Fyodor Dostoevsky: Crime and Punishment

Not mind-blowing, but good and, no doubt, important to have read. It feels so much more sophisticated than other books that were being written at that time. Take Dickens, for instance, since I also just finished The Pickwick Papers, and it is still fresh in my mind. Compared to the effort Dostoevsky puts into characterization, even the most sophisticated of Dickens' characters seem cheap and flat. By the end of Crime and Punishment, we know more about Raskolnikov than his own mother, whereas the workings of Pickwick's or Sam's mind by the end of their adventures are still a bit of a mystery.

The question remains whether this is a virtue or not. Is Dickens primitive compared to Dostoevsky? Or elegant? Our relative unfamiliarity with Dickens' characters does not make them less memorable or less literary. I think it is a matter of what each was trying to do. Dickens was trying to sell books; Dostoevsky to uncover the mysteries of the human mind. I think it safe to say that each succeeded, though neither perhaps to his ultimate satisfaction.

Mario Vargas Llosa: The Time of the Hero

I'm not sure if it is Llosa's subtlety as a writer, or my carelessness as a reader, but I labored through almost the entire book under a misconception. So gently does he blur the lines between the characters of the book, that it wasn't until the epilogue that I realized I had been fooled--or been foolish. I will need to revisit the book to answer this question for sure. Maybe he was perfectly clear that the first person narrated sections were about the Jaguar all along. He was clear enough that the third person-omniscient sections were about the Poet. I think it more likely that I was suckered in by some early references, and at the end, my mind was blown almost as violently as it was at the end of The Life of Pi. Underneath all that authorial magic, Llosa crafts a engaging narrative with likeable, memorable characters, and wraps it up satisfyingly, but not too satisfyingly. what more can one ask for in a novel?

BTD:30

Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais: The Marriage of Figaro and The Guilty Mother

Very little caught my attention about the former of these two plays, largely because I have been in the opera version--one of my favorites. There are playwrights--Stoppard, Shakespeare--that must be read to be fully appreciated, and there are those--Beaumarchais, Moliere--that must be seen. The Marriage of Figaro was cute enough, but I couldn't help but wish I were watching instead of reading it. With the exception of the truly touching scene between Figaro and Suzanna in IV.1, everything in Beaumarchais' version is improved upon by Mozart--although the librettist Lorenzo DaPonte does not seem to have improved upon it at all.

The Guilty Mother is a different story. It is more or less agreed that the opera version by Milhaud is wildly inferior both to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro and Rossini's Barber of Seville (the first of Beaumarchais' trilogy). I didn't expect it, therefore, to be my favorite of the three plays. I'm sure I would not have enjoyed it so much if I had not first read the other two; so much history and characterization is necessary to truly understand The Guilty Mother. Figaro's wit and resourcefulness in the first two plays make for good comic theatre, but little more than that. In The Guilty Mother, Figaro's skills fail him, and he finds himself at the mercy of a wilier, younger foe. An audience familiar with Figaro as a character is naturally on the edge of their seats, anticipating how Figaro will trick his way out of this one, and becomes increasingly anxious as Figaro is outwitted at every turn. This tension is heightened by the affection that familiar readers/viewers no doubt have for Almaviva and Rosine by the time of the third play. Beaumarchais elevates The Guilty Mother above the other two when it is not Figaro's wiles that saves the day, but the fierce love that The Count and Countess still have for each other--and maybe a touch of Divine intervention. All Figaro needs to do by the end is tidy up and do damage control. Thus the Guilty Mother is elevated beyond a comic play to a deeply genuine and human experience, and a rare example of believable love on stage.

Charles Dickens: The Pickwick Papers

The critic G.K. Chesterton wrote of Dickens, "If he never again descended to the level of Sketches by Boz, it is doubtful if to the level of Pickwick he ever again rose." There are those who say that this is Dickens' finest work. The format, they argue, plays to Dickens' strengths: characterization, epigram, and setting a quirky scene. There is little if any plot here, and that seems perfectly suited to Dickens' style. Pickwickians also seem to have an affection for the eponymous character akin to that of Sherlockian fanatics.

On the first count, I think I can safely agree with Pickwick's supporters. When Dickens introduces plot into the mix, it often takes the form of some convoluted and unnecessary mystery, but there never seems to be any sense of development. Things happen, yes, but they don't seem to belong to each other. Of course, Dickens' real gift is his inventiveness. His characters are indelible and the situations in which they find themselves are just barely on this side of slapstick, thus preserving some weight while entertaining.

On the second count, I think I must dissent with Pickwickian wisdom. I find little about Mr. Pickwick that is memorable, let alone charming and sincere. His sense of civility is both thin and misguided. He does not think before he acts--for good or for ill--and many of the hardships accounted in the book are the result of this fault in him and his followers. Pickwick, and especially his worthless friends, all suffer in comparison to Sam Weller. This latter character has all the characteristics that Pickwick should: wisdom, wit, judiciousness, charisma and passion. It is difficult to see what he finds so admirable in his master--or, indeed, what anybody finds there.