Strong Poison

 

"There were crimson roses on the bench; they looked like splashes of blood" (1).

I can remember the day that I first heard the name Dorothy L. Sayers. I was in a mall, of all places, speaking on the phone with my thesis advisor. I had told her that I wanted to focus on a British author who wrote in a multitude of genres on Christian themes. Of course, C.S. Lewis was out of the question, as he is essentially the Shakespeare of contemporary Christian literature; much has been written on him, and it is difficult to find a unique perspective to add to the scholarship already available on his work. I was stuck in a pickle, or so I thought. I was prepared to compromise, as I assumed that my requirements were much too narrow.

My advisor recommended that I research Sayers, and thus began a newfound love affair with a writer who transcended my list of preferences. She was perfect--witty and intelligent, with a mysterious past and talent in any number of written forms. I spent the better part of two years learning all that I could, consuming her novels, plays, poetry, apologetics essays, and letters. It may be shocking, but my introduction will need to end at this juncture. If I were to attempt to write another paragraph, I would just as soon blather for upwards of 80 pages. (But I've already done that task in the form of my thesis, which is enough material for 40 blog posts, and so here I will be brief.) Without further ado: Strong Poison, my friends...

1. "I didn't guess the murderer till page 200, rather clever, because I usually do it about page 15. So very curious to write books about crimes and then be accused of a crime one's self" (27).

The mystery. Sayers is the sort of clever mystery writer who gives just enough information to make the reader feel that he or she is along for the ride, but not so much that the ending is revealed before its due time. Unlike other detective novels, such as Sherlock Holmes, the revelations are not so highbrow as to alienate the reader from the process. On the other hand, she writes with clear purpose, not the chaos that can accompany someone such as Agatha Christie, who adjusted the culprit even in the process of writing so as to throw one off the scent.

The autobiographical nature of this novel, written about a female mystery writer, gives the piece a personal feeling. There is a commitment to the tropes that keep fans returning to the genre, but not to the extent that it becomes turgid with cliche. While the perpetrator of the crime may become increasingly more obvious as the investigation unfolds, the means and motive remain hidden and cast doubt on the reader's analysis of the crime.

2. "What I mean to say is, when all this is over, I want to marry you, if you can put up with me and all that" (39).

The relationships. Strong Poison is rather far along in the series, but I chose it because it is a pivotal point in the relationship between Wimsey and Vane. Some critics have complained that Sayers seems to have fallen in love with her main character and placed herself in the novel to live out her own fantasy, but I tend to agree with C.S. Lewis' evaluation: Sayers allows Peter to grow up. His charming English mannerisms and romantic bachelor lifestyle serve him well in earlier iterations, but there is a turning point for him upon meeting a woman who is his match in both gumption and inner conflict. There is complexity in their relationship, even from the beginning, and they are allowed to be human with one another.

Their dialogue, the commitment that Peter Wimsey shows to Harriet even as she denies him access to her heart, and the magnetic attraction between such colorful and well-fleshed characters adds to the emotional impact of the story. Sayers has brought a personal aspect into a mystery novel and intrigue into a romantic novel--she straddles these two genres and manages to create something entirely new.

3. "Philip, who loved beauty so much--do you think he would have chosen arsenic?--the suburban poisoner's outfit? That's absolutely impossible" (77).

The cultural commentary. Some of the themes prevalent in many of her works are that of class, gender, and societal expectations. Sayers provides her characters with honest, sometimes humorous, and often thought-provoking qualities, displaying truths about human nature alongside an apt social analysis. In this book, we see the world of early 20th century bohemian artists clashing with the posh and propriety of the British elite. From courtrooms and estates to dark house parties with questionable moral conduct, she does not shy away from presenting these worlds with unflinching realism and a touch of sly wit. 

Harriet herself is accused of committing a crime that seems to fit exactly with her lifestyle and moral choices, but yet she speaks with honesty on her own failings rather than defensiveness. She has resigned herself to the court of public opinion, even as those who love her are privy to her more unexpected qualities. Peter calls on his myriad friends to assist him in the urgent quest to rescue and redeem Harriet's good name, and the women and men who loyally respond to his call are varied in every way. Maybe this meditation comes from my interactions with many of Sayers' other works, but I tend to see this inclusion of a diverse set of characters as an attempt to portray both the good and the not so good present in every social stratum. We are all human, right? We know that things are not always as they seem, and yet we fall into stereotypes because they are comfortable modes of operation. One thing that Sayers always does well is wry complexity. She calls them like she sees them, for better or worse, and never turns away from a seeming contradiction.

Have I done this novel its rightful service? Most likely not. But there are a dozen others, so perhaps I just need some practice. Read along with me, and we shall see Sayers' great Wimsey saga unfold together!

Till We Have Faces

 

"Do you think it all meant nothing, all the longing? The longing for home? For indeed it now feels not like going, but like going back," (87).

Some of my earliest memories have no images, only sound and feeling. Lying on the floor with my eyes close, listening to the sound of my father's voice, I would be lost in the world of Narnia--the swirling sand of Calormen beneath my feet and Cair Paravel rising in the distance. Before I could read much more than a picture book on my own, I found myself well-acquainted with the mystical creatures of C.S. Lewis' imagination. This specific memory contains remnants of The Horse and His Boy, as Shasta and Bree climbed endless dunes under a burning sun to reach freedom. Before I had re-read the books for myself as an older adolescent, I could recall those written descriptions in the voice of my father.

I also grew up on the 1988 BBC version of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. It was in 2 parts, and I can see explicitly the scene in the woods, Lucy gaping at the snow melting from budding branches. And then the tape ends. And we had to re-wind before pulling that one out of the VHS player and popping in Part 2. We were front and center in the theater when the new version was released in 2005, and there was no more re-winding necessary, thankfully.

As a teenager, I made a list of every piece of C.S. Lewis writing that I could find. I decided that I would work my way through, book by book, until I had collected them all. I've lost count at this point, but I believe I am somewhere near the 25 mark, with several more still to go. C.S. Lewis' writing has shaped who I am, from childhood until now. This claim is one that can probably be made by many a reader. He wrote the sort of books he would have wanted to read, and it turns out that what is good reading material doesn't alter all that much, even as the outside trappings of our societies change beyond recognition. I'm guessing he understood that fact better than most.

My most recent addition to my Lewis library I is Till We Have Faces. It is the last book that he wrote and published before his death; he is quoted as saying that it his best. This review is difficult for me to write, not because I don't have thoughts, but because the thoughts are too broad. I think too much, too many things, concerning this book, and I fear that a few bullet points cannot do it justice. But that is the task that I have set before myself, and so I will attempt to craft a description that will do some small semblance of justice to the text. If nothing else, perhaps it will encourage you to pick it up and read for yourself:

1. "There stood the palace, grey--as all things were grey in that hour and place--but solid and motionless, wall within wall, pillar and arch and architrave, acres of it, a labyrinthine beauty" (149).

The fantasy. I loved the fantasy genre when I was a kid, and now that I've stepped back into that realm, I am recalling what originally drew me to it. C.S. Lewis does the fantastical and magical better than almost anyone, and I believe part of his longevity as a beloved author is his willingness to present the subtle humanity of imagination through the eyes of children. What if the trees could hear and remain loyal to the rightful heirs of the throne? What if a goat was also half-human and drank tea in his cave-like home? And what if a young, arrogant boy could fall prey to an evil witch, but his very own siblings took up the mantle and fought for the freedom of an entire country? And...what if Father Christmas was there? These are the types of dreams that we all have, but often only children are brave enough to speak them. The fairytales are only one step away from our world, with battles and simple kindnesses and the same human tendencies we see every day. However, they are also full of all the wonder that can be infused with the question, what if?

C.S. Lewis got this aspect of fantasy right, and he does it yet again in Till We Have Faces. A medievalist will always do castles and monsters right, and a Greek mythologist knows his gods and allegories like no one else. Lewis brings all of these influences into his work. As I was reading, I couldn't help but think that this work is the precursor to every modern fantasy book that I have enjoyed. There are the very real, physical dangers of wars and plagues, but the spiritual and metaphysical terrors are also ever-present. Of course, the greatest monster is always the unseen. The soaring beauty and the tragic ugliness of such a world, where all is possible and dreams or nightmares both lurk at the door, is what fantasy readers seek.

2. "What began the change was the very writing itself. Let no one lightly set about such a work. Memory, once waked, will play the tyrant" (287).

The voice. The novel is written as a journaling task by our main character, Orual. She has set out to tell her tale, to revisit the events that led her to the great plight in which she now finds herself. We grow with Orual, learning to see the world through her eyes and finding the errors in her thinking. She cannot identify them herself, at least in the beginning. Letting a first-person narrator express her own flaws without realization, essentially incriminating herself without knowing it, is incredibly subversive. We, as the readers, are one with her: we are inside Orual's mind and can only see the world through her eyes. Somehow, we are led to both empathize with her desperation and simultaneously condemn her for pride and self-imposed blindness. There is a many a book wherein the author crafts a protagonist that is lacking, who is unlikable or annoying or selfish, to the point where the book is ruined. Not so with Orual. She is, for lack of a better description, human. Her entire journey to a discovery of the truth mirrors the reader's own. If she misses the mark so clearly, then what am I missing within the annals of my own mind? Have I looked in the mirror too long and forgotten what is there? Lewis thus points us inward through the coaxing thoughts of another.

3. "That ruinous face was mine. I was that...swollen spider, squat at its centre, gorged with men's stolen lives...ceasing to be...was now too hard for me" (315).

The allegory. Lewis' scholarly focus was on the allegorical work of the Middle Ages, so of course he is a master in the form. He weaves the idea of a pagan pantheon together with clearly Christian themes. How does he manage such a feat? And is it one worth doing? In his view, all of the ancient myths and stories had their roots in the one great story of humanity: God, sending His Son to die on our behalf and drawing us back into community with Himself after our violent rejection of Him. Every mythology and religion carry the same spiritual elements, just packaged slightly differently to fit the culture. The humans in Till We Have Faces shape gods who are convenient to them. The cruel and brutal Ungit resides in a dark house in the form of a misshapen stone, requiring bloody sacrifice and withholding mercy from the people. The god on the mountain, unseen and mysterious, is imagined by some as a brute and by others as majestic and beautiful.

At one point in the novel, the priest of Ungit describes the gods as being the source and the result of one another. "[S]he signifies the earth, which is the womb and mother of all living things" and the god on the mountain is "the sky by its showers [making] the earth fruitful" (308). The people are very vague and contradictory in their theology, proving that none of them really see the truth in full, only in part. They have created gods who will suit them and explain the inexplicable, and the gods have produced in them a certain way of living that promotes unity, survival, and moral character. The actuality of their deity has very little importance, in the way that the Israelite's golden calf was not really meant to replace the omnipotent God meeting with Moses on the mountain. Down below, where nothing can be seen except the whispers of sovereign design, the human mind is apt to define everything satisfyingly within the confines of human understanding--even that which cannot be grasped.

The complexity of the allegory is hard to overstate. C.S. Lewis is, on the one hand, commenting on the reality of human nature. He is also showing the true homeliness of our "faces" when compared with the untamed holiness of the true God. We are dust...such small and inconsequential beasts in the face of the One Moses could only see from behind. The wonder is in the fact that we, merely human, will one day see Him face to face as we stand upon the merciful blood of His Son, to be reunited with Him whose image we bear imprinted on our eternal souls. And that, in C.S. Lewis' allegory, is what it means to have a face.

There is no doubt in my mind that you should read Till We Have Faces. If not, I will read it again for both of us. And that is not a threat, but a promise!

The Scarlet Letter

 

"Wondrous strength and generosity of a woman's heart! She will not speak!" (59)

The Scarlet Letter is another novel that I recall from my early high school experience. What I specifically remember about my introduction to the text was the scandalous nature of its plot concerning a woman who had committed adultery...I was at once appalled and fascinated. I don't particularly remember how old I was upon being assigned the book, but I was young enough to be relatively ill acquainted with most content pertaining to such actions. I did, however, love a good forbidden romance. Imagine my disappointment when I realized that the book begins after the romance bit has taken place, and the reader isn't permitted to observe the two lovers interact until about 75% of the way through. So, NOT a romance. Let me just clarify that fact for anyone unsure of the story you will find herein.

I would probably have said, up until a recent point in life, that The Scarlet Letter has historically remained one of my least favorite classics. As a teacher, I've presented it as necessary within courses of American Lit, but with nowhere near the enjoyment I find in most other novels. My earliest memories of the thing are poor, and it hadn't really redeemed itself upon subsequent readings. Now you may be asking, "Dear lady, what has changed? What mysterious providence led you to a newfound love of this work?"

To which I answer, not much. Not much has changed. I am severely sorry to dash your hopes in such a rude fashion; if you were anticipating a rousing treatise in appreciation of Hawthorne's merits, it will not be found here. I will tell you that I started my summer by re-reading TSL--partly because I want to believe in the validity of the classic and would gladly admit, if possible, that the error lies with the reader, but also partially to vindicate my generally harsh critique. I'm sure I looked very studious and "literary" to the casual observer. But there at the end...I must be transparent. I skimmed a little. I just couldn't read Hester's inner turmoil one more time. We get it; the central conflict is within her. She fights against herself, the expectations of her society, the dark emblem upon her chest. I really would like to see the characters do more than sit and think, stand and talk, walk and think and talk. Except for Pearl, who is allowed to run a bit and tromp through water. Usually while talking. And the number of exclamation points! In the last chapter! Is enough to make a high school English teacher blush (with rage)! Shouldn't the emotional climax of the text speak for itself, rather than requiring punctuation to communicate that we have reached the fullness of plot intensity?

Now, to give credit where credit may be due: from the standpoint of characterization and a thought-provoking portrayal of Puritan societal pressures, I can see the value in the text. It is also a really wonderful study on characters. Teaching character analysis and symbolism is pretty easy when a book is primarily characters and symbols, without much distracting plot to speak of. While there is usefulness in it, I still struggle with appreciating The Scarlet Letter as anything more than a tool for the classroom. There are so much more exciting and well-written texts than this one.

In typical form, we find a list of the "Why?":

1. "Then, what was he? -- a substance? -- or the dimmest of all shadows? He longed to speak out...I, your pastor, whom you so reverence and trust, am utterly a pollution and a lie! (119)

The character analysis. As good a place to start as any, Hawthorne's characters are the major substance of his text. We have whole chapters given to waxing poetic about almost every important individual living in New England. While I have my reservations about this mode of writing a novel, I do appreciate the depth with which he evaluates the physical and psychological morphology of Hester, Dimmesdale, Pearl, and Chillingworth. I can stand before a class of students and ask, "How is Dimmesdale's internal unraveling portrayed?" If they've read chapters seven-twelve, the answer will be evident, as it is written no fewer than twenty times. I love this as a method to determine right away which students need habitual public shaming as motivation for reading the assigned texts. If I've interpreted TSL correctly, I believe they will respond by liking it and coming back for more.

2. "The boughs were tossing heavily above their heads; while one solemn old tree groaned dolefully to another, as if telling the sad story of the pair that sat beneath, or constrained to forebode evil to come," (162). 

The language. Over and above the repetitive prose, which I will address shortly, the figurative language in the novel is beautifully executed. There are many descriptions and revelations, especially pertaining to the setting, that strike the reader. A characteristic of many 19th century publications, narrative and exposition often carry the qualities of romantic poetry. Perhaps, rather than writing novels, Hawthorne should have focused on landscape verse. He really would have excelled.

And, in less typical form, a list of the "Why not?":

1. "The mother herself--as if the red ignominy were do deeply scorched into her brain, that all her conceptions assumed its form--had carefully wrought out the similitude; lavishing many hours of morbid ingenuity, to create an analogy between the object of her affection and the emblem of her guilt and torture," (84). 

The pace. There is an interesting viewpoint in writing about the aftermath of a passionate love affair, but the character work that is done sometimes feels hollow when the reader has no real connection to the relationship that set it all in motion. Pearl's father is slowly revealed over the course of a few chapters, which is not my issue. The plot points are so few and far between, they could be listed in a meager number of bullet points; internal struggle is the main impetus for the book's movement. By the time that Hester and her ex-lover meet in the forest and finally acknowledge their still-burning passion for one another, the reader hasn't been set up to care. In short, it took too long. And yet, not enough happened in all of the novel to create a likely scenario where such an admission would make sense. They each battle the sin that was committed, not their hidden love. I waver between thinking that either they are both infuriating and deserve each other, or it would really be better for everyone if they just continued to struggle in private and left one another alone.

2. "The links that united her to the rest of human kind--links of flowers, or silk, or gold, or whatever the material--had all been broken. Here was the iron link of mutual crime, which neither he nor she could break," (132).

The repetition. I've already mentioned this point, but to be clear and ensure that every reader understands, Hester has sinned against the natural order. She is shunned by society. Her struggle is profound, symbolized by the wayward child born of her illicit union. This story does not change until, in the thirteenth chapter, we get "Another View of Hester," which is that... she has sinned against the natural order. She is shunned by society. Her struggle is profound, symbolized by the wayward child born of her illicit union. AND she also still cares for her father's daughter and seeks to protect him. For lack of a more highbrow way to write it, TSL is so boring. You could cut out about half of the chapters and not miss much of anything important.

Harsh, I know. In regard to a recommendation, I would say that The Scarlet Letter may have value from an educational standpoint, but I would be happy to never read or teach this book again. I'd love to speak to someone who likes it (not appreciates or understands it, but LIKES it), because that point of view is beyond the grasp of my mental faculties.