Re-readings

While I haven't been reading much of Clarissa (see post below), I have been dipping in and out of a book of collected essays about re-reading edited by Anne Fadiman, titled, simply enough, Rereadings.

I find it highly appropriate that while I'm struggling to reread Clarissa, I'm also reading essays in which authors detail their experiences rereading books they loved as kids or teenagers. Fadiman's introduction, I think, speaks to my current experience with Richardson: "The former [reading] had more velocity; the latter [rereading] had more depth. The former shut out the world in order to focus on the story; the latter dragged in the world in order to assess the story."

When I had the pleasure of interviewing Carol Shields for the Gauntlet, she mentioned that she never re-read books, which took me aback. I've always enjoyed re-reading my favourite books, and I find that I'm never comfortable writing an essay on a novel until I've at least skimmed it a second time and made copious notes. Ironically, I believe that Shields' books reveal themselves more fully upon rereading. I like Fadiman's simile for the pleasures of rereading: "...the reader who plucks a book from her shelf only once is as deprived as the listener who, after attending a single performance of a Beethoven symphony, never hears it again."

Incidentally, Fadiman also notes that Edward Fitzgerald (who?) read Clarissa five times. Dear lord.

Clarissa, post the third

Blame the holidays, blame the lethargy, but I'm only up to page 332 even though it's after Christmas. There must be much catching up in the next few days, and then I'll reward myself with dim sum and a New Year's Eve party (all in the same day... can you stand it?).

Clarissa is still living as a virtual prisoner at home because she refuses to marry the "odious" man her family wants her to. I wouldn't either—Solmes is portrayed as mean-spirited, uneducated, physically repulsive and ungenerous. The family believes that Clarissa secretly prefers the immoral rake Lovelace, who they hate. Clarissa has been secretly corresponding with both Lovelace and her best friend Anna Howe, detailing the constraints her family puts on her, including their search of her room and closet for any letters and their confiscation of her pens, ink, and paper.

And finally, the dread I noted in my previous Clarissa post is still present, but at least the plot (such as it is) has developed enough to carry me along over the waves of trepidation. I know that it gets much worse for the eponymous heroine before it gets marginally better (in the last 350 pages), so I'm trying to steel myself. Perhaps the holidays wasn't the best time to re-read a long, emotionally taxing, tragic novel about abduction and rape.

Scarf #2!

A couple of nights ago I finished Anna's Christmas scarf, which she is modelling.













The pattern was found online (here) and, thanks to the big needles and thicker yarn, it didn't take as long to knit as my first scarf.

I think it's bee-yoo-ti-ful.

Poor Charlotte Bronte

Browsing in the bookstore today when I saw this, which is part of Penguin's new campaign to repackage the best novels of all time as bestsellers:



















And it looks like Emily Bronte got the same treatment:



















It even makes the pastel-coloured Jane Austen chick-lit covers look half decent.

Clarissa: p. 1-136

Or, for Nat, 9 mm.

Briefly, the novel, published 1747-48, is about a young woman who is tricked into running away from her overbearing family, is raped, and then dies. Clarissa is an epistolary novel, that is, a novel composed entirely of letters written between characters, a common literary genre in the 18th century.

The first section describes the deterioration of Clarissa's relationship with her family, who are trying to force her to marry a rich man whom she finds repulsive, physically and morally. The novel begins in media res, though there is some useful summary of antecedent action. Structurally, I'm struck by Mrs. Harlowe's three visits to Clarissa's set of rooms (taking place in increasingly intimate spaces—her library and then her closet) where she tries to persuade her to marry the odious Mr. Solmes. There's a stage-y confrontation in a parlour which Clarissa directs and then escapes (as if into the wings), and a gradual curtailing of her personal space—the places in the house where she can go.

I've also noticed the gradual introduction of Lovelace's voice into the text. At first, Clarissa only paraphrases one of his letters in a letter to her best friend, Anna Howe, and in a later letter she quotes a few sentences from another letter. Also, Clarissa occasionally quotes a snippet or two of Lovelace's conversation which she remembers. This seems to be foreshadowing Lovelace's appearance as a letter writer in the novel. He will eventually dominate the letter writing, not only writing the longest letters and the most frequently, but also by intercepting Clarissa's letters and forging letters from both Clarissa and Anna.

There also seems to be something at work regarding the theme of freedom and independence. Clarissa frequently declares that her heart is free (her family suspects she secretly loves Lovelace). I think there's a connection between her free heart and her economic independence, which stems from a small estate left to her by her grandfather. I just can't figure out if it is indeed a simple correlation (Clarissa's independence of heart = indpendence of fortune) or a misunderstanding of how a woman's public worth is measured not in dollars but in reputation and virtue. Clarissa's heart may be free, but if it is not seen to be so (and it's not), then she will never fully escape the plots and snares of her family.

And finally, I cannot shake the sense of dread I have when re-reading this novel. Knowing all the bad things that are going to happen makes me less eager to get into the book.

The Clarissa Project: The Beginning

(Yes, that's a post-it note, for comparison)

The first chapter of my dissertation concerns Samuel Richardson's doorstop of a novel, Clarissa, which is 1499 pages long and, if Wikipedia is to be trusted, likely the longest novel ever written in English.


I did not have to reread Clarissa for my exams because I know it well enough to speak about it generally (and parts of it quite specifically). However, now that I'm (supposed to be) writing my first chapter, I need to read it again. The last (and first) time I read it was during my Master's degree five years ago. I did flag it when I first read it but alas, I took the flags out, thinking that I would never read Richardson again. Little did I know that the seminar paper that I wrote for my Rise of the Eighteenth-Century Novel class would eventually be the basis for my PhD dissertation. That'll teach me to look for closure in anything academic.

And so, for the second time in five years, I will be reading Clarissa over Christmas break. I will keep all and sundry appraised of my progress, including any plot developments and frustrations. Alas, at 6x9x2.5 inches, it's a little too big to be flung across the room in a fit of anger.

Anyone out there want to join me?

My first scarf!

Yesterday, while watching the Liberal leadership convention on TV, I finished my first scarf. Appropriately, it's red:
























Though mom tried teaching me how to knit a couple of times when I was a kid, I never took to it until this October, with the support of the Stitch and Bitch my friends are in. I bought some pretty yarn, found this pattern in a book, and finished it two months later. The basketweave pattern, though time-consuming and requiring attention, is not difficult—it's just a series of knit and purl stitches. I'm especially pleased with the fringe, which makes the scarf look more complete.


















And if you're wondering about the scarf's ultimate destination (Christmas is coming...), rest assured that it's not going to someone who reads this blog. I'm also working on a fluffy purple scarf for myself, and a really cool-looking one for Anna, which she knows is coming (she picked out the yarn and the pattern). Will post photos of those when I'm finished.

And why did I start knitting in the first place? It's theraputic. I enjoy the social aspect of the twice-a-month Stitch and Bitches. There's a great sense of accomplishment when I finish a project (even though I've only finished one). There's also something appealingly mathematical about the patterns, the way that different permutations of two basic stitches (knits and purls) and some techniques (increasing, decreasing) can yield a vast variety of results. Also, I like the challenge. There's still a lot to learn, including knitting on the round and with circular needles (the needles that are attached to each other), and I'm going to have to branch out from knitting only scarves eventually. Sweaters are my holy grail, but I'll have to learn hats, mitten, and socks, too.

So, yes. New hobby, new procrastinating tool. But at least I'll be warm.