READING: The Forsyte Saga (fin)
That's a bit of a lie. I've still got 50 pages to go -- but it's all resolution from here and I seriously doubt, unless Galsworthy secretly invites goddamn Henry freakin' James to finish the novel for him, that I'll change my opinion to "Suck a fuck that was awful." And actually, even if Henry James did find a way to wriggle in there, I probably wouldn't hate it. The novels are worth it for the two short pieces, "Indian Summer of a Forsyte" and "Awakening," that connect them.
Here is a lovely moment from "Awakening" (and to put this and the following passage in perspective, Jon is about 9):
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"Bella!"
"Yes, Master Jon."
"Do let's have tea under the oak tree when they come; I know they'd like it best."
"You mean you'd like it best."
Little Jon considered.
"No, they would, to please me."
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And another:
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"What exactly is beauty?"
"What exactly is--Oh! Jon, that's a poser."
"Can I see it, for instance?" His mother got up, and sat beside him. "You do, every day. The sky is beautiful, the stars, and moonlit nights, and then the birds, the flowers, the trees--they're all beautiful. Look out of the window--there's beauty for you, Jon."
"Oh! yes, that's the view. Is that all?"
"All? no. The sea is wonderfully beautiful, and the waves, with their foam flying back."
"Did you rise from it every day, Mum?"
His mother smiled. "Well, we bathed."
Little Jon suddenly reached out and caught her neck in his hands.
"I know," he said mysteriously, "you're it, really, and all the rest is make-believe."
------------------------------
I know you're it, really, and all the rest is make-believe. That sentence totally took my breath away, and I had to put the book down and bite my lip a little.
After spending a full month with these characters, I am both ready and a little loathe to leave them behind. So many wonderful people have died beautiful deaths. I've gossipped with June and Fleur. I've attended engagements, weddings, sick beds, and funerals. I've watched Soames make mistake after mistake, and, unless something happens in these next 50 pages, I haven't seen him learn anything at all -- and yet I'm still hesitant to call him an entirely bad man. I've watched the waning of the Victorian era and the dawning of the '20s. If any book deserves the mantle of saga, it's this one.
Up next, I think, will be Balzac's Lost Illusions and A Harlot High and Low. I figured the best way to attack my bookshelves would be alphabetically. This means I may die when I get to Dickens. There's a lot of Dickens I own that I haven't read.
Pray for me.
Here is a lovely moment from "Awakening" (and to put this and the following passage in perspective, Jon is about 9):
------------------------------
"Bella!"
"Yes, Master Jon."
"Do let's have tea under the oak tree when they come; I know they'd like it best."
"You mean you'd like it best."
Little Jon considered.
"No, they would, to please me."
------------------------------
And another:
------------------------------
"What exactly is beauty?"
"What exactly is--Oh! Jon, that's a poser."
"Can I see it, for instance?" His mother got up, and sat beside him. "You do, every day. The sky is beautiful, the stars, and moonlit nights, and then the birds, the flowers, the trees--they're all beautiful. Look out of the window--there's beauty for you, Jon."
"Oh! yes, that's the view. Is that all?"
"All? no. The sea is wonderfully beautiful, and the waves, with their foam flying back."
"Did you rise from it every day, Mum?"
His mother smiled. "Well, we bathed."
Little Jon suddenly reached out and caught her neck in his hands.
"I know," he said mysteriously, "you're it, really, and all the rest is make-believe."
------------------------------
I know you're it, really, and all the rest is make-believe. That sentence totally took my breath away, and I had to put the book down and bite my lip a little.
After spending a full month with these characters, I am both ready and a little loathe to leave them behind. So many wonderful people have died beautiful deaths. I've gossipped with June and Fleur. I've attended engagements, weddings, sick beds, and funerals. I've watched Soames make mistake after mistake, and, unless something happens in these next 50 pages, I haven't seen him learn anything at all -- and yet I'm still hesitant to call him an entirely bad man. I've watched the waning of the Victorian era and the dawning of the '20s. If any book deserves the mantle of saga, it's this one.
Up next, I think, will be Balzac's Lost Illusions and A Harlot High and Low. I figured the best way to attack my bookshelves would be alphabetically. This means I may die when I get to Dickens. There's a lot of Dickens I own that I haven't read.
Pray for me.
posted by Mike at 4:32 PM
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