elinor chatting and we have The Most Awkward Five Minutes in British Literary History ever?  It's really horrible for all of them... and yet it makes me laugh.  Especially the bit where "Edward seemed to have as great an inclination to walk out of the room again, as to advance farther into it" (p. 448).  It's horribly embarrassing for everyone except Lucy Steele... but honestly, I end up just feeling really proud of Elinor through the whole ordeal, and laugh at Lucy for being such a prim little minx and behaving rather badly by being "determined to make no contribution to the comfort of others" (p. 450) and not participating in the conversation.  That's terribly rude, and I know Edward sees her that way.

By the time I got to the bit where "Edward muttered something, but what it was, nobody knew, not even himself" (p. 452), I couldn't help laughing aloud.  I'm grinning at it even now.  Wow.  How does Austen make a scene that's so ridiculously awkward also be so funny and even enjoyable?

Chapter 36 is dull by comparison, but has some funny bits, mostly at Robert Ferrars' expense.  And Mr. Palmer's refusal to say his baby is the most beautiful baby ever made me chuckle.

Discussion Questions:

1.  Do you think Lucy Steele and Fanny Dashwood realize at all that they're both just using each other for very selfish reasons?  Or does Lucy think Fanny is actually being kind, and Fanny think Lucy actually likes her little boy and so on?