PERSONAL/REVIEW: Reading (un)critically
Aug. 6th, 2008 07:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feather_ghyllI have been feeling a bit abashed recently. I only think of myself as a book collector on sporadic occasions, such as when I see the fruits of my collecting in piles, or on shelves, or in piles by shelves. It would be more correct to call me a reader, I collect books for the stories they contain. I was made more aware of this in London the other day when I tramped into really, really posh book shops with books I didn't dare even touch on their shelves, the first edition dust jackets protected by reverent plastic. I have no idea what the asking prices were, but I knew I couldn't afford them, as I have plans to travel, eat and drink over the summer. And I remain haunted by a couple of prices from my Hay trip last year.
But I suppose now is the time to make the admission that I write my name inside books. I'm also more likely to eat when reading a hardback than a paperback, because it's easier, which means that a book from 1913 is more likely to get stained or dirtied than a paperback that isn't even in double digits. I've moved on from the phase I had where I had to underline the name of every proper Chalet School girl who appeared in the series (don't have a heart attack, we are talking about the Armada paperbacks, which I suppose I should replace for the proper versions someday).
I like reading the names, dates and occasional messages when the book was a gift on the flyleaf. I love the random bookmarks you can find in books too. They all give me the sense of the history of 'my book', and a feeling that the book was loved before being handed on to me. That sort of attitude probably wouldn't do at those shops.
And then, last weekend I read 'You're A Brick, Angela', because it was about time. It's a very informative book, and one has to remember that it was an overview of a much neglected field. so it covers a lot of ground. But I did feel rather contrary regarding some of its assumptions, and wished the authors had gone into further depth into the power of series and a strong contingent of readers wanting more of the same, although I suppose it's unfair to expect everyone to share that particular preoccupation, but I do think it would have been fruitful to raise that aspect when comparing with writers of several non-serial books and books that didn't get a sequel and their popularity and influence.
Anyway, why did this book make me feel abashed? Because apparently I'm no critical reader. (In fairness, I kept reminding myself that I'd been introduced to Blyton very young and Pamela Brown, Lorna Hill and Elinor M. Brent-Dyer when I was at the latter end of primary school. So there. I was also critical reader enough to prefer the Famous Five to the Secret Seven.) And now, as an adult, when I should know better? I like the escapism of light reading and the certainties of genre, the nostalgia for my childhood and the one that never existed in these books.
Having said that, I found I did have a critical reader, actually when I read Angela Brazil's The New School at Scawdale which features Aileen Carey and her family just at the second world war is beginning. Aged fifteen, Aileen is finally being reunited with her family, having been left in Australia with her grandparents because she was a sickly baby. (I know things were different in the thirties, but Brazil carelessly introduces a globe-trotting relative who could have fetched Aileen as soon as she became a healthy child). I kept expecting some sort of ramifications, but about the only reference to the difficulties of the situation were to a few stifled sobs. I was also waiting in vain for something to happen to Aileen's horrible little sister Trixie, who resents her elder sister, is a complete show off, but no. I don't know whether Brazil got distracted by the war, which sends Aileen and her sisters to an evacuated boarding school in the area where they're holidaying, first as day girls, then as boarders. On that point, let's just say that 'better than A Worth-While Term' (see previous entry) is not the same as 'good'. For one thing, Brazil is guilty of exposition dumps that show that she did her research (guide books) but slow downthe story.
Whether I am a critical reader or not, it's true to say that last weekend I went away with three books, which I read, and returned with another shopping-bags full.
But I suppose now is the time to make the admission that I write my name inside books. I'm also more likely to eat when reading a hardback than a paperback, because it's easier, which means that a book from 1913 is more likely to get stained or dirtied than a paperback that isn't even in double digits. I've moved on from the phase I had where I had to underline the name of every proper Chalet School girl who appeared in the series (don't have a heart attack, we are talking about the Armada paperbacks, which I suppose I should replace for the proper versions someday).
I like reading the names, dates and occasional messages when the book was a gift on the flyleaf. I love the random bookmarks you can find in books too. They all give me the sense of the history of 'my book', and a feeling that the book was loved before being handed on to me. That sort of attitude probably wouldn't do at those shops.
And then, last weekend I read 'You're A Brick, Angela', because it was about time. It's a very informative book, and one has to remember that it was an overview of a much neglected field. so it covers a lot of ground. But I did feel rather contrary regarding some of its assumptions, and wished the authors had gone into further depth into the power of series and a strong contingent of readers wanting more of the same, although I suppose it's unfair to expect everyone to share that particular preoccupation, but I do think it would have been fruitful to raise that aspect when comparing with writers of several non-serial books and books that didn't get a sequel and their popularity and influence.
Anyway, why did this book make me feel abashed? Because apparently I'm no critical reader. (In fairness, I kept reminding myself that I'd been introduced to Blyton very young and Pamela Brown, Lorna Hill and Elinor M. Brent-Dyer when I was at the latter end of primary school. So there. I was also critical reader enough to prefer the Famous Five to the Secret Seven.) And now, as an adult, when I should know better? I like the escapism of light reading and the certainties of genre, the nostalgia for my childhood and the one that never existed in these books.
Having said that, I found I did have a critical reader, actually when I read Angela Brazil's The New School at Scawdale which features Aileen Carey and her family just at the second world war is beginning. Aged fifteen, Aileen is finally being reunited with her family, having been left in Australia with her grandparents because she was a sickly baby. (I know things were different in the thirties, but Brazil carelessly introduces a globe-trotting relative who could have fetched Aileen as soon as she became a healthy child). I kept expecting some sort of ramifications, but about the only reference to the difficulties of the situation were to a few stifled sobs. I was also waiting in vain for something to happen to Aileen's horrible little sister Trixie, who resents her elder sister, is a complete show off, but no. I don't know whether Brazil got distracted by the war, which sends Aileen and her sisters to an evacuated boarding school in the area where they're holidaying, first as day girls, then as boarders. On that point, let's just say that 'better than A Worth-While Term' (see previous entry) is not the same as 'good'. For one thing, Brazil is guilty of exposition dumps that show that she did her research (guide books) but slow downthe story.
Whether I am a critical reader or not, it's true to say that last weekend I went away with three books, which I read, and returned with another shopping-bags full.
