The Fawn
The feelings of hatred that lie at the novel’s foundation form a complex statement about class and the divisions between the classes.
Antiquarian and Classic Book Reviews
Bubastis is a fawn-coloured tabby with a brown nose. She’s the second oldest cat, and is best described as a ‘sweetie’. Most of the time, you can find Bubastis sleeping on Hargrave’s lap. Or in her pumpkin. Or on the bed. But laps are her favourite napping place.
Bubastis was the last kitten left, and she was definitely a runt. She has short whiskers, a stubby tail, and never really quite figured out that she’s a cat. Her favourite treat in the whole world is a couple drops of milk or cream, but she’ll try just about anything if you let her. (This includes: yogurt, ice cream, cake, potatoes, potato chips, cheese, and fruit.) She was very fat when she was younger. Now that she’s lost some weight, she’s just cutely chunky.
She loves to play with her miniature ball, which she’ll chase around only if you throw it just right. She’s also the best sister — Bubastis gets along with everyone.
The feelings of hatred that lie at the novel’s foundation form a complex statement about class and the divisions between the classes.
After reading it, I don’t think I’ll be reading much — or any — more of Simon’s work, but at the same time that didn’t render this novel a complete waste of time.
Who Has Seen the Wind is a boyhood in a space where the farm meets a just-developing urban reality. There’s an extensive cast of characters and a stream of events that flow as steadily and relentlessly as the passage of time, as Mitchell captures the insular nature of village life.
I hadn’t heard about Rosemary Tonks until lately when I skimmed part of an article about her in The New Yorker. It wasn’t so much her style or subject matter that drew me to her work. It was the fact that she seemed so dead set on destroying it.
What I admired most about Anderson’s writing was his ability to take a subject that seems so simple — like two children playing the dozens and going fishing — and turn it on its head. He layers meaning on top of meaning on top of meaning until every narrative is rich and strays far from just the subject at hand into a complex tapestry of politics, tension, and the injustices of the world at large.
A modern reader will perhaps be struck by the religious bent of her speeches and arguments that hinge on some outdated ideas, but it’s important to realize that Truth was an essential starting point for the fight for equality for women and for suffrage. She was the beginning of the evolution of what that fight became and how it continued.
Academia provides a concrete backdrop for a constantly shifting narrative in which the narrator is struggling to come to terms with herself and asserting that self in a society that treats her like an aberration because of her sexuality.
I have to confess that I don’t know a lot about Leonard Cohen other than a few songs and a smattering of poetry. That may have helped or hindered my appreciation of this book — though I’m not sure which.
Gavin Lambert’s
Randi writes in a way that is accessible to the un-academic reader but is also like a cosy sweater for readers who have experience in academia and the sciences. Reading this book was a joy and a perfect meeting of my interest in the supernatural and my scholarly pursuits.