The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Twenty to Twenty-Four

In which a very delicate town is encountered, the Lion becomes a king through assassination, better use is made of the Winged Monkeys than last time, our heroes finally meet Glinda, and all is brought to a happy ending.



Once again, better late than never, eh? Eh? Eh. Sorry to keep you waiting, but here are the last set of illustrations for our story:

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Sixteen to Nineteen

In which wishes are granted, attempted, failed at, and wasted, at which point our heroes set out southwards and encounter some horticultural resistance.



They're late, but here are all of this installment's Denslow illustrations!

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Thirteen to Fifteen

In which our heroine rescues and repairs her various compatriots, the hilariously-named history of the Winged Monkeys is revealed, the Great and Terrible Oz tries to go back on his promises, and some attention is paid to a man behind a curtain.



Pssh, a comparatively minor nineteen illustrations from Mr. Denslow this time around, though they do include depictions of one of my favorite passages in all the Oz books, the story of Gayelette and Quelala, because seriously how great are those names.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Eleven and Twelve

In which our heroes encounter the many forms of Oz, who hires them to whack the Wicked Witch of the West, and then one of the most iconic villains of American children's literature is introduced, encountered, and dispatched in the space of one chapter; and in which the film audience wonders how we can be done with the Wicked Witch if the book is only half over.



We did a full four chapters last time, so we make up for it this time by only doing two. They're extra-long chapters, though, so we've still got a full twenty-three Denslow illustrations to peruse.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Seven to Ten

In which a summary becomes necessary for those who've only seen the movie, as our heroes encounter chasms, Kalidahs, and rivers, as well as some familiar poppies with some unfamiliar field mice, and the Emerald City is finally reached.



Well, since we managed to squeeze in four chapters this time, we've got a whopping twenty-eight Denslow illustrations. Seriously, the illustrations are very nearly one per page.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters Four to Six

In which a summary is again likely not necessary, and yet we recount that Dorothy learns the Scarecrow's story, the two encounter a rusted woodman made of tin, and the three are finally joined by a Lion of the not-so-brave variety, and in which our narrator tries hard not to do a Bert Lahr impression.



Not quite so many Denslow illustrations this time around: only seventeen. Once again, you can pretty much just follow along the whole time. Maybe one day I'll get ambitious and put in the correct time stamps.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, Chapters One to Three

In which our heroine is transported via cyclone to a magic land, accidentally rids them of a despot with shiny shoes (yoink!), then sets off to find the Wizard who can send her back home, at which point she encounters and rescues a talking Scarecrow; and in which you probably didn't really need this summary.



Okay y'all, time to be honest. I pretty much entirely started this podcast so that I could read the Oz books. I got the first seven in very cheap, un-illustrated paperback from across several elementary school book fairs some 25 years ago and have read them, along with the remaining seven Oz books Baum wrote, numerous times each. There are precious few books that I have that have remained on my bookshelf continuously that whole time.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the first of Baum's fourteen, was published in 1900 and was illustrated by W. W. Denslow, and boy did he illustrate the HECK out of it. I forgot, since my personal edition doesn't have any illustrations at all, just how many Denslow crammed in there. Just for these three chapters we've got a full twenty illustrations, not even including the title page, message from the author, copyright page, table of contents, and dedication page, all of which also have full-page illustrations. In addition to the illustrations that follow the story itself, each chapter has its own title page, along with an illustration heading each chapter's text (which is why some of these include a big word; it's the first word in that chapter.)

In fact, it's such a constant stream I'm not really going to bother time-stamping each of them, but I will include them all here after the jump so you can follow along.

"The Snow Queen," Fourth to Seventh Stories

In which our heroine is assisted by crows, royalty, a most delightful robber girl, a friendly reindeer, and a couple of mysterious ladies to achieve a happy ending, though several deaths are dealt with rather casually.



Couple of things I had to look up: the poor murdered "postilions" are drivers of horse-drawn carriages; the "lath" enclosing the robber girl's wood pigeons is just strips of wood, like that making latticework; the Snow Queen's castle is on Spitsbergen, a very-far-north island belonging to Norway, and to get there they must travel to Lapland, which is a cultural region defined as where the indigenous Sami people live (the Sami were formerly known, and are referred to in this story, as the Lapp people, which is now frowned upon), and ultimately end up in the Finnmark, a very northerly county in Norway. There, they meet the Finn woman, who naturally enough is a member of the ethnic group associated with Finland.

And then of course we have the rest of the Edmund Dulac illustrations from 1911:

2:20 - "She has read all the newspapers in the world, and forgotten them again, so clever is she."

 One of the things I love about this story is how Gerda gets mixed up in what seem to be someone else's fairy tale entirely, like this one about the clever princess looking for a husband who can prove his worth to her, and Gerda's all "Mmhmm, mmhmm, can we get back to my tragic search now?"

12:29 - "'It is gold, it is gold!' they cried."

Also, I just absolutely adore the little robber girl, like how she takes pity on Gerda and thus earnestly promises that she won't let anyone else kill her, but will do it herself, and how she tries to make Gerda kiss one of the pigeons, and how she casually mentions that the friendly, helpful crow is now dead. She's my favorite.

23:51 - "The reindeer did not dare to stop. It ran on till it came to the bush with the red berries. There
it put Gerda down, and kissed her on the mouth, while big shining tears trickled down its face."

I'm a little puzzled about the fact that the text specifically says that the reindeer — twice — kiss Gerda on the mouth, but hey, who am I to judge.

26:50 - "The Snow Queen sat in the very middle of it when she sat at home."

Funny thing, we actually don't see very much of the Snow Queen. Gerda doesn't even meet her. She sure is purty, though. Actually, all of the villains in this story — the hobgoblin, the Snow Queen, the robbers — all get away completely scot-free. And, of course, millions of other shards of that mirror still exist in the world. Ah well.

And that's it for another short story interlude, and Andersen has now taken his place on The Bookshelf. Tomorrow we'll start up a new book, and then we'll resume our regular schedule. Thanks for listening!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

"The Snow Queen," First to Third Stories

In which a demon's mirror freezes a young boy's heart, allowing him to be abducted by the eponymous Snow Queen, at which point his young friend Gerda sets out to find him, only to be waylaid by a beautiful garden.



For this short story interlude, I thought that, in honor of the opening of Disney's Frozen, I would read the story that (very) loosely inspired it: "The Snow Queen," by Hans Christian Andersen. Originally published in Danish in 1845, this specific translation was done by Alice Lucas (aka "Mrs. Edgar Lucas," or "Mrs. E. V. Lucas") in approximately 1900. It's not necessarily the best or the most definitive translation, but it is the one I happen to own, and it's also in the public domain, so it's the one I'll be going with.

As one of Andersen's most highly regarded stories (as well as one of his longest), it's garnered quite a number of illustrations over the years. I'm going to go with those by Edmund Dulac, used in a 1911 collection of Andersen's works that used Mrs. Lucas's translation and which is available at Project Gutenberg.

1:31 - "One day he was in a high state of delight because he had invented a mirror with this
peculiarity, that every good and pretty thing reflected in it shrank away to almost nothing."

5:52 - "Many a winter's night she flies through the streets and peeps in at the windows,
and then the ice freezes on the panes into wonderful patterns like flowers."

16:57 - "Then an old, old woman came out of the house; she was leaning upon a big, hooked
stick, and she wore a big sun hat, which was covered with beautiful painted flowers."

A quick note about pronunciation, for those wondering: in most translations, the little boy's name is spelled "Kai," which is presumably pronounced to rhyme with "tie." Mrs. Lucas's translation, though, spells it "Kay," which I don't think I can make myself read in any other manner than to rhyme with "hay." So, sorry about that.

As it turns out, "The Snow Queen" is a rather long short story, so it will be broken up into two parts. The next one will go up tomorrow (a day early, to catch up on the days I missed recently, woo!)

Also, how's everyone like the new mic? Sexy, yeah? Or am I the only one who can hear a difference?


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Thirty-Three and Thirty-Four

In which our heroes get away surprisingly easily, there is much hauling of gold, and the primary villain gets away with it; and in which our narrator swears that there was more of Long John in the book, but maybe he's just thinking about Tim Curry.



Only a few notes for these last two chapters, most importantly dealing with the monetary list Jim makes while sorting out the treasure. My own editions makes a note of "walking the plank," for those unaware of what that means in a pirate context, but oddly neither of the note "pig nuts," because I seriously thought Long John was being a little cruder than he actually was.

Two final N. C. Wyeth illustrations for these sections: first, we've got Jim in Ben Gunn's cave, sorting through the massive pile of coins and loading them into bags, alongside a stack of gold ingots:

11:35 -  "I was kept busy all day in the cave packing the minted money into bread-bags."

Second, we've got the neat endpapers to Wyeth's edition, showing the pirate band charging forth to find the treasure, armed with cutlasses, muskets, shovels, and pickaxes:

And that does now officially close the book on Treasure Island. The whole book is now gathered together on The Bookshelf. Stay tuned for another short story interlude before starting our next book, and thanks for listening!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Thirty to Thirty-Two

In which Long John continues to try to play both sides, the doctor gives a vague warning about the treasure, the treasure hunt begins, and spooky portents abound; and in which our narrator apologizes if he at any point mixes the pirates' voices up.



Once again, here are the notes for these chapters, along with my own note that the "junk" the pirates have for breakfast is salted beef, and that "marish" is just another word for "marshy."

With that out of the way, here's today's Wyeth illustration, showing Jim being led on a line by Long John, complete with crutch and parrot, while on the treasure hunt:

16:01 - "For all the world, I was led like a dancing bear."

And, of course, I apologize for the lateness of this update, especially after the absent one last week, but Thanksgiving, y'know, got the best of me. Another entry (the last one for Treasure Island!) will go up tomorrow night to help catch up. Don't forget to check back!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine

In which Jim returns to the stockade only to find it occupied by the pirates, who summarily try to depose Long John, who manages to sweet-talk/threaten them into changing their minds, while letting Jim know privately that the jig is up, and in which our narrator might have lost some of his upper register, hopefully to be regained soon.



As usual, here are the notes from the 1908 edition. Really, I feel that some, like "avast" and "batten down your hatches" could be figured out from context, but then again, our culture has had a further century since then to absorb "pirate talk." There might be other things I could probably note, but I'm not feeling so great so y'all can figure things out on your own.

I will, however, share the illustration that comes along with this installment, of the mutinous mutineers (...you heard me) preparing Long John's Black Spot from Dick's Bible:

25:00 - "About half-way down the slope to the stockade, they were collected in a group."

Oh, and maybe I should really prepare myself better for when I come across sentences like "In that position I could easily have my way with him," because HAHAHAAAAA!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

We've run aground

Hey everyone, I'm afraid that tonight's post will be a bit delayed due to the last couple of days' schedule topped off with a brand-new sore throat leaving me unable to finish the latest recording. I'll get it up as soon as I can, probably with a double post at some point next week. Thanks for listening!

Treasure Island, Chapters Twenty-Four to Twenty-Six

In which Jim's dang fool plan mysteriously works, allowing him to commandeer the vessel, which he decides to run aground (no no, on purpose) with the assistance of the injured pirate Israel Hands, who is surprisingly not to be trusted.



Geez, the only thing in these chapters 1908 decided to note was "yawing," but these chapters especially have a whole bunch of nautical terms that are not necessarily well-known by all, so here's a handy glossary to help you out. I probably should've supplied this earlier in the story. The only thing I have to add is that the Execution Dock Mr. Hands refers to is, not surprisingly, a dock in London where executions were held by the British Admiralty Court for crimes at sea, like pirating, smuggling, and mutiny.

But, more importantly, we get to see this illustration of Jim up in the rigging, aiming both pistols right at Israel Hands's face, while Hands prepares to throw his dagger into Jim's shoulder:

32:58 - "'One more step, Mr. Hands,' said I, "and I'll blow your brains out!"

Action! Excitement! The obligatory attempt to sanctimoniously show the villain the error of his ways by threat of Hell!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Twenty-One to Twenty-Three

In which there is an attack on the stockade, successfully repulsed by our heroes at a cost, following which Jim gets a dang fool notion into his head to desert and attack the Hispaniola himself in a tiny little boat.



Eh, the notes this time around are also scanty, and mostly could be figured out from context, but there they are anyway. I've got nothing really to add, but we do have two illustrations this time around!

First up, we've got the pirates attack on the stockade, and we've even got the obligatory pirate holding a cutlass in his hand and a dagger in his teeth:

5:37 - "The boarders swarmed over the fence like monkeys."

A bit later, we've got the drunken fight between coxswain Israel Hands and some unnamed pirate in the cabin of the Hispaniola:

24:54 - "It showed me Hands and his companion locked together in deadly wrestle."

And seriously, Jim, what the crap were you thinking, abandoning the stockade to be manned by only two uninjured men? I bet there aren't even any bad repercussions from his rash act of desertion.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Rob Reviews: The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak

A couple of things about this post: First, yes, this is not me reading to you. I think I will start occasionally and irregularly breaking up the reading by posting book-related things like reviews or opinion pieces and whatnot. Second, I originally wrote this* and posted it on my personal blog that is very, VERY irregularly updated back in April 2010, but since the movie adaptation of this book came out this weekend (to rather mixed reviews), I figured this was as good a time as any to repost this. And, of course, it's a book about books.

For some reason, when I go to the library I often get out books on a theme, usually unintentionally. A few months ago (because I take a while to read and, more importantly, write), the theme was "books and censorship." Oddly specific, I know. It largely started because of a novel that happened to catch my eye in the young adult section: The Book Thief, by Markus Zusak, about a young girl who steals books in Nazi Germany, narrated by Death, all sort of things that appeal to me.

Treasure Island, Chapters Eighteen to Twenty

In which our heroes set up camp in the stockade, though one we don't really care about gets killed, they are rejoined (and the narrative is resumed by) Jim, and Long John attempts a parley.



Wow, apparently there's only a single thing they decided was worth noting in 1908, and that's "Davy Jones," which they didn't even get right. To be fair, though, the only other thing I think I'd note is that Captain Smollett whistles "Come Lasses and Lads" to himself, which, like "Lillibullero" might not be well known to Americans in this day and age, so that there link might help you out.

As for our illustration here, we've got Captain Smollett making sure the pirates have a real good target to site on by running the flag up a makeshift pole in the stockade:

4:36 - "Then, climbing on the roof, he had with his own hand bent and run up the colours."

In other news, between chapters 19 and 20 I broke my microphone. It still works, but the mic is hanging onto the base by a wire and had to be propped up to let me finish recording. Ah well.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Fifteen to Seventeen

In which Jim encounters certified maroon Ben Gunn who weirdly sounds a bit Texan, and we switch narrators to the doctor for a bit, hearing how they left the Hispaniola with a mess of supplies to barricade themselves in an old stockade, only to be cut short by a cannon.



Here again we've got notes, and just so you can truly understand what the good doctor keeps talking about, here's what the song Lillibullero. They also don't tag "jolly-boat," which just kind of gives me the giggles. Oh, and I'm pleased to see that an illustration from Treasure Island is used right there on the Wikipedia page!

Speaking of illustration, Wyeth didn't do the flight form the Hispaniola as seen in that aforementioned illustration, but he did give us our first good look at poor old crazy Ben Gunn:

0:45 - "I saw a figure leap with great rapidity behind the trunk of a pine."

And of COURSE, after last installment talking about how glad I was to have more Long John and less doctor, captain, and squire, we switch over to the doctor narrating a few chapters I'd forgotten about, all with no Long John in sight. Of COURSE. I'm still rather proud of calling them "the Three Stodges," though.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Twelve to Fourteen

In which Jim alerts the captain et al. to Long John's treachery, the men begin to be openly disgruntled, a cunning plan is hatched, and Jim sets foot upon Treasure Island to discover that there are still honest hands. Or, y'know, were.



Not many notes from our friends in 1908, and none at all from Chapter Fourteen. I don't actually have anything to add either, this all being more or less self-explanatory, I suppose. We're getting good into the killin' now!

Speaking of killin', here is the captain, the squire, the doctor, and Jim distributing loaded pistols to the men they're sure are honest, of whom there are unfortunately only three:

14:58 - "Loaded pistols were served out to all the sure men."

And, much like poor drunk Mr. Arrow, farewell to Alan and Tom, the latter of whom at the very least managed to die onstage, unlike the other two.

Also, I'm glad that we're gonna be getting more scenes with Long John than with the Three Stodges up there, because MAN are they boring.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Nine to Eleven

In which the Hispaniola sets sail, with the squire and the captain no fans of each other, the captain is uncertain about the voyage, and in which Jim falls asleep in an apple barrel (as you do) and discovers treachery among the crew, and in which our narrator is pretty sure that at one point he slips from "pirate dialect" to "southern belle" for some reason.



Here are the notes again, though I'm not sure why they felt they needed to define "gentlemen of fortune" as their euphemism for pirates when Jim himself does that in the actual text. Many of the notes, naturally, deal with nautical terms, and among those they skipped include "capstanbars," which are the spars on the winch they used to raise and lower the anchor or to set heavy sails. You know, these things. We've also got the boatswain (sounds like "bosun"), who is the sailor in charge of the ship's hull and rigging, and the coxswain ("coxun"), who is in charge of the smaller boat on the ship and its crew. Some of the place names are perhaps more obscure now than they were in 1908, like Goa, a major Portuguese colony in India.

Also, since there's talk of pounds and farthings, here's as good a time as any to talk about British money. Before they decimalised things in 1971, you had four farthings in a penny, twelve pennies in a shilling, twenty shillings in a pound, and twenty-one shillings per guinea. Yes, a guinea and a pound are almost exactly the same but not quite. Then of course there are other coins, like crowns (worth five shillings), sovereigns (officially worth one pound, but made of gold so kinda worth more sometimes?), halfpennies, and oh just look at this. I can't imagine why they would want to change this perfectly comprehensible system to boring "100 pennies per pound."

The illustration this time around is our first glimpse of Long John Silver, entertaining young Jim in the galley with his filthy-mouthed parrot, Cap'n Flint:

13:47 - "To me he was unweariedly kind, and always glad to see me in the galley."

Also, bonus! I forgot to include this illustration last time, despite the fact that it's described in great detail in the text itself. This one is from the original edition of Treasure Island, well before Wyeth took up paintbrush, and is the map of the island itself:

See if you can follow along!

Finally, to Mister Arrow, we hardly knew ye. Seriously, you didn't even have any lines before you, like, drunkenly staggered overboard.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Six to Eight

In which, spoilers, a treasure map is found, an expedition is mounted by the loose-lipped Squire Trelawney, with the assistance of the one-legged cook, Long John Silver, who I am certain is exactly what he appears to be.



Most notes I would make are already covered by those 1908 notes (though I do like how they say, basically, "We don't really know what Long John is saying here. He may just be babbling." I will, though, note that they make reference to Long John's wife being "a woman of colour," and later referred to in the text as "his old Negress" and I believe clarified as being from the Caribbean. The good squire's further remarks let me know that the "casual racism" tag will assuredly be getting a good workout during this book.

We get another fine Wyeth illustration during these chapters, as well:

17:21 - "I said good-bye to mother and the cove."

According to N.C. Wyeth's Wikipedia entry, his works are "sometimes seen as melodramatic." I can't imagine why.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters Three to Five

In which Billy Bones lets on that his old comrades are after his sea chest and is delivered the Black Spot by a scary blind man, the bodies begin to pile up, the inn is lost, and Jim bemoans the weakness of women, or at least his mother.



Here again we find useful the notes from 1908 (though I find it curious that they noted Blind Pew's "tap-tap-tapping" and not the curious phrase "grope down the dingle," where "dingle" apparently means "a small, wooded valley." It also doesn't count "swabs" — do I need to tag pirate slang? — which means "good-for-nothings," and since Billy is referring to doctors who perform blood-letting as such, I wonder if it's not more accurate than Stevenson maybe intended. "Apoplexy" is also a fun, old-fashioned word for a stroke.

We also see another example of the curious anonymizing that was common in many old school novels, like in the first installment where the year is listed as "17—." Here, Mr. Dance dispatches a man to "B——," wherever that may be. I'm sure there was some valid reasoning behind it at the time, but it's really annoying for reading aloud.

Oh, and we get another good illustration from Mr. Wyeth! This one shows that terrible old Blind Pew flailing around after all his mates abandoned him, before being trampled to death by a horse. Good times.

26:35 - "Tapping up and down the road in a frenzy, and groping and calling for his comrades."

And I suppose I needn't really have worried so much about being stuck with Billy Bones's voice, as things turned out.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Treasure Island, Chapters One and Two

In which there is a most obnoxious sea captain takes residence in the Admiral Benbow inn, where young Jim Hawkins observes an unpleasant reunion with an old comrade; and in which our narrator once again forgoes the use of a British accent, except when it appropriate to use the "pirate" dialect.



Whee, new book! I hope you had your fill of lady voices in Alice and Anne, because... well, I'm reasonably certain that in Mrs. Hawkin's one line in this installment, we've already heard most of what we're going to hear from who I'm pretty sure is the only female character in the whole book. This one's a bit dude-heavy.

Upon looking for illustrations for this, I stumbled across an online version of a 1909 edition of Treasure Island that conveniently contains chapter notes for much of the unfamiliar terminology (written, of course, from a 1909 perspective; thus, the reference to "bleeding the patient" being common practice "up to fifty years ago." Anyway, saves me a bunch of trouble.

A couple of things not covered there, though: the dedication to "S.L.O., An American Gentleman" refers to Samuel Lloyd Osbourne, Stevenson's at-the-time eleven-year-old stepson via Stevenson's wife, Fanny Osbourne. The two were very close, and Lloyd (as he was known) later went on to collaborate with Stevenson on several works.

The note "To the Hesitating Purchaser" makes reference to (William H. G.) Kingston, (R. M.) Ballantyne, and (James Fenimore) Cooper, all earlier writers of sea stories.

As for illustrations, I was not able to find any reference to illustrations in the original printing of Treasure Island (save one, which we'll get to later), but it seems the definitive set of illustrations are those from legendary illustrator N.C. Wyeth from a 1911 edition. In fact, it's this set of illustrations that really helped him make his name, and many (including himself) consider them to be his finest work.

We start out of course with his manly pirate men cover:

Followed of course by the colorful title page, showing the specter of a hanging looming over the frightened heads of the pirates upon finding a dead man's bones:

Then of course we move on to the illustrations in the text itself, starting with Mr. Billy Bones atop the rock with his spyglass:

5:04 - "All day he hung round the cove or upon the cliffs with a brass telescope."

And last, we've got the fight between Bones and Black Dog, with the former chasing the latter out of the Admiral Benbow and into the street and dealing an unfortunate injury to the inn's sign:

19:40 - "One last tremendous cut, which would certainly have split him to the
chine had it not been intercepted by our big signboard of Admiral Benbow."

One thing I guess those notes up there don't mention though: "chine" just means "backbone."

Looking over these illustrations now, perhaps I shouldn't have made Billy Bones quite so... old-sounding. Ah well. I'm stuck with the voice now.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

"The Black Cat," by Edgar Allan Poe

In which there is a descent into Murderous Madness, facilitated by the eponymous Black Cat, as well as the Demon "Alcohol," and in which our narrator affects a "Spooky Manner."



To the best of my knowledge, the works of Edgar Allan Poe don't have any definitive illustrations, like Alice or Sherlock, or even any "original" ones, like Anne, but he does have the advantage of over 160 years of influencing literary history, and by extension artists of many stripes. Here are a few quick public domain "Black Cat" illustrations/artworks I found:

 This etching was done by Alphonse Legros, a French artist who did a series of these etchings around 1861 to illustrate Charles Baudelaire's French translations of Poe's works.

 This one, done by English illustrator Aubrey Beardsley in 1901, is in a very different style, inspired more by Japanese woodcuts. It does, though, show essentially the same scene, the same that most people choose to illustrate from the story: the climactic reveal of the cat atop the head of the narrator's dead wife.

This painting, though, is inspired by the story but not intended to illustrate it. Gino Severini painted this in 1911, and one can make out important aspects of the story if you look closely enough. The cat, of course, both before and after eye-gouging, but also the glass filling with wine, showing what Poe intended be the real monster of the story.

(Although the guy with the axe is also kind of the monster.)


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Thirty-Seven and Thirty-Eight

In which there is sadness, new plans, reconciliations, and the bend in the road.



Our final installment of Anne of Green Gables brings with it our final original illustration, as well:

25:26 - "'Come, I'm going to walk home with you.'"

Obviously destined to be together.

Anyways, Ms. Montgomery inserts a couple of other quotes. She makes reference to "loss in all familiar things," a reference to the poem "Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl" by John Greenleaf Whittier, a long poem in which a family is trapped in the homestead for three days during a snowstorm, and pass the time by sharing stories. The quote comes, unsurprisingly, from a section about mourning a lost loved one.

The "Josiah Allen's wife" Anne refers to is Marietta Holley, a satirist from the last 1800s who appears to be largely forgotten today. The term "mejum" appears to come from Holley's novel called — oh dear — Sarah Among the Colored Folks. It seems to mean "medium," in context meaning "moderate" or "reasonable."

When the narration refers to Avonlea as "a haunt of ancient peace," it's quoting Tennyson again, this time his poem "The Palace of Art," supposedly referring to Gunby Hall, a country house in England allegedly haunted by the spirit of a former servant who was murdered sometime in the early 1700s by the hall's lord as he was running away with the lord's daughter (or maybe wife.) Nice and peaceful!

Finally, Anne's last line is from "Pippa Passes," a drama by Robert Browning. The whole quote goes:

"The year’s at the spring,

And day’s at the morn;

Morning’s at seven;

The hill-side’s dew-pearled;

The lark’s on the wing;

The snail’s on the thorn;

God’s in His heaven—

All’s right with the world!"

Which of course brings us to the end of the book. Thanks so much for listening.

(And like you didn't get at least a little choked up too. Shut up.)


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Thirty-Four to Thirty-Six

In which Anne goes to Queens, where Josie Pye continues to be a jerk, Jane Andrews and Ruby Gillis are comforting, Gilbert Blythe is a surprisingly handsome rival; where Anne distinguishes herself and makes the Cuthberts proud before some ominous foreshadowing; and in which our narrator does not get just a little choked up at the end.

Oddly, I didn't find anything that I thought needed a note in this section, so let's take a look at our final cover. This one's from a relatively ordinary American cover from 2008, but I thought it was just very charming how well it showed Anne's big, exuberant smile and Matthew's shy reticence. It's interesting the patterns you notice, when looking through these covers. The most popular seem to be some variation of Anne waiting at the train station, or on that first drive back as with this one. Many of them show some generic scene of Anne enjoying the outdoors. A few have her looking out of the window, maybe showing one of the titular green gables. A couple show other specific scenes (though I... I don't actually remember that last one?) Oddly, none seem to show her and Marilla, which in my opinion is the real central relationship in the book.

Anyway, as you may be able to tell, the story is coming to a close, and the next episode will finish it off. And... that foreshadowing is there for a reason.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Thirty-One to Thirty-Three

In which Anne freaks out over the Entrance exam to Queen's Academy, does well enough on it, I suppose, then freaks out over a recitation at a concert, and does well enough at it, as well, I suppose.



In this extra-long installment (...sorry), we again get to see Ms. Montgomery's fondness for quoting within the narration, from sources not especially well-known today. The first time is while discussing the joys of learning, when she says "Hills peeped o'er hill and Alps on Alps arose." This is actually a past-tense paraphrase of a line from "An Essay on Criticism" by Alexander Pope, perhaps best-known for being the source of the phrase "A little knowledge is a dangerous thing." This, though, actually means rather the opposite of what many people think. The full couplet, which is from the same section of the essay as the line above, reads: "A little learning is a dang'rous thing; / Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring," where the Pierian Spring is the source of knowledge in Greek mythology. Pope then goes on to discuss how only learning a little "intoxicates" you, while learning a lot "sobers us again." So, it's not that knowledge is dangerous, it's a little knowledge that's dangerous. Learning more shows you how little you actually know, and just how much more there is to learn; as we look out over the mountains of knowledge, "Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!"

 The next quote comes as Marilla is thinking -- to herself, of course -- about how nice Anne looks all gussied up, with that "One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown." This is from the Fourth Book of the poetic novel Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. It comes from what appears to be an insincere compliment imagined by the eponymous narrator: "No one parts / Her hair with such a silver line as you, / One moonbeam from the forehead to the crown!" So basically, a poetic way of referring to a part in someone's hair.

At the concert, Anne recites "The Maiden's Vow" by Carolina Oliphant, a surprisingly short and determinedly Scottish poem where a woman swears she'll never marry, as her only love died at sea. Very tragical.

Lastly, Diana tells Anne that a romantic-looking American artist behind her referred to Anne as having "Titian hair." Anne herself explains what that means, at least well enough for our purposes. My wife, who has studied more art history than I have, tells me that there's an easy mnemonic to help remember what kinds of things Titian painted, but she won't tell me what it is.

Oh and hey! We finally get to see the frontispiece illustration!

28:45 - "'There's something so stylish about you, Anne,' said Diana."

Not the most action-packed picture in the book, but lovely in its own right.

And by the way, I had an audience for the last little bit of the recording. See if you can spot evidence of her!


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Twenty-Nine and Thirty

In which Anne goes on a Big City Adventure only to end up ruminating on the importance and joy of home, or something, following which Anne's educational future is discussed.



Right off the bat, we've got Anne reciting part of a poem now little-known among the general populace: "Marmion," by Sir Walter Scott. It's apparently about one Lord Marmion, a rather obscure figure even at the time, and his involvement in the hilariously-named Battle of Flodden Field between England and Scotland in 1513. I apologize for not quite managing to read all the way through "The stubborn spearsman still made good / Their dark impenetrable wood" without snickering. At least I didn't "stop in ecstasy," like Anne.

Then, of course, we find Anne getting caught reading Ben Hur instead of her lessons. Ben Hur is of course now most well-known for its spectacular movie productions, especially the 1959 version starring Moses. I will not be featuring it on "Rob Reads to You." The other book Anne was caught reading, The Lurid Mystery of the Haunted Hill, though, sadly seems to be fictional.

I've also determined that I love the phrase "meaner than second skimmings," presumably referring to skimming cream off the top of milk, and how little there is left the second time around. This is one I really want to work into daily conversation.

And, um, I think I may need to start keeping a running tally of voices I've done while reading these books, because come to the end-of-school-year scene I could not for the LIFE of me remember if we've heard Miss Stacy talk before or not. I don't think so? Pretty sure? If we have, and I did the voice real different this time around, it's 'cause she had a cold.

Finally we've got this installment's cover and... what the crap is this? It's all... sexy, and blonde -- I think it's mentioned once or twice, Anne has red hair -- and distinctly modern-day. Seems I'm not the only one to think this isn't such a great cover. In fact, I only found this because of all the outraged news articles. That's one of the things with public domain books, though. Anyone with a printing press can crank out a cheap paperback version, or even just an e-book version, and put it up for sale, regardless of how well they're presenting the material. It looks like this was some tiny, no-name publisher we're talking about, so it's not like one of the big publishing houses turned out this thing. And in fact, it looks like they've indirectly responded to the 400+ one-star reviews on Amazon, and have taken the cover down.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Twenty-Seven and Twenty-Eight

In which Anne is engaged in a sitcom plot, re: hair-dying, and becomes rather un-romantically stranded whilst pretending to be romantically dead, only to be rescued by a most unwelcome savior, coming as a surprise to precisely no one.



The poem that Anne and her friends are reenacting in Chapter 28 is "Lancelot and Elaine," from Idylls of the King by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. The short version is that Elaine of Astolat fell in love with Lancelot and died of a broken heart after he rejected her (because he was totally sweet on Arthur's queen, Guinevere. Um, spoilers?) Per her orders, her body is placed in a boat, holding a lily in one hand and a letter in the other, then floated down the Thames towards Camelot. Her body's discovered by King Arthur's folks, whereupon Lancelot reads the letter and feels all angsty. You may know her better as the Lady of Shalott, by which name Tennyson wrote not one, but TWO poems telling her story. Tennyson... really liked this one, I guess.

Oh, you'll also know her from that poster that friend of yours had in college:

Yup. You know the one. Maybe YOU were the friend that had it.

Less romanticized, we see Anne here clinging to the bridge pile being rescued by Gilbert:

21:38 - "He pulled her close to the pile and extended his hand."

Oh, and in case you were curious, that boat there in the picture is what they've been calling a dory. It's basically exactly what you see in your head when you think "rowboat." And... look. I haven't actually read the rest of the Avonlea series yet, but I know it follows Anne well into adulthood and picks up at one point with her own children (I have the rest of the series, and have read their backs, okay?) You can't possibly tell me that Gilbert's not gonna be her husband eventually after all this. Seriously.

Also, this time I get to apologize to Italians, and probably also to German Jews. It... it was a different time.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six

In which Matthew finally resolves the question of the puffed sleeves, about which our narrator had told you we hadn't heard the last, and Anne starts a club to teach the other girls how to imagination.



I was unfamiliar with the term "bootjack," which Matthew is self-consciously holding whilst hiding from the little girls, but now that I know what one is I totally want one. It's like the opposite of a shoehorn, which is incidentally one of my favorite words. I'd also never heard of the fabric "gloria" before, which is "a fabric of silk, cotton, nylon, or wool for umbrellas, dresses, etc., often with a filling of cotton warp and yarn of other fiber." Apparently it's shiny.

Our cover here comes from a 2008 Korean edition which... really looks like it should be for some other book, doesn't it? I mean, I can dig the pastelly watercolors, but I seriously think that if Anne -- or any other character in the novel, for that matter -- were to wear some sort of gauzy dress cut down to the solar plexus, Marilla might just burst a blood vessel. And the big floppy hat? And the choker? And the earrings? I mean, heck, it took Marilla twenty-five chapters and some not-so-slick subterfuge before she grudgingly allowed those puffed sleeves. I don't think she'd allow this outfit to exist in Avonlea, much less let Anne wear it.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Twenty-Two to Twenty-Four

In which Anne goes to tea with her latest kindred spirit, endangers her life and inflicts physical trauma on herself for inconsequential reasons, and then gets excited over a concert; and in which our narrator is glad that so few of the girls present at the party had speaking lines, for he can only come up with so many distinct little girl voices at one time.



Oh hey, we've come back around to one of the illustrations!

11:28 - "Balanced herself uprightly on that precarious footing."

Here, of course, we see Anne trying to walk across the ridgepole of the Barrys' roof on a dare from that hussy Josie Pyle. Note, of course, that they don't have an illustration showing her broken body amidst the wreckage of the Virginia creeper.

In these chapters, we hear Anne described as being "all spirit and fire and dew," which comes from the poem "Evelyn Hope" by Robert Browning. The whole line is "The good stars met in your horoscope, / Made you of spirit and fire and dew," and is actually on the title page of the book, which I did not notice when I started reading.* I can see how it can apply to Anne here, but you read the whole poem and it appears to be about the 48-year-old Browning hitting on the 16-year-old Evelyn Hope who just died, and it gets just a bit weird. We also hear of Anne reciting "Mary, Queen of Scots" by Henry Glassford Bell, which is much less creepy, being only about a beheading. It... really didn't occur to me that I'd be able to use the "dismemberment" tag in Anne of Green Gables, but I certainly won't turn down the opportunity.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!

*I also negelected to read the dedication, which is "To the memory of my Father and Mother."

Anne of Green Gables, Chapters Twenty and Twenty-One

In which Anne spooks herself silly and we learn the terror of "white things," then Anne meets yet another kindred spirit, whom she promptly tries to poison.



After the treatise I wrote last time on Canadian government and nineteenth-century poetry and stories, I only had to check out a couple of things this time around. "Tory" is just a nickname for the Conservative Party, like last time we found out that the Grits were the Liberals. Anne accidentally flavors her cake with anodyne liniment — "partly" your fault, Marilla? Really? You put medicine in a bottle labeled "vanilla." — which is basically just a pain-relieving lotion of some sort, often with some sort of alcohol or acetone base. Tasty!

Our cover here is from a tie-in edition to the 1934 movie version of Anne of Green Gables, and on the cover there we've got Gilbert Blythe played by Tom Brown and Anne Shirley played by... Anne Shirley? What? Oh, I see. She was born Dawn Evelyeen Paris, started acting as a toddler and went through a bunch of different stage names, eventually changing at 16 from "Dawn O'Day" — yeesh — to "Anne Shirley" to coincide with the release of this film, distinctly her most famous. She was in a few other things, and retired from acting at 26. Really, the only people in the entire cast and crew that I've even heard of — and I'm no slouch when it comes to old-time Hollywood — is a very young Ann Miller in her first film role as "Child Extra (uncredited)," and Charley "Uncle Henry" Grapewin as Dr. Tatum in this, just one out of the ten movies he was in in 1934 alone. Dang.

Did I use too many em dashes in today's post? Hmph. I like em dashes, shut up.


If you would like to read along, the text can be found at Project Gutenberg. No reading ahead, though!