The Leopard by Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa

The Leopard (Il Gattopardo)
Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa
Italy, 1958 (posthumous)
Archibald Colquhoun, translator

And the Prince, who had found Donnafugata unchanged, was found very much changed himself; for never before would he have issued so cordial an invitation: and from that moment, invisibly, began the decline of his prestige. (Chapter II)

The Leopard is a novel of change and of decline. Set against the backdrop of the Risorgimento, or Italian unification, in the mid- to late-1800s, it is the story of the Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, patriarch of a large but declining family and fortune. The titular leopard, his presence looms large, yet it is obvious that the Salina influence and importance is on the wane. Though he does nothing outwardly to resist the upheavals about him, the inevitable changes in political structure, economics, and even culture signal clearly towards a less illustrious future for Don Fabrizio and his heirs, even without the narrator directly intruding into the past with comments or allusions to much later events. This is a narrative trick that I don’t recall coming across in other historical fiction and I am torn between the impressions of being jolted out of the past of the novel and the contrasting grounding of the novel in a solid reality.

There’s something in The Leopard that reminds me of Gabriel García Márquez. Not the magic realism, but the themes. My memory is of a melancholy strain through the (few) books I’ve read by García Márquez, and the back half of One Hundred Years of Solitude shares the same sense of decline of a family. In some ways Prince Fabrizio reminds me of Úrsula, knowing what’s coming, yet unable to avoid it. Time marches on but great families don’t always.

‘If we want things to stay as they are, things will have to change.’ (Chapter I)

Yet there is something beautiful in The Leopard, too. The optimism of the younger generation, of those fully in support of the Risorgimento. The loving descriptions of the physical Sicily, of its people. Even as the narrative progresses and becomes more explicit about the fortunes of the family (the final chapters are titled “Death of a Prince” and “Relics”), the closing pages have a poignant beauty to them, lingering after the last page is closed.

I can’t help but feeling that I have only scratched the surface in my understanding of this novel. It is already considered a classic of Italian literature, and if any good classics requires return visits, I believe this one qualifies. It is only a pity that Tomasi finished writing so little before his death.

I read this for my Classics Club list and as a classic with an animal in the title for Back to the Classics Challenge.

Agnes Grey – Anne Brontë

Agnes Grey
Anne Brontë
England, 1847

Agnes Grey is unremarkable. Not remarkably pretty, or wealthy, she is home-educated and sheltered from the larger world, yet she has a hidden desire to see more of it. The youngest daughter in a respectable family, she is raised in love and kindness. Poor financial decisions by her father–in a foolish gambit to provide better for his family–lead instead to near-ruin. So Agnes seeks a post as governess, one of the few respectable options for a woman, hoping to contribute a small sum to the family coffers, and see a little of life beyond her village.

Agnes Grey is unremarkable. It is Agnes’s first-person narration of her life as a governess, in two different positions. It is to the point, illustrating her powerlessness in a situation where she is neither servant nor family, expected to instill knowledge and character in reluctant learners over whom she has no power to enforce obedience. Her position is impossible. And while there is potential is such a story–certainly, it offers a slice of Victorian life to a contemporary reader–the novel seems instead to me slight, or perhaps inconsistent. There is somehow a change in tone in the narrative as it transitions from the first family to the second—something that I can’t quite put my finger on to define, but that created a different feel to the reading between the first two parts. For while the opening chapters read as pure memoir, a non-fiction narrative, the larger portion of the novel trips along in the more customary manner of a light-romance. Neither feel is wrong, but to me they don’t blend well together.

There is, however, something very charming in the tale of Agnes Grey, at least once you get past the dry recitation of the opening chapters narrating her life up until the point she joins the Murray family. It is with the Murrays, though, that life is allowed to happen for Agnes, for despite her duties, she still has opportunity to meet those outside the household–often on behalf of a household member who no longer wishes to keep a promised visit. Agnes’s world opens up, and we see with her the happinesses and sorrows that accompany it. But though charming, I found it conventional (and perhaps a bit of wish-fulfillment on the part of the author). The conventionality of the telling, the lack of character growth, and the unambiguous moralizing (guess who gets a happy ending) diminish the importance of Brontë’s message. We can read it for the second-half romance, be thoroughly charmed, and put it away on the shelf, forgetting the messages of how we ought to treat one another, which ultimately is the most valuable point of the novel.

I read this for the current Classics Club spin and as a title by a woman for the 2021 Back to the Classics challenge.

Classics Club Spin 26

I was happy to see another Classics Club spin pop up this week–while I’ve been steadily reading all year, I haven’t been doing so well with my Classics Club list. Time for some accountability!

Books selected primarily (thought not exclusively) by what I already have on hand, and order randomized. Can’t wait to see what I’ll be reading!

  1. Cather, Willa: Death Comes for the Archbishop (U.S., 1927)
  2. Anonymous: Njal’s Saga (Iceland, 13th century)
  3. Baldwin, James: Go Tell It on the Mountain (U.S., 1953)
  4. Hemingway, Ernest: For Whom the Bell Tolls (U.S., 1940)
  5. Huxley, Aldous: Brave New World (England, 1932)
  6. Anonymous: Beowulf (Anglo-Saxon, between 8th-11th centuries)
  7. Faulkner, William: The Sound and the Fury (U.S., 1929)
  8. Bromfield, Louis: The Farm (U.S.-Ohio, 1933)
  9. Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de: Three Exemplary Novels (Spain, 1613)
  10. Virgil: The Aeneid [Aeneis] (Rome, 29-19 BCE)
  11. Brontë, Anne: Agnes Grey (England, 1847)
  12. Carson, Anne, translator: An Oresteia (Greece, 5th century BCE)
  13. Trollope, Anthony: Barchester Towers (England, 1857)
  14. Tomasi di Lampedusa, Giuseppe: The Leopard [Il Gattopardo] (Italy, 1958)
  15. Gaskell, Elizabeth: Wives and Daughters (England, 1865)
  16. Homer: The Iliad (Greece, c. 8th century BCE)
  17. Poe, Edgar Allan: Tales of Mystery and Imagination (U.S., 1830s-40s)
  18. Dickens, Charles: Bleak House (England, 1853)
  19. Radcliffe, Ann: The Italian (England, 1797)
  20. Swift, Jonathan: Gulliver’s Travels (England, 1726)

Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell

Cover: Cranford by Elizabeth Gaskell

Cranford
Elizabeth Gaskell
1853, England

Originally published between 1851 and 1853 in a series of installments in the periodical Household Works, Elizabeth Gaskell’s Cranford is outwardly a charming illustration of a small slice of English village life at a time when the world was changing rapidly around it. Cranford is ruled, socially at least, by the “Amazons”—for the genteel classes are represented entirely by women, the men apparently finding it inconvenient to live long in this safe harbor of femininity. But into the charm of the village life, we also see at times the finger-hooks of outward realities creeping in. Cranford is no stranger to death and sorrows, and at times Gaskell, known for her novels depicting the hardships of working-class life in the mill towns of England, sneaks some of her critiques in here as well. No matter how genteel a lady, she must have something to live on, yet the truth of Victorian England is that there are few options for a gentlewoman to make a respectable living. The spinsters of Cranford may be resistant—at times almost comically—to the idea of marriage, but we are reminded of Jane Austen’s writing: marriage was often the only way for a woman to secure her future economically.

I found Cranford slow to get into at first, with its episodic early chapters that seemed divorced of each other. But as I read more, I grew familiar with the regular characters that populated the pages, tying the story together, and the brief episodes began to give way to a more linear structure, the events of one chapter more strongly linked to the preceding. By the very end, episodes and characters that seemed all but forgotten had returned to recollection, of both the town and the reader.

It is the characters that are perhaps the strength of the book, with their individual quirks and foibles. Their personalities permeate the novel; their fears, their hopes, their anticipations, their follies bring the pages to life. We are aided entry by the narrator, Mary Smith, a non-resident who visits frequently and shares with us her keen observations, even as at times she gets caught up in events herself and no longer remains a passive observer. But it is her very involvement that allows the reader to enter the town and become invested the story; to be touched by the real generosity of spirit seen not just among the principal characters, but among their servants as well. These are people that care about each other and each other’s well-being, even while they may be resistant to outsiders and changing ways of life.

Cranford is not quite the same as the other Gaskell I’ve read (Mary Barton and North and South). The intrusions of the outer world are gentler, the love stories are to the side or in the past. But in its gentle way, and in the warmth of its population, I find that it may just be my favorite.

I read Cranford as part of my Realists and Romantics project list and for Back to the Classics, Classic with a Place in the Title.

Classics Spin #24

Question Mark - cover place holder

I don’t really have time for this. I have so many books already planned for the next few months, especially library books either to finish or already on hold, as well as a couple possible readalongs. I don’t have time to be adding any more books to my ‘immediate plans’ list. Nope, really should skip this one…so here’s the list. 🙂

  1. Gaskell, Elizabeth: Wives and Daughters (England, 1865)
  2. Poe, Edgar Allan: Tales of Mystery and Imagination (U.S., 1830s-40s)
  3. Dickens, Charles: Bleak House (England, 1853)
  4. Hemingway, Ernest: For Whom the Bell Tolls (U.S., 1940)
  5. Huxley, Aldous: Brave New World (England, 1932)
  6. Morrison, Toni: Beloved (U.S., 1987)
  7. Lawrence, D.H.: Sons and Lovers (England, 1913)
  8. James, Henry: The Turn of the Screw and Other Short Fiction (U.S., 1878-1908)
  9. Ellison, Ralph: Invisible Man (U.S., 1952)
  10. Camões, Luís Vaz de: The Lusiad (Portugal, 1572)
  11. Homer: The Odyssey (Greece, c. 8th century BCE)*
  12. Anonymous: Beowulf (Anglo-Saxon, between 8th-11th centuries)*
  13. Trollope, Anthony: Barchester Towers (England, 1857)
  14. Virgil: The Aeneid [Aeneis] (Rome, 29-19 BCE)
  15. Cather, Willa: Death Comes for the Archbishop (U.S., 1927)
  16. Bolaño, Roberto: 2666 (Chile, 2004)
  17. Faulkner, William: The Sound and the Fury (U.S., 1929)
  18. Carson, Anne, translator: An Oresteia (Greece, 5th century BCE)
  19. Bromfield, Louis: The Farm (U.S.-Ohio, 1933)
  20. Tolstoy, Leo: The Death of Ivan Ilyich and Other Stories (Russia, 1886-1912)

A randomized list of my remaining classics club books I already have or are readily available from the library. Titles with an * are rereads.

Looking over the list, I’m reminded why I want to participate in the spin: I can’t decide which of these I want to read first! Even the long titles are appealing (I’m kind of hoping for 2666, actually, and I’m sure I don’t have time to read that, even with a September 30 deadline.)

Here’s to a good spin!