Christmas presents, for me

It's a good thing that my TBR resolution doesn't go into effect until New Year's. I went to Kaboom Books this evening in search of one book, and I came home with five. The book I wanted was Penelope Lively's Pack of Cards. I had somehow gotten the idea that I didn't like her short stories, but this year I read The Purple Swamp Hen and Other Stories and Beyond the Blue Mountains. I also re-read Making It Up, so I was clearly wrong about her stories. I had a feeling that Kaboom would have a copy of Pack of Cards, which they did.

While I was there, I thought I'd look for Eudora Welty's books. Some years ago I gave all my copies of her books to the library sale. I can't remember why now. I've been thinking lately that it might have been a mistake, and I'd like to try her books again. There was a copy of Delta Wedding on the shelves, which was the first book of hers that I read, and I thought it would be a good place to start again.

With the other three books, I feel like I hit the bookish jackpot.

The owner was chatting with the customers ahead of me when I went to check out, so I wandered back into the shelves. That's where I came across a Virago edition of A Very Great Profession, by Nicola Beauman. I couldn't believe my eyes. I've resisted ordering the new Persephone edition, because I know that this exploration of "The Woman's Novel 1914-1939" is going to add a lot of books to my "want to read" lists. So my discovery of it tucked away on a high back shelf was clearly Meant to Be.

I also found my way into a small back room for the first time. There I found Myrna Loy's autobiography, Being and Becoming. I had no idea she wrote her autobiography. She is one of my favorite actresses, particularly in the many films she made with William Powell. I think Libeled Lady is the best and funniest, and I watch The Thin Man every Christmas. I will read any memoir about the Golden Age of Hollywood, but I'm also interested in reading about her political and social activism.

And finally, The Drones Omnibus of stories by P.G. Wodehouse. I love the Drones Club, which counts Bertie Wooster as a member. I enjoy the adventures of the Eggs, Beans, and Crumpets, as the members style themselves. I don't think there are any Wooster stories in this collection, but it does include "Uncle Fred Flits By." I dote on the Earl of Ickenham. And I'm intrigued by one story, "Goodbye to All Cats." It begins, "As the club kitten sauntered into the smoking room of the Drones Club..." A club kitten - this makes me love the Drones Club even more.

Those three books are sitting on the last open shelf in the house. I do still have some space for double-shelving in some of the bookcases, but not much. So I either need to exercise some bookish restraint, or I need to look for another bookcase, and figure out where to put it. Hmmm, which is more likely...

My Life in Books, 2017

I saw this meme over on Jane's Reading, Writing, Working, Playing - and it looked like such fun that I immediately started looking back over my year of reading.

In high school, I was: Stiff Upper Lip (Jeeves)  (P.G. Wodehouse)

People might be surprised (by): My Latest Grievance  (Elinor Lipman)

I will never be: The Young Stepmother  (Charlotte M. Yonge)

My fantasy job is: (in) The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop  (Lewis Buzbee)

At the end of a long day I need: Silence in Court  (Patricia Wentworth)

I hate it when: (I keep) Dreaming of the Bones  (Deborah Crombie)

I wish I had: Four Gardens  (Margery Sharp)

My family reunions are: Written in Blood  (Anne Bishop)

At a party you'd find me with: The Quiet Gentleman  (Georgette Heyer)

I've never been to: A Town Like Alice  (Nevil Shute)

A happy day includes: Circle of Friends  (Maeve Binchy)

Motto I live by: Eat Cake  (Jeanne Ray)

On my bucket list is: The Copenhagen Connection  (Elizabeth Peters)

In my next life, I want to have: Earth and High Heaven  (Gwethalyn Graham)

I didn't write about most of these books when I read them, but a couple at least are on my "favorite books of the year" list, so I'll have something to say about them there. I love all the end-of-the-reading-year recaps, lists and posts and everything in between. I often find something to add to my TBR lists, if not the stacks.

An early New Year's resolution, maybe

I am reading and enjoying Lewis Buzbee's The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop, which JoAnn recommended. As the subtitle says, it's "a memoir, a history" - a memoir of a life in books, both reading and selling, and a brief history of booksellers and bookstores. In the first chapter, he describes a very familiar feeling:

For the last several days I've had the sudden and general urge to buy a new book. . . It's not as if I don't have anything to read; there's a tower of perfectly good unread books next to my bed, not to mention the shelves of books in the living room I've been meaning to reread. I find myself, maddeningly, hungry for the next one, as yet unknown. I no longer try to analyze this hunger; I capitulated long ago to the book lust that's afflicted me most of my life. I know enough about the course of the disease to know I'll discover something soon.

I know that urge so well. I may resist it for a day or two, but eventually I find myself at Murder by the Book, or Half Price Books, or Barnes and Noble, browsing through the shelves, like Buzbee not quite sure what I'm looking for.

But Buzbee goes on to say, "I do know that I'll leave with some book and head home to spend hours, both lost and found, in the perfect solitude of my sagging green easy chair." That brought me up short. If I bring a book home, it's rarely to read it right off. No matter how excited I am to bring it home, or how much I anticipate reading it, there is usually something else I need to finish first, and then some other book pops up to distract me. So my acquisition gets added to the TBR stacks, where it sits unread, sometimes for years. In a later chapter, Buzbee quoted an unnamed Stoic philosopher: "Of what use are whole collections of books, when their owners barely find time in the course of their lives to read their titles?" I thought, yep, that's me.

I've watched Simon's Project 24 this year with both awe and envy. I don't honestly think I could do that, limit myself to buying only 24 books over an entire year. Though I haven't bought any books in December (yet), I've bought 116 books this year, and 42 of those books are still on the TBR stacks. I've been playing with ideas for something like Simon's project, but focused on the TBR shelves. At first I thought of only buying books that I've already read, that I want to add to my library. I don't know that I could stick to that, though. There would have to be exceptions for new books by favorite authors, because I'm not going to wait on a library copy of Deborah Crombie's latest before buying my own. And I do think there should be some room for serendipity, and the discovery of books you didn't even know you needed, or authors you've never met before. So I am thinking instead of a TBR limit: no more than 12 books added to the TBR stacks in 2018. That means reading the books I buy as I buy them, or not buying books I haven't read. This seems doable to me, at least today. It's something I want to try, anyway. So there's my first New Year's resolution, a little early.

Edited to add: In a later chapter, Buzbee talks about the purchase of a book, and what happens to it afterwards. "It can be devoured immediately on getting home. . . Maybe the reader will take a few peeks at the first couple of pages while waiting at the stoplight." I've done that many times - Houston traffic has a lot of stoplights.

Once home, the book may go on top of the pile of those still waiting to be read, or to the bottom, where it can stay for years. In my stack of unread books right now, I've got a history of the Danube River by Claudio Magris and a scientific study on the patterns of global migration, DNA, and languages. I would like to read these books, but they've become part of the furniture. Maybe next year, after I finally get to The Aeneid, a twenty-years-ago purchase that has been moved to my permanent shelves.

I always feel better reading about other people's TBR stacks. I've got at least a couple of books that have become part of the furniture as well.

Ayala's Angel, by Anthony Trollope

I have more books by Anthony Trollope on my shelves than any other author (though Patricia Wentworth is coming close). It has been a good while though since I picked up one of his books - looking at my reading diary, almost a year. The last one I tried to read shook my faith in one of my favorite authors. I had a bad feeling when the young heroine met the charming cad. I knew their marriage was a mistake, but I didn't expect a Trollope heroine to die of disappointed love  - and then to have her father die of grief in his turn was just a step too far. I am prepared for that with Charlotte M. Yonge, but not Mr. Trollope.

My negative reaction didn't stop me from adding a couple of Trollope books to the TBR shelves when I came across them (The Fixed Period and The Landleaguers). There are also far more Trollope books on the TBR shelves than any other author's. Finally deciding it was time to try another, I looked carefully over my stash, unwilling to risk another dreary tragedy. The back cover of my Oxford World's Classics edition of Ayala's Angel promised "A romantic comedy of implacable exuberance . . . the brightest and freshest of Trollope's novels." It more than lived up to that blurb, though I'm not sure I agree it's the brightest and freshest.

Ayala is one of two sisters left without a penny after their parents' death. Her rich aunt and uncle, the Tringles, take her into their home. The older sister Lucy makes her home with the poorer aunt and uncle, the Dossetts. But when the son and heir Tom Tringle falls madly in love with Ayala, she is banished to the Dossetts, while Lucy is welcomed to the Tringles' magnificence. I thought there was something of Sense and Sensibility about the two sisters.  Ayala certainly has all the romantic notions of Marianne, while Lucy has more of Elinor's sense and stability. But Trollope makes it clear that Ayala is the heroine of his story.

Much of the comedy in the story comes from the suffering of their rich uncle, the baronet and millionaire financier Sir Thomas Tringle. He has two daughters, as well as his son Tom. The elder daughter Augusta has just married the Hon. Septimus Traffic, a baron's son and Member of Parliament. Sir Thomas settled £120,000 on Augusta, which will give the couple a comfortable income. Mr. Traffic however has decided to save as much as possible by moving in with his new in-laws. I enjoyed Sir Thomas's increasingly irate efforts to turf the young man out, and his own daughter as well, while his son-in-law ignores his hints and even outright insults. Then there is the second daughter, Gertrude, who is determined to marry and expects her £120,000 in turn. However, her father is equally determined not to end up with another sponging son-in-law. At one point she is driven to elope to Ostend, under the mistaken idea that it's a continental Gretna Green where weddings are quickly and easily arranged. Poor Sir Thomas has to cope with the fallout of that escapade, after which he starts referring to Gertrude and her intended as "those two idiots." I sometimes thought he might have been happy to trade his daughters for his wards, who despite their own romantic tangles behave so much better.

This being a Trollope novel, there are of course several hunting scenes. The editor of this edition, Julian Thompson, notes that "The hunting-scenes in Ayala's Angel are as fresh as any, and, as R.C. Terry has pointed out, are remarkably free from nostalgia, despite the fact that Trollope had himself hunted for the last time." The notes also point out several connections in the hunts to The American Senator. It's been so long since I read that book that I didn't remember any of the cross-over characters.

I enjoyed this book very much. It reminded me of why Anthony Trollope is one of my favorite authors, even if every book of his isn't exactly to my taste. I am late for the Palliser Party that Jo Ann and Audrey have been hosting, but I am still in time for the next book, Phineas Redux. Though I'm thinking it's been too long since I last read The Eustace Diamonds.

Seasoned Timber, by Dorothy Canfield

This was Dorothy Canfield Fisher's last novel, published in 1939. I started it two or three times before I really settled into reading it, but once I did, I could hardly put it down. It is such a powerful story, one that resonates with what is happening in this country today, but it is also a deeply personal story of one man's life.

Set in the small town of Clifford, Vermont, in 1934-1935, its central character is Timothy Coulton Hulme, the Principal of the town's Academy. I was well into the book before I realized that Clifford is the setting of another of Dorothy Canfield's novels, Bonfire. I was disappointed that Anna Craft and her neighbors don't appear in this book, because I so enjoyed meeting them in Bonfire.

In that book, Anna devises a way for young people in outlying farm communities to attend the Academy by working for their board in Clifford. The Academy is the only high school in the region. It scrapes by with funding from the town, voted on at the annual town meeting, as well as a tiny endowment and fees from students coming from outside the area. Timothy (T.C.) Hulme works long hours in teaching and administrative work, worrying constantly over maintenance and trying to stretch the limited funds. He also takes care of his elderly Aunt Lavinia, who spends her days (and sometimes nights) listening to classical music. We gradually learn more about Aunt Lavinia, and about their family history, which I found very moving.

Two major bombshells fall into T.C.'s busy but quiet middle-aged life. The first is meeting again a former Academy student, Susan Barney, now a teacher herself. He is immediately drawn to this young woman, and soon overwhelmed by the intensity of the feelings he develops for her. Widowed shortly after his first marriage, he had never remarried, or even thought of it. He is intoxicated by this new love, and with the possibilities it brings.

His happiness carries him through his days, and the daily struggles with the Academy. The second bombshell comes with the death of one of its three trustees, a self-made New York millionaire named George Wheaton. Wheaton would probably get along very well with Donald Trump. He has only the most tenuous connections with Clifford, but he has invented a family history with deep Vermont roots. He was elected a trustee in the hope that he would give money to the Academy. He does, but it comes a cost. He wants control, he wants the Academy to be a proper New England boarding school, and he wants it to be exclusive and Anglo. He harangues T.C. constantly about the few Jewish students enrolled, demanding that the school stop accepting them. T.C. steadfastly resists, agonizing over the rise of fascism and antisemitism in Europe, and fearing their spread in the United States. He is so clearly speaking for his creator here, and I wondered if she came as near despair as T.C. did.

Thwarted over his years as trustee, Wheaton makes a will that leaves the Academy a million dollars for an endowment and $200,000 for buildings. They are conditional gifts however, and that condition is the exclusion of Jewish students. The school's name must also be changed to "Wheaton Preparatory School." An additional sum of money is offered if the school will exclude girls as well. The decision of whether to accept the bequests will be made by the trustees. With Wheaton dead, another trustee must be elected to fill his spot, before they can vote on the bequest. The trustee will be elected by the town, and every single person living there has a vote, and a choice to make. This sets off a furious campaign, which I found fascinating. Many in the town want that million dollars. They want the jobs that will come with a bigger, wealthier school. They see hotels full of rich parents, and students with money to spend in the town. They aren't concerned with the handful of Jewish students already enrolled. T.C. and his allies throw themselves into the fight, which for him at least has implications far beyond their small school. They also marshal very practical arguments, pointing out that a "Preparatory School" will not welcome farm boys and girls, even if they are Gentiles. The locals are much more likely to end up working for the school than attending it.

I read a modern reprint of this novel, from the University Press of New England. It's part of a series with the evocative title "Hardscrabble Classics." The editor is Mark J. Madigan, who also edited the excellent book of DCF's letters, Keeping Fires Night and Day. In addition he has put together a collection of her short stories, The Bedquilt and Other Stories. The only reason I haven't bought a copy yet is that I have most of the stories in different collections. I did however find a copy of a biography that he cited in his notes, Ida H. Washington's Dorothy Canfield Fisher: A Biography. Having read most of her fiction, as well as her letters, I'm curious to read more about her life, and to put her writing into its context. I did note that T.C., like DCF, attended Columbia University, and he shares his middle name with her father.

To buy or not to buy: Connie Willis's A Lot Like Christmas

I was very happy to see that a new book by Connie Willis was coming out, just in time for the holidays. But then I found that A Lot Like Christmas is a reprint of a book I already own, Miracle and Other Christmas Stories, with several new stories added. (Miracle seems to still be in print.) One of the "new" stories is "All About Emily." I bought that one a few years ago in a special hardback edition, which I thought was a bit overpriced.

I was looking at a copy of A Lot Like Christmas in Murder by the Book the other day, and I waffled quite a bit before leaving it on the shelf. Some years ago I bought The Best of Connie Willis, a book of "award-winning stories," only to find that I already had most of the stories in other books. It makes sense to republish stories, if the original books they appeared in have gone out of print, but I don't need duplicates of her stories. (I do have second copies of Jane Austen and Dorothy Dunnett's books, and a couple of Dorothy L. Sayers and Georgette Heyer's, but I don't collect duplicates, I don't have the shelf space for them.)

I just checked, and our library has A Lot Like Christmas. I'm now next in line for it. I can read the "new" stories and see if I need a copy. I can always drop by Murder By the Book again - maybe for Small Business Saturday this weekend. If I need a Connie Willis fix, I can read Crosstalk, which is still on the TBR shelves.

Still, it felt odd - to pass up a new Connie Willis book, and to practice bookish restraint!

Re-reading in general, and Laurie R. King's books in particular

I've always been a re-reader - compulsively so as a child, with Laura Ingalls Wilder and Nancy Drew. I think a lot of kids are, they like the familiarity of stories heard again and again. (I remember one Christmas when I must have read a particular Berenstain Bears book to my niece at least twenty times.) One of the criteria I use in deciding whether to keep a book is if I think I'll re-read it. There are books I've kept, only to realize that years have passed and I've never looked at them again. Then there are the books that I re-read every year (if not more frequently).

The other day I was in Murder by the Book, looking for a particular author. They didn't have what I wanted, but wandering around the store I saw Mary Russell's War and Other Stories of Suspense, by Laurie R. King. The biggest section of the book is from the title, a journal that Mary Russell began keeping in August 1914. It covers not just the outbreak of the Great War but her last months with her family in San Francisco, before their deaths in a car crash and her voyage to England - where she met Sherlock Holmes, as she describes in The Beekeeper's Apprentice. I remember when the journal was appearing on Laurie King's website, but I didn't follow it at the time. Seeing this book reminded me of how long it's been since I've read any of the Russell and Holmes stories.

I enjoyed Russell's diary, learning more about her family and her background. Reading it made me think of Locked Rooms, one of my favorites in the Russell-Holmes series. In that book Russell returns ten years later to San Francisco, with Holmes, to finally face the loss of her family. Reading it again also reminded me of Laurie King's series set in San Francisco, police procedurals centered on Inspector Kate Martinelli. The last book in that series, The Art of Detection, has a link to Locked Rooms, and I wanted to read it again. But I couldn't just jump into the last of a five-book series, so I've been re-reading my way through that series as well. It's been about 10 years since I last read these books, and I only remembered some major plot points.

I also went back to Murder by the Book for the latest in the Russell-Holmes series, The Murder of Mary Russell, which I haven't yet read.

This meandering through Laurie King's books has gotten me thinking about why I re-read. With the Martinelli series, it's for the characters. Laurie King once said at a book signing that she thought Kate was a bit boring. That surprised me, because I like Kate a lot. I enjoy reading about her, her work, her life partner Lee and her work partner Al. I enjoy the cases she and Al solve, but for me they're secondary to the people. It's the same with Amelia and Emerson in Elizabeth Peters' long-running series. I enjoy the mysteries and the Egyptology, but I'm there for the Emersons and their extended clan (including the cats). It's also true of Deborah Crombie's police series with Gemma James and Duncan Kincaid. I mean no disrespect to the stories themselves, but they're not the main reason I read and re-read them. I would also put Dorothy L. Sayers' Peter Wimsey, Patrick O'Brian's Jack Aubrey and Stephen Maturin, Kerry Greenwood's Corinna Chapman, Margaret Maron's Deborah Knott, and Patricia Briggs's wolf-packs on that list.

There are many factors that make a book worth re-reading, to my mind. Dorothy Dunnett's are so rich and complex (and occasionally confounding) that even after multiple re-readings I feel like I still see things I missed before. With Anthony Trollope, there is that wonderful authorial voice weaving his intricate stories together. With some authors, it's the story itself - Agatha Christie, and I think J.K. Rowling.

I know there are many people who don't re-read books. I remember my mom telling me me once that she didn't understand how I could read the same story more than once. With limited time and other resources, some people prefer new books, new stories, new people. Reading as I do largely by whim, I read both old and new. Sometimes though, like now, I am drawn back to old literary friends. And I'm thinking I might re-read Folly next - I think it's Laurie King's best book.