Free (and semi-free) Literary Books for the Kindle (US & UK)

Lady Susan - by Jane Austen

2012-03-01T23:06:00.000-06:00

Lady Susan is a short epistolary novel written by young Jane Austen and published posthumously.

(US Edition) ( £0.77 UK Edition)

It has its fans among Amazon reader reviewers: “Short, but sweet. This book is so witty it cracks me up every time.”

Nice! Some more Jane Austen! Let’s explore . . .

But I was determined to be discreet, to bear in mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as possible: and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no one's attentions but Mainwaring's. I have avoided all general flirtation whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all the numbers resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a little notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring; but, if the world could know my motive THERE they would honour me. I have been called an unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of maternal affection, it was the advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for my exertions as I ought.

“Early” Jane Austen sounds better than "later" most everyone else . . .

The Return of Sherlock Holmes - by Arthur Conan Doyle

2012-02-28T22:14:00.000-06:00

You can never read too much Sherlock Holmes! Back in 2010, I reviewed The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

Now, I offer Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s 1905 collection of short stories, The Return of Sherlock Holmes. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

You may recall Lestrade of Scotland Yard . . .

"Anything remarkable on hand?" he [Lestrade] asked.

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes—nothing very particular."

"Then tell me about it."

Lestrade laughed. "Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there IS something on my mind. And yet it is such an absurd business, that I hesitated to bother you about it. On the other hand, although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know that you have a taste for all that is out of the common. But, in my opinion, it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than ours."

"Disease?" said I.

"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness, too. You wouldn't think there was anyone living at this time of day who had such a hatred of Napoleon the First that he would break any image of him that he could see."

Holmes sank back in his chair. "That's no business of mine," said he.

That passage just feels so familiar, like easing into house slippers after being on your feet all day. Although, I believe Holmes kept tobacco in his slippers!

If you do not know these stories, I envy you the chance to discover them for the first time. And if you already know the reason for this “queer madness,” enjoy the story within the story by focusing on the relationship between Holmes and those in his small circle of acquaintances.

Kidnapped - by Robert Louis Stevenson

2012-02-23T23:28:00.000-06:00

Kidnapped is an 1886 novel by Robert Louis Stevenson. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

These editions are called “Dover Children's Evergreen Classics,” but this is well known as a children’s book read by adults. It is probably the precocious child who reads Stevenson these days . . .

I asked him if he had ever heard tell of a house they called the house of Shaws.

He stopped his cart and looked at me, like the others.

"Ay" said he. "What for?"

"It's a great house?" I asked.

"Doubtless," says he. "The house is a big, muckle house."

"Ay," said I, "but the folk that are in it?"

"Folk?" cried he. "Are ye daft? There's nae folk there--to call folk."

"What?" say I; "not Mr. Ebenezer?"

"Ou, ay" says the man; "there's the laird, to be sure, if it's him you're wanting. What'll like be your business, mannie?"

"I was led to think that I would get a situation," I said, looking as modest as I could.

"What?" cries the carter, in so sharp a note that his very horse started; and then, "Well, mannie," he added, "it's nane of my affairs; but ye seem a decent-spoken lad; and if ye'll take a word from me, ye'll keep clear of the Shaws."

Yes, it is a mystery, and redolent with Scottish dialect. You will probably have a burr in your voice when you have finished following the kidnapped protagonist on his journey home to reclaim his inheritance.

The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man - by James Weldon Johnson

2012-02-21T23:44:00.000-06:00

The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man is a 1912 novel by James Weldon Johnson, an early black writer. It is a story of a man crossing the color line.(US Edition) (UK Edition)

He starts his schooling as a white boy in an integrated classroom.

I shall never forget how she turned on me. "Don't you ever use that word again," she said, "and don't you ever bother the colored children at school. You ought to be ashamed of yourself." I did hang my head in shame, not because she had convinced me that I had done wrong, but because I was hurt by the first sharp word she had ever given me.

It is well written and provocative:

I became interested in the life of Christ, but became impatient and disappointed when I found that, notwithstanding the great power he possessed, he did not make use of it when, in my judgment, he most needed to do so. And so my first general impression of the Bible was what my later impression has been of a number of modern books, that the authors put their best work in the first part, and grew either exhausted or careless toward the end.

I think you will find this work is sustained right straight through.

The Adventures of Roderick Random- by Tobias Smollett

2012-02-17T23:41:00.000-06:00

The Adventures of Roderick Random, is a Tobias Smollett novel from 1748 that is hysterical and a reminder that humor is not a new literary device. (US Edition) (UK Edition

There is a familiar beginning, with what I find to be a laugh out loud twist.

Of my Birth and Education

I was born in the northern part of this united kingdom, in the house of my grandfather, a gentleman of considerable fortune and influence, who had on many occasions signalised himself in behalf of his country; and was remarkable for his abilities in the law, which he exercised with great success in the station of a judge, particularly against beggars, for whom he had a singular aversion.

I like this chapter heading too:

CHAPTER IV

My Grandfather makes his Will—our second Visit—he Dies—his Will is read in Presence of all his living Descendants—the Disappointment of my female Cousins—my Uncle's Behaviour

So if this is your cup of tea, you are in for a rollicking ride!

Ghost Stories of an Antiquary - by M.R. James.

2012-02-14T23:22:00.000-06:00

A recent New Yorker article was about M.R. James and how his stories have recently been republished. Of course, I immediately went to look for the originals and you are in luck. Ghost Stories of an Antiquary is a 1904 collection of still creepy stories by M.R. James. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

(The scene is a church)

'Won't you go home?' he said at last; 'I'm quite well able to finish my notes alone; you can lock me in if you like. I shall want at least two hours more here, and it must be cold for you, isn't it?'

'Good heavens!' said the little man, whom the suggestion seemed to throw into a state of unaccountable terror, 'such a thing cannot be thought of for a moment. Leave monsieur alone in the church? No, no; two hours, three hours, all will be the same to me. I have breakfasted, I am not at all cold, with many thanks to monsieur.'

'Very well, my little man,' quoth Dennistoun to himself: 'you have been warned, and you must take the consequences.'

Reviewers of these stories emphasize their ability to raise the hair on your arms – which is more than many newer ghost stories can say. No ghost like an old ghost!

Captain Blood - by Rafael Sabatini

2012-02-09T23:49:00.000-06:00

Captain Blood is a 1922 novel by Rafael Sabatini. (US Edition) (£1.29 UK Edition) [Please note the UK index is part of a multi-novel collection. The novel on its own is much more pricey.] It was popular as a novel and popular as a film with Errol Flynn and Basil Rathbone.

Here is a bit from a home invasion where the military is looking for, and finding rebels:

Then the Captain stepped to the press, and pulled open one of the wings of its massive oaken door. He took the huddled inmate by the collar of his doublet, and lugged him out into the open.

"And who the devil's this?" quoth he. "Another nobleman?"

Mr. Blood had a vision of those gallows of which Captain Hobart had spoken, and of this unfortunate young shipmaster going to adorn one of them, strung up without trial, in the place of the other victim of whom the Captain had been cheated. On the spot he invented not only a title but a whole family for the young rebel.

"Faith, ye've said it, Captain. This is Viscount Pitt, first cousin to Sir Thomas Vernon, who's married to that slut Moll Kirke, sister to your own colonel, and sometime lady in waiting upon King James's queen."

It is a great adventure tale with a quick thinking accidental Irish pirate!

Our Mutual Friend - by Charles Dickens

2012-02-07T23:43:00.000-06:00

Happy 200^th Birthday, Charles Dickens! What better way to celebrate than download a free copy of Our Mutual Friend. (US Edition) (UK Edition) This is Dickens last completed novel and it was published in 1865. It is not one of his most popular, but it has an enthusiastic following among those who have read it. It is somehow closer to the sensibilities of our time, because it has a dark humor.

He was shy, and unwilling to own to the name of Reginald, as being too aspiring and self-assertive a name. In his signature he used only the initial R., and imparted what it really stood for, to none but chosen friends, under the seal of confidence. Out of this, the facetious habit had arisen in the neighbourhood surrounding Mincing Lane of making christian names for him of adjectives and participles beginning with R. Some of these were more or less appropriate: as Rusty, Retiring, Ruddy, Round, Ripe, Ridiculous, Ruminative; others, derived their point from their want of application: as Raging, Rattling, Roaring, Raffish. But, his popular name was Rumty, which in a moment of inspiration had been bestowed upon him by a gentleman of convivial habits connected with the drug-markets, as the beginning of a social chorus, his leading part in the execution of which had led this gentleman to the Temple of Fame, and of which the whole expressive burden ran:

Thus he was constantly addressed, even in minor notes on business, as 'Dear Rumty'; in answer to which, he sedately signed himself, 'Yours truly, R. Wilfer.'

Dickens gave us so many memorable novels and characters that it is a pleasure to be able to continue to discover them. Here’s to Rumty and to Our Mutual Friend!

The Taming of Red Butte Western - by Francis Lynde

2012-02-02T23:31:00.000-06:00

The Taming of Red Butte Western is a 1910 novel by Francis Lynde. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

The word “Western” in the title actually refers not to the genre, but to the name of a railroad, the “Red Butte Western Railroad.” The British Kindle edition which I cannot download because I have a US Kindle is annotated. What is to annotate? Maybe they want to be sure you know "butte" rhymes with "cute."

And for the UK Edition, instead of the usual boring cover that you see for free books, there is no cover shown. The placeholder is a Manga style drawing of a woman shaving her legs.

But if it is the same book (and I am sure it is), you are in for a treat!

Pitching over the hilltop summit, within a minute of each other, the two trains raced down the first few curving inclines almost as one. Mile after mile was covered, and still the perilous situation remained unchanged. Down the short tangents and around the constantly recurring curves the special seemed to be towing the passenger at the end of an invisible but dangerously short drag-rope.

Lidgerwood began to grow uneasy. On the straight-line stretches the following train appeared to be rushing onward to an inevitable rear-end collision with the one-car special; and where the track swerved to right or left around the hills, the pursuing smoke trail rose above the intervening hill-shoulders near and threatening. With the parts of a great machine whirling in unison and nicely timed to escape destruction, a small accident to a single cog may spell disaster.

What would a railroad novel be without the chance of a train wreck?

Here is a pithy review from one of those perspicacious Amazon reviewers.

"Even though this was written long ago the characters are not much different from those of today. The main character is a man troubled by a personal demon who must try to bring a recalcitrant bunch of RR workers back into line. I loved the old RR terminology of the steam era. The story line in this Western was pretty interesting too. A good free read well worth the download.”

He forgot to mention there is a romance . . .

Jacob’s Room - by Virginia Woolf

2012-01-31T23:12:00.001-06:00

All of Virginia Woolf’s work is coming out of copyright this year and we can hope all of her novels will soon be free on Amazon. But until that time, we can enjoy Jacob’s Room, a 1922 novel. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

I want to give a thank you here to Wikipedia. Amazon does not do a good job of showing the publication date. The publication date on Amazon for a Kindle book is either the formatting date or the upload date. If you want to know when a book was originally published, and that is important with these classic books, the quickest way to find out is to check Wikipedia. I am not saying it is infallible in all things, but Wikipedia almost always has a book’s publication date – even with obscure titles.

I don’t really associate Woolf and humor, but this excerpt is funny:

"This is not a smoking-carriage," Mrs. Norman protested, nervously but very feebly, as the door swung open and a powerfully built young man jumped in. He seemed not to hear her. The train did not stop before it reached Cambridge, and here she was shut up alone, in a railway carriage, with a young man.

She touched the spring of her dressing-case, and ascertained that the scent-bottle and a novel from Mudie's were both handy (the young man was standing up with his back to her, putting his bag in the rack). She would throw the scent-bottle with her right hand, she decided, and tug the communication cord with her left. She was fifty years of age, and had a son at college. Nevertheless, it is a fact that men are dangerous.

I hate to give up my take on the book, but this is a beautiful, succinct review from Amazon:

A typically wonderful read from the great Virginia Woolf. While Jacob is on the one hand the centre of this book, he is also the enigma which the reader never quite finds. We hear many others talking of Jacob, but we catch only fleeting glimpses of Jacob himself, making this book a strange, at times disorientating read. This however, is clearly Woolf's intention, as she plays with notions of character, authorial omniscience, and coherent plotting. A great example of classic modernist fiction from one of Britain's most celebrated authors. If you are prepared for a challenging read, then buy this book- but prepare for your expectations of what constitutes a novel to be put under the spotlight.

This is a stream of consciousness novel and I think they are very close to our ADD society and our flitting from task to task; so I do not think that makes it as challenging to a 21^st century reader as it must have been to the reader 90 years ago.

This download has some tiny formatting problems with lines missing between paragraphs - but when you are caught up in the work, you won't be bothered by that.

Sybil, or the Two Nations - by Benjamin Disraeli.

2012-01-26T23:32:00.000-06:00

Sybil, or the Two Nations is an 1845 novel by Benjamin Disraeli. (US Edition) (UK Edition) When I look at both Amazon sites, UK & US, I see no one has reviewed the free Kindle edition. I am always puzzled by how books get forgotten. The first stop has to be sitting on Amazon with no reviews! Maybe a few of my readers will decide to correct that. I find the reviews useful and always check any one star reviews to see if format problems are mentioned.

No formatting problems in this novel:

"Two nations; between whom there is no intercourse and no sympathy; who are as ignorant of each other's habits, thoughts, and feelings, as if they were dwellers in different zones, or inhabitants of different planets; who are formed by a different breeding, are fed by a different food, are ordered by different manners, and are not governed by the same laws." . . . "THE RICH AND THE POOR."

Let me check the date of publication again!

It is a tale of the poor:

"go to your own mother, who is dying in a back cellar without a winder, while you've got lodgings in a two pair."

"Dying; she's only drunk," said the youth.

"And if she is only drunk," rejoined Mrs Carey in a passion, "what makes her drink but toil; working from five o'clock in the morning to seven o'clock at night, and for the like of such as you."

"That's a good one," said the youth; "I should like to know what my mother ever did for me, but give me treacle and laudanum when I was a babby to stop my tongue and fill my stomach; by the token of which, as my gal says, she stunted the growth of the prettiest figure in all Mowbray." And here the youth drew himself up, and thrust his hands in the side pockets of his pea-jacket.

And the rich:

"That thousand pounds of my mother was very a propos," said Lord Marney; "I suppose it was a sop that will keep them all right till we have made our arrangements."

Set the time machine, but don’t be surprised if you find your thoughts returning to present day.

Titanic - by Filson Young

2012-01-24T20:00:00.001-06:00

Sometimes there is an event that reminds us that we are not masters of the natural world – such as the sinking of the Titanic. We look back on that as an example of hubris from our past – lesson learned. But sometimes the past has a way of surprising us. The parallels with the Carnival Cruise ship disaster and the Titanic are not just that both were giant passenger ships that sank. To make an in-depth comparison between April 1912 and January 2012, I invite you to read one of the first books written about the Titanic disaster – Titanic by Filson Young. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

Young starts by giving us a tour of the new ship, so that we will be familiar as he takes us through her fatal voyage.

For there is one thing that the designers of this sea-palace seem to have forgotten and seem to be a little ashamed of—and that is the sea itself. There it lies, an eternal prospect beyond these curtained windows, by far the most lovely and wonderful thing visible; but it seems to be forgotten there. True, there is a smoke-room at the after extremity of the deck below this, whose windows look out into a great verandah sheeted in with glass from which you cannot help looking upon the sea. But in order to counteract as much as possible that austere and lovely reminder of where we are, trellis-work has been raised within the glass, and great rose-trees spread and wander all over it, reminding you by their crimson blossoms of the earth and the land, and the scented shelter of gardens that are far from the boisterous stress of the sea. No spray ever drifts in at these heights, no froth or spume can ever in the wildest storms beat upon this verandah. Here, too, as almost everywhere else on the ship, you can, if you will, forget the sea.

That is very nice . . . but the sea was out there and full of ice; and after a little bump, a few passengers notice an ice berg.

But that was all. The half-hour which followed the stoppage of the ship was a comparatively quiet half-hour, in which a few people came out of their cabins indeed, and collected together in the corridors and staircases gossiping, speculating and asking questions as to what could have happened; but it was not a time of anxiety, or anything like it. Nothing could be safer on this quiet Sunday night than the great ship, warmed and lighted everywhere, with her thick carpets and padded armchairs and cushioned recesses; and if anything could have added to the sense of peace and stability, it was that her driving motion had ceased, and that she lay solid and motionless-like a rock in the sea, the still water scarcely lapping against her sides. And those of her people who had thought it worth while to get out of bed stood about in little knots, and asked foolish questions, and gave foolish answers in the familiar manner of passengers on shipboard when the slightest incident occurs to vary the regular and monotonous routine.

The Titanic is an endlessly fascinating story. It is wonderful that you can get this valuable contemporary account for free.

Emma - by Jane Austen

2012-01-19T23:32:00.000-06:00

It is always a pleasure to write about a Jane Austen book. “Emma” is her novel from 1816. Let me share some passages I love. (US Edition) (£0.77 UK Edition)

"I do not understand what you mean by 'success,'" said Mr. Knightley. "Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about this marriage. [The marriage of Emma’s former governess.] A worthy employment for a young lady's mind! But if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, 'I think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry her,' and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards, why do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You made a lucky guess; and that is all that can be said."

Here is Emma’s father, Mr. Woodhouse. Anyone who has had an elderly parent can relate to this conversation. . .

"My dear, how am I to get so far? Randalls is such a distance. I could not walk half so far."

"No, papa, nobody thought of your walking. We must go in the carriage, to be sure."

"The carriage! But James will not like to put the horses to for such a little way;—and where are the poor horses to be while we are paying our visit?"

"They are to be put into Mr. Weston's stable, papa. You know we have settled all that already. We talked it all over with Mr. Weston last night.

There are many who read “Emma” and loved it the first time. It took me a time or two to warm up to the book. And I can see from the Amazon reviews, there are others who share that experience. The important thing is to get there. Some of us had to read the book first for the plot and then come back for the nuance. I don’t know that that says much for me as a younger reader – but now I love “Emma” and I hope you will too.

Stardust and Spangles: Stories and Secrets of the Circus - by W.C. Coup

2012-01-18T00:33:00.000-06:00

Stardust and Spangles: Stories and Secrets of the Circus by W.C. Coup is an “as told to” memoir by an American showman. (US Edition) (£0.77 UK Edition) It was published in 1901. W.C. Coup took circuses from wagons to railroads and was an associate of P.T. Barnum.

I like reading tales of not just a bygone way of life, but also a hidden life. The circus was its own traveling town and you had to be employed by the circus to know what that life was like. Circus folk, like actors, were not respectable, and therefore not a suitable topic for books. That is why this sort of memoir is rare.

The book starts out in customary fashion with Mr. Coup running away and joining the circus!

The show which I joined was one of the largest then in existence, having more than a hundred horses, ten fine Ceylon elephants, a gorgeously carved and painted "Car of Juggernaut," and many other "attractions" which seemed marvelous in my boyish eyes. Not the least of these in point of attractiveness and popularity was General "Tom" Thumb, who was petted and feasted wherever he went. But Nellis, the man without arms who could paint pictures and shoot pennies from the fingers of the manager, claimed a large share of my silent admiration.

Let me just say this book is worth downloading to read about the white elephant and the yellow horse, which is a bit too long to quote in a blog. There is also a story about meeting Sam Houston which I enjoyed. The subject matter does hop about a bit.

Coup seemed to have many encounters with toughs, ruffians and desperados. Here is one:

At last, however, a fight did come off, and a hot one it was, too!

Right in the midst of it one of my horses, which had been trained to fire off a cannon from its back, got loose and, fully accoutred, galloped into the thick of the mélêe. The creature seized the strap which operated the trigger and began firing blank cartridges in every direction. If ever a mob of toughs was frightened it was then! They stopped not upon the order of their going, but fairly flew in all directions.

One of them afterward told a policeman that they could fight any gang of showmen that ever traveled, but when a horse commenced to unload on them with a cannon, he knew it was time to quit.

This is a peep into a closed world. You will find accounts of cruelty and prejudice, but those of us who read the classics, know that is not confined to the circus – but perhaps here it is shown with less veneer.

Barchester Towers - by Anthony Trollope

2012-01-12T22:48:00.001-06:00

Barchester Towers is the second novel (1857) in the “Chronicles of Barsetshire” series by Anthony Trollope. (US Edition) (UK Edition) Although this is the second novel, it stands on its own and is probably Trollope’s best known novel.

Let us set the scene, the Bishop of Barchester has died:

Our archdeacon [Dr. Grantly] was worldly--who among us is not so? He was ambitious--who among us is ashamed to own that "last infirmity of noble minds!" He was avaricious, my readers will say. No;--it was for no love of lucre that he wished to be Bishop of Barchester. He was his father's only child, and his father had left him great wealth. His preferment brought him in nearly three thousand a year. The bishopric, as cut down by the Ecclesiastical Commission, was only five. He would be a richer man as archdeacon than he could be as bishop. But he certainly did desire to play first fiddle; he did desire to sit in full lawn sleeves among the peers of the realm; and he did desire, if the truth must out, to be called "My lord" by his reverend brethren.

His hopes, however, were they innocent or sinful, were not fated to be realized, and Dr. Proudie was consecrated Bishop of Barchester.

Dr. Proudie brings in Mr. Slope . . .

In truth, Mr. Slope, having made a declaration of affection, afterwards withdrew it on finding that the doctor had no immediate worldly funds with which to endow his child, and it may easily be conceived that Miss Proudie, after such an announcement on his part, was not readily disposed to receive any further show of affection. On the appointment of Dr. Proudie to the bishopric of Barchester, Mr. Slope's views were in truth somewhat altered. Bishops, even though they be poor, can provide for clerical children, and Mr. Slope began to regret that he had not been more disinterested. He no sooner heard the tidings of the doctor's elevation than he recommenced his siege, not violently, indeed, but respectfully, and at a distance. Olivia Proudie, however, was a girl of spirit: she had the blood of two peers in her veins, and better still she had another lover on her books, so Mr. Slope sighed in vain, and the pair soon found it convenient to establish a mutual bond of inveterate hatred.

Setting the scene for a most satisfying novel about the doings of clergy in a cathedral town.

Do not be worried by the primary review of the Kindle edition on Amazon UK!

Review

'The best practitioner of Australian crime fiction' - Sydney Morning Herald; 'The Malone stories come alive through their setting... Cleary's writing is seamless and his plots imaginative and mature' - Miami Herald

Last I checked Trollope was still an English novelist with no interest in the antipodes. I just include this for a chuckle.

The Gloved Hand - by Burton Egbert Stevenson

2012-01-10T20:00:00.020-06:00

The Gloved Hand, is a 1920 detective novel by Burton Egbert Stevenson – who is a famous librarian. That may not be the best introduction to give a writer, but librarians are my heroes. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

Stevenson created a detective duo who he wrote a number of novels about, Godfrey and Lester. Godfrey is a journalist with a police reporter’s beat in New York. Lester is a lawyer. (This is the fourth in the series.)

"No doubt," I went on, more and more interested, "you also knew his very fascinating daughter."

A wave of colour crimsoned his face.

"Why are you asking me these questions, Mr. Lester?" he demanded.

"Because," I said, "the message I have is from that young lady, and is for a man named Frederic Swain."

He was on his feet, staring at me, and all the blood was gone from his cheeks.

"A message!" he cried. "From her! From Marjorie! What is it, Mr. Lester? For God's sake...."

"Here it is," I said, and handed him the letter. He seized it, took one look at the address, then turned away to the window and ripped the envelope open.

He unfolded the sheet of paper it contained, and as his eyes ran along it, his face grew whiter still. At last he raised his eyes and stared at me with the look of a man who felt the world tottering about him.

Nothing like discovering a new detective duo to start off the New Year!

The Railway Children - by E. Nesbitt

2012-01-05T20:05:00.000-06:00

The Railway Children by E. Nesbitt will need no introduction to most of my UK readers who will know this beloved classic for children from 1906. (US Edition) (£0.99 UK Edition)

Some of us may want to revisit those literary favorites we read in our youth and some of us may want to know what we missed. At a time when so called YA (Young Adult) books end up on the bestseller lists (The Hunger Games and The Book Thief come to mind) – I guess I do not have to excuse liking books written for younger readers.

The book has a promising beginning:

There were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, Mothers never have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a favourite, it might have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished to be an Engineer when he grew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well. Mother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull ladies, and sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her.

There is a catastrophe and the family has to move:

As she turned away Roberta saw her face. She never forgot it.

"Oh, Mother," she whispered all to herself as she got into bed, "how brave you are! How I love you! Fancy being brave enough to laugh when you're feeling like THAT!"

Next day boxes were filled, and boxes and more boxes; and then late in the afternoon a cab came to take them to the station.

Aunt Emma saw them off. They felt that THEY were seeing HER off, and they were glad of it.

"But, oh, those poor little foreign children that she's going to governess!" whispered Phyllis. "I wouldn't be them for anything!"

It is always wonderful when you can pick up a book you read in your youth and find it is still good.

The Man Who Knew Too Much - by G.K. Chesterton

2012-01-03T19:04:00.001-06:00

The Man Who Knew Too Much by G.K. Chesterton is a short story collection from 1922. (US Edition) (UK Edition) All the stories are about a quirky detective who "knows too much... and all the wrong things."

As one reviewer puts it “ . . . it is worth getting it on your Kindle and then dipping in whenever you feel to; I thoroughly enjoyed the progressions through cases and by the end of the book was quite attached to the character. Give it a go!”

Let’s see how strange this detective is. Meet Horne Fisher:

"I must ask you, Mr. Fisher, to let me conduct my inquiry on my own lines," said Wilson, firmly. "I am the officer in charge now."

"Yes," remarked Horne Fisher, softly, but with an accent that somehow chilled the hearer. "Yes. But why?"

Sir Walter was staring, for he had never seen his rather lackadaisical young friend look like that before. Fisher was looking at Wilson with lifted lids, and the eyes under them seemed to have shed or shifted a film, as do the eyes of an eagle.

"Why are you the officer in charge now?" he asked. "Why can you conduct the inquiry on your own lines now? How did it come about, I wonder, that the elder officers are not here to interfere with anything you do?"

Well, that is pretty odd! It makes me want to know what happens next; but on to another story:

Very few people, if any, had ever seen Mr. Horne Fisher behave as he behaved just then. He flashed a glance at the door, saw that the open window was nearer, went out of it with a flying leap, as if over a hurdle, and went racing across the turf, in the track of the disappearing policeman. Grayne, who stood staring after him, soon saw his tall, loose figure, returning, restored to all its normal limpness and air of leisure. He was fanning himself slowly with a piece of paper, the telegram he had so violently intercepted.

"Lucky I stopped that," he observed. "We must keep this affair as quiet as death. Hastings must die of apoplexy or heart disease."

"What on earth is the trouble?" demanded the other investigator.

"The trouble is," said Fisher, "that in a few days we should have had a very agreeable alternative--of hanging an innocent man or knocking the British Empire to hell."

I think this book will make a satisfying start to a new year of reading.

White Fang - by Jack London

2011-12-29T20:00:00.002-06:00

White Fang is a 1906 novel by Jack London. (US Edition) (UK Edition) London is famous for The Call of the Wild, about a dog stolen from his comfortable life in California and transported to Alaska to be a working sled dog. But there are some, myself included, who think White Fang is the better book.

White Fang, like London’s other famous dog novel, is written primarily from the perspective of the dogs. "White Fang" is a dog/wolf hybrid. The book is set in the wild.

The porcupine rolled itself into a ball, radiating long, sharp needles in all directions that defied attack. In his youth One Eye had once sniffed too near a similar, apparently inert ball of quills, and had the tail flick out suddenly in his face. One quill he had carried away in his muzzle, where it had remained for weeks, a rankling flame, until it finally worked out. So he lay down, in a comfortable crouching position, his nose fully a foot away, and out of the line of the tail. Thus he waited, keeping perfectly quiet. There was no telling. Something might happen. The porcupine might unroll. There might be opportunity for a deft and ripping thrust of paw into the tender, unguarded belly.

But at the end of half an hour he arose, growled wrathfully at the motionless ball, and trotted on. He had waited too often and futilely in the past for porcupines to unroll, to waste any more time. He continued up the right fork. The day wore along, and nothing rewarded his hunt.

Because it is set in the wild, some animals get killed and hurt. That is going to make this distasteful to some readers. But, some people avoid murder mysteries for similar reasons – the violence is distasteful. I let the reader make the choice. I find London’s books to be powerful stories about the love between man and dogs. Others find them to be about cruelty. I suppose that is why one UK reader calls this a “marmite” book – a polarizing novel that people either love or hate.

Once, lying awake, he heard a strange sound in the white wall [the cave entrance]. He did not know that it was a wolverine, standing outside, all a-trembling with its own daring, and cautiously scenting out the contents of the cave. The cub knew only that the sniff was strange, a something unclassified, therefore unknown and terrible--for the unknown was one of the chief elements that went into the making of fear.

The hair bristled upon the grey cub's back, but it bristled silently. How was he to know that this thing that sniffed was a thing at which to bristle? It was not born of any knowledge of his, yet it was the visible expression of the fear that was in him, and for which, in his own life, there was no accounting. But fear was accompanied by another instinct--that of concealment. The cub was in a frenzy of terror, yet he lay without movement or sound, frozen, petrified into immobility, to all appearances dead. His mother, coming home, growled as she smelt the wolverine's track, and bounded into the cave and licked and nozzled him with undue vehemence of affection. And the cub felt that somehow he had escaped a great hurt.

I have always loved books about animals and this was one of many I read as a child. But this one always stood out and I have vivid memories even of where I was when I read it.

Life on the Mississippi - by Mark Twain

2011-12-27T20:00:00.003-06:00

Life on the Mississippi is an 1883 memoir by Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) on his life as a steamboat captain.

(US Edition) (UK Edition) The one page preface to this book is off-putting with its eccentric spacing, capitalization and highlighting. But as Twain might say, it settles down after chapter one. The sentences in all caps are captions for illustrations that are not included in the free edition.

This book was a bestseller in its time and has remained popular ever since. Every book and article on the Mississippi that I have read references this travel memoir.

Samuel Clemens took his pen name from words used to sound the river depth, and Mark Twain sets his most celebrated novel, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, on the river.

Here is a bit of the river’s history as it pertains to European explorers:

The mere mysteriousness of the matter [stories of a great river] ought to have fired curiosity and compelled exploration; but this did not occur. Apparently nobody happened to want such a river, nobody needed it, nobody was curious about it; so, for a century and a half the Mississippi remained out of the market and undisturbed. When De Soto found it, he was not hunting for a river, and had no present occasion for one; consequently he did not value it or even take any particular notice of it.

Twain talks of his desire to work aboard a steamboat. (His father was a justice of the peace.) Here is a jealous account of a schoolmate’s good fortune:

By and by one of our boys went away. He was not heard of for a long time. At last he turned up as apprentice engineer or 'striker' on a steamboat. This thing shook the bottom out of all my Sunday-school teachings. That boy had been notoriously worldly, and I just the reverse; yet he was exalted to this eminence, and I left in obscurity and misery. There was nothing generous about this fellow in his greatness. He would always manage to have a rusty bolt to scrub while his boat tarried at our town, and he would sit on the inside guard and scrub it, where we could all see him and envy him and loathe him. And whenever his boat was laid up he would come home and swell around the town in his blackest and greasiest clothes, so that nobody could help remembering that he was a steamboatman; and he used all sorts of steamboat technicalities in his talk, as if he were so used to them that he forgot common people could not understand them. He would speak of the 'labboard' side of a horse in an easy, natural way that would make one wish he was dead.

So climb aboard and take a lazy trip down the mighty “Mississipp’.”

Two Years Before the Mast - by Richard Dana

2011-12-22T20:00:00.002-06:00

Two Years Before the Mast by Richard Dana, is an 1840 account by this former Harvard student of his two years working as a common seaman. (US Edition) (UK Edition)

On the following night, I stood my first watch. I remained awake nearly all the first part of the night from fear that I might not hear when I was called; and when I went on deck, so great were my ideas of the importance of my trust, that I walked regularly fore and aft the whole length of the vessel, looking out over the bows and taffrail at each turn, and was not a little surprised at the coolness of the old salt whom I called to take my place, in stowing himself snugly away under the long boat, for a nap. That was sufficient lookout, he thought, for a fine night, at anchor in a safe harbor.

Enough said! That self-deprecating sort of humor is exactly what I look for in a traveling companion.

The inevitable sailing jargon has a poetry about it and there are footnotes (unlinked):

"Here comes the Cape Horn!" said the chief mate; and we had hardly time to haul down and clew up, before it was upon us. In a few moments, a heavier sea was raised than I had ever seen before, and as it was directly ahead, the little brig, which was no better than a bathing machine, plunged into it, and all the forward part of her was under water; the sea pouring in through the bow-ports and hawse-hole and over the knight-heads, threatening to wash everything overboard. In the lee scuppers it was up to a man's waist. We sprang aloft and double reefed the topsails, and furled all the other sails, and made all snug. But this would not do; the brig was laboring and straining against the head sea, and the gale was growing worse and worse. At the same time the sleet and hail were driving with all fury against us. We clewed down, and hauled out the reef-tackles again, and close-reefed the fore-topsail, and furled the main, and hove her to on the starboard tack. Here was an end to our fine prospects. We made up our minds to head winds and cold weather; sent down the royal yards, and unrove the gear, but all the rest of the top hamper remained aloft, even to the sky-sail masts and studding-sail booms.

So brew a cuppa and settle down with your Kindle and some tea for a perilous voyage.

East Lynne - by Mrs. Henry Wood

2011-12-20T20:00:00.002-06:00

East Lynne by Mrs. Henry Wood, is an 1861 best seller that was very popular in the UK & the US and had numerous stage adaptations. (US Edition) (UK Edition) The Amazon reviews assure us that it is a page turner with a strong plot and that the Victorians were not as prim as their reputation.

Barbara, I think your mother looks unusually ill."

"You know she suffers a little thing to upset her; and last night she had what she calls one of her dreams," answered Barbara. "She says that it is a warning that something bad is going to happen, and she has been in the most unhappy, feverish state possible all day. Papa has been quite angry over her being so weak and nervous, declaring that she ought to rouse herself out of her 'nerves.' Of course we dare not tell him about the dream."

"It related to--the----"

Mr. Carlyle stopped, and Barbara glanced round with a shudder, and drew closer to him as she whispered. He had not given her his arm this time.

"Yes, to the murder.

Oh my! Tell us more . . .

There is an omniscient narrator, dear reader, who will remind you of Trollope:

Look at the visitor well, reader, for he will play his part in this history. He was a very tall man of seven and twenty, of remarkably noble presence. He was somewhat given to stooping his head when he spoke to any one shorter than himself; it was a peculiar habit, almost to be called a bowing habit, and his father had possessed it before him. When told of it he would laugh, and say he was unconscious of doing it.

Some of the reviewers say the plot is great, but the characters are not drawn well. I would dispute that.

This looks like the whole package for a excellent free holiday read.