Anne of Avonlea, Chapters Twelve and Thirteen

In which Anne has a very cranky day and finds her personal educational philosophy slipping, but then celebrates a pseudo-birthday by exploring the countryside and learning a terribly tragic story; and in which our narrator wonders whatever happened to Anne's toothache, because she should really get that checked out, seriously now.



Today's cover is from a 1995 Norstedts printing of the Swedish edition of Vår vän Anne. I like that this one shows Anne with (presumably) Davy and Dora, who I have never seen featured anywhere. Heck, they're hardly ever even mentioned when talking about these books, so it's rather nice to see them on a cover. In Sweden, anyway. I also appreciate that Davy looks like he's trying to claw his way out of those fancy clothes that are strangling him.

Unnecessarily complex notes to follow!


10:56 - "by what somebody has called 'a Herculaneum effort.'" Herculaneum was an ancient Roman city that was, like the more famous Pompeii, buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE. It was wealthier than Pompeii, and actually better preserved, containing organic remains like wood, food, beds, and even skeletons. The destruction of Pompeii, though, was famously witnessed and described by Pliny the Younger, so it's distinctly the better-known.

Of course, that doesn't have much to do with this quote, which is a malaprop for the idiom "a Herculean effort." I'm not sure who the "somebody" is that Montgomery is attributing this phrase to, though. My best guess comes from an 1894 travelogue called Our Journey Around the World, by Rev. Francis Clark and Harriet Clark, where the narrator says "with a Herculaneum effort, as Mrs. Partington would have said..." Mrs. Partington turns out to be a character created by American humorist B. P. Shillaber in the 1850s who is described as an American Mrs. Malaprop (who, in turn, was from the play The Rivals by Richard Brinsley Sheridan and who, of course, gave her name to the practice of humorously replacing one word for another, similar-sounding one). The texts the Mrs. Partington are from, though, don't appear to be readily available online, at least not in searchable form, and what I can find does not appear to use particular term. I found other people in the 1800s making this same malaprop, though, so maybe it was just a semi-common joke with no specific source.

12:58 - "plum puffs won't minister to a mind diseased" Ah, okay, this one's easy. Anne here is adapting a quote from Act V, Scene III of Shakespeare's Macbeth:

MACBETH: How does your patient, doctor?

DOCTOR: Not so sick, my lord,
As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies
That keep her from rest.

MACBETH: Cure her of that!
Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon her heart.

DOCTOR: Therein the patient
Must minister to himself.

One should note that by quoting this, Anne is casting herself in the part of Lady Macbeth, guilt-ridden over the murder of King Duncan.

13:37 - "Every morn is a fresh beginning / Every morn is the world made new." Anne here is caroling the start of the poem "New Every Morning," from the 1889 book A Few More Verses by Susan Coolidge (1835-1905, real name Sarah Chauncey Woolsey, and also author of, of course, Verses). As far as I know, it was never set to music. If it ever was, it most certainly was not whatever travesty I saddled it with.

17:45 - "harrowing." A harrow is an agricultural tool made up of many spikes, discs, or tines which are dragged across plowed soil to smooth it out and break up large clump of dirt, giving it a finer and more finished appearance  that is also better for seeding. This is also where the word "harrowing" comes from, as in "a harrowing experience." Because, well, imagine being dragged through this sucker.

18:17 - "Begone, dull care!" This comes from an old English folk song that dates back to at least the 1600s, and possibly earlier.

19:14 - "It would be too hot to hold some folks." ...yeah, no, I still have no idea what Jane is so "sagely quoting" here, if indeed anything.
 
20:21 - "elephant's ears." I'm not sure which of the various related plants referred to as "elephant ears" they are referring to, but as far as I can tell none of them would be described as "graceful" or "feathery," or appropriate for "picking a big bunch," as they're primarily known for their very large, leathery, heart-shaped leaves rather than their flowers.


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

The Marvelous Land of Oz, Chapters Thirteen to Fifteen

In which we learn the backstory of our loquacious insectile friend, who turns out to be fond of the most terrible puns which even the other characters refuse to tolerate; our heroes are led through more of Mombi's enchantments by an old friend, arrive at the Emerald City and make use of outdated gender stereotypes to drive off the invaders, only to become trapped in the palace.



Not much to add this time around, so right onto the illustrations!

More after the jump!

"Bernice Bobs Her Hair," by F. Scott Fitzgerald

In which a Jazz Age wallflower from Eau Claire gets some good advice from her cousin, who gets upset when it works a little too well, and revenge is had via haircut; and in which you should be thankful that our narrator decided against attempting a Wisconsin accent.



So, as mentioned in the recording, this installment is largely in honor of my AP English teacher, Mr. Denis Linehan, who would put his hand to his heart when he spoke fondly of "Bernice." Yes, he was on a first-name basis with the story. So, Mr. Linehan, wherever you are now (probably at the track), this one's for you.

"Bernice Bobs Her Hair" was one of F. Scott Fitzgerald's first big stories, published in the May 1, 1920 issue of The Saturday Evening Post, making this the most modern work we've featured so far (and, barring any permissions I get from authors, one of the most modern we're likely to feature.) Fitzgerald had published in the Post before, but this marked the first time he got his name on the cover. The cover painting itself has nothing to do with the story, though; it's titled "Ouija," and is by the legendary Norman Rockwell.

More covers and notes after the jump!

"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 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!

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!

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapters Ten to Twelve

In which our heroine is entertained by the Mock Turtle, observes a trial of Dubious Legality, is called to present evidence and Hulks Out, before Awakening to her sister musing on the Nature of Childhood, and in which our narrator insists you can skip certain parts Without Offense, and breaks the fourth wall Rather Improperly.



Once again, the illustrations (specifically, the frontispiece) are specifically mentioned in the text:

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, Chapters Six and Seven

In which our heroine encounters a Well-Seasoned Baby and presumably decides to Never Have Children, whereupon she meets the ones Everyone Has Been Waiting For: a most peculiar Cat, and a Tea Party Most Mad (yet not as mad as some); and in which our narrator Tries His Best to do neither a bad Sterling Halloway nor a bad Ed Wynn impression.



And then of course are the Tenniel illustrations: