28. To Kill a Mockingbird

28. To Kill A Mockingbird. Harper Lee. 1960. 281 pages. [Source: Library][Audiobook, 5 stars, classic, coming of age]

First sentence: When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

To Kill A Mockingbird is one of my favorite, favorite books. I love, love, love the movie. And I adore the book as well. It's a simple novel rich in truth. I love the narrative voice of Scout. I think Scout is one of the most memorable narrators ever.

One of the things that I think makes the book work so well is how it is able to be serious and dramatic AND comical. It captures the little every-day moments so well. Family relationships. Community relationships. Nosy neighbors or spooky ones. A good balance of summer-time freedom and the structure of school. It's definitely one of the best coming-of-age stories. At the same time, it is a very honest examination of racism and injustice.

To Kill A Mockingbird has a great, compelling story to tell. And Harper Lee knew how to tell a story. But it isn't the story alone that is unforgettable: it is the characters. Such characterization!!! Such depth!!! Who could not love Scout, Jem, and Atticus?! Who could not love Calpurnia, Dill,  Miss Maudie, and Boo Radley?!

I first reviewed it in October 2007. I also reviewed it in August 2010.

Favorite quotes:

Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing. (18)

"First of all," he said, "if you can learn a simple trick, Scout, you'll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view--"
"Sir?"
"--until you climb into his skin and walk around in it." (30)

"If you shouldn't be defendin' him, then why are you doin' it?"
"For a number of reasons," said Atticus. "The main one is, if I didn't I couldn't hold up my head in town, I couldn't represent the county in the legislature, I couldn't even tell you or Jem not to do something again."
"You mean if you didn't defend that man, Jem and me wouldn't have to mind you any more?"
"That's about right."
"Why?"
"Because I could never ask you to mind me again. Scout, simply by the nature of the work, every lawyer gets at least once in his lifetime that affects him personally. This one's mine, I guess. You might hear some ugly talk about it at school, but do one thing for me if you will: you just hold your head high and keep those fists down. No matter what anybody says to you, don't you let 'em get your goat. Try fighting with your head for a change...it's a good one even if does resist learning. (76)

Atticus said to Jem one day, "I'd rather you shot at tin cans in the back yard, but I know you'll go after birds. Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."
That was the only time I ever heard Atticus say it was a sin to do something, and I asked Miss Maudie about it.
"Your father's right," she said. "Mockinbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy. They don't eat up people's gardens, don't nest in corncribs, they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out for us. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird. (90)

It's when you know you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. (112)

In Maycomb County, it was easy to tell when someone bathed regularly, as opposed to yearly lavations: Mr. Ewell had a scalded look; as if an overnight soaking had deprived him of protective layers of dirt, his skin appeared to be sensitive to the elements. Mayella looked as if she tried to keep clean, and I was reminded of the row of red geraniums in the Ewell yard. (179)

"How could they do it, how could they?"
"I don't know, but they did it. They've done it before and they did it tonight and they'll do it again and when they do it--seems that only children weep. Good night." (213)

© 2026 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

14. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass

14. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Lewis Carroll. Illustrated by John Tenniel. 1865/1871. 247 pages. [Source: Bought]

ETA: I listened to these two books on audio narrated by Christopher Plummer. The first book was AMAZING, AMAZING, AMAZING. The second book had some characters that were very obnoxious to hear narrated. I am not saying Plummer did poorly, just, that it is easier to take obnoxious characters when you don't have to hear them.

First sentence: Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice, ‘without pictures or conversations?’

Premise/plot: Alice follows a white rabbit down a rabbit hole and has several fantastical seemingly impossible adventures before waking.  
 
First sentence: One thing was certain, that the white kitten had nothing to do with it – it was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of an hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering): so you see that it couldn’t have had any hand in the mischief.

Premise/plot: Alice doesn't follow a rabbit on her second adventure; no, she crawls through the looking glass into the looking glass house. Just as she always imagined, life is very different on the other side of the mirror. (For one thing, the chess pieces are alive.) Readers follow Alice's adventures as a pawn as she journeys towards being queened. Like the first book, this one is full of fantastical impossibilities.

My thoughts: I love, love, LOVE Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. I couldn't begin to tell you how many times I've read it in my life. It's a magical read filled with silly characters--quite a few I'd deem unforgettable. What stands out to me--even more than the characters--is the writing. There is just something quotable and ever-relevant about the narrative.

Favorite quotes from Alice in Wonderland:

‘Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?’ and sometimes ‘Do bats eat cats?’, for, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in hand with Dinah, and was saying to her, very earnestly, ‘Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?’, when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.

Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.’ For, you see, so many out-of-the-way things had happened lately, that Alice had begun to think that very few things indeed were really impossible.

She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes; and once she remembered trying to box her own ears for having cheated herself in a game of croquet she was playing against herself, for this curious child was very fond of pretending to be two people. ‘But it’s no use now,’ thought poor Alice, ‘to pretend to be two people! Why, there’s hardly enough of me left to make one respectable person!’

Let me think: was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is “Who in the world am I?” Ah, that’s the great puzzle!’

‘Perhaps it doesn’t understand English,’ thought Alice. ‘I daresay it’s a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.’ (For, with all her knowledge of history, Alice had no very clear notion how long ago anything had happened.) So she began again: ‘Où est ma chatte?’, which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water, and seemed to quiver all over with fright. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon!’ cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal’s feelings. ‘I quite forgot you didn’t like cats.’

‘It was much pleasanter at home,’ thought poor Alice, ‘when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit-hole – and yet – and yet – it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life! I do wonder what can have happened to me! When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one! There ought to be a book written about me, that there ought! And when I grow up, I’ll write one – but I’m grown up now,’ she added in a sorrowful tone: ‘at least there’s no room to grow up any more here.’

‘It’s really dreadful,’ she muttered to herself, ’the way all the creatures argue. It’s enough to drive one crazy!’

‘I didn’t know that Cheshire-Cats always grinned; in fact, I didn’t know that cats could grin.’
‘They all can,’ said the Duchess; ‘and most of ’em do.’ ‘I don’t know of any that do,’ Alice said very politely, feeling quite pleased to have got into a conversation. ‘You don’t know much,’ said the Duchess; ‘and that’s a fact.’

‘If it had grown up,’ she said to herself, ‘it would have made a dreadfully ugly child: but it makes rather a handsome pig, I think.’ And she began thinking over other children she knew, who might do very well as pigs, and was just saying to herself ‘if one only knew the right way to change them –’ when she was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire-Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.

 ‘Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’ ‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat. ‘I don’t much care where –’ said Alice. ‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat. ‘– so long as I get somewhere,’ Alice added as an explanation. ‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if only you walk long enough.’

‘In that direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives a Hatter: and in that direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.’ ‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked. ‘Oh, you ca’n’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.’

‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice. ‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’

‘Then you should say what you mean,’ the March Hare went on. ‘I do,’ Alice hastily replied; ‘at least – at least I mean what I say – that’s the same thing, you know.’ ‘Not the same thing a bit!’ said the Hatter. ‘Why, you might just as well say that “I see what I eat” is the same thing as “I eat what I see”!’

‘You might just as well say,’ added the Dormouse, which seemed to be talking in its sleep, ‘that “I breathe when I sleep” is the same thing as “I sleep when I breathe”!’

Alice thought she had never seen such a curious croquet-ground in her life: it was all ridges and furrows: the croquet balls were live hedgehogs, and the mallets live flamingoes, and the soldiers had to double themselves up and stand on their hands and feet, to make the arches.

The players all played at once, without waiting for turns, quarreling all the while, and fighting for the hedgehogs; and in a very short time the Queen was in a furious passion, and went stamping about, and shouting ‘Off with his head!’ or ‘Off with her head!’ about once in a minute.

“Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.” ’ ‘I think I should understand that better,’ Alice said very politely, ‘if I had it written down: but I ca’n’t quite follow it as you say it.’ ‘That’s nothing to what I could say if I chose,’ the Duchess replied, in a pleased tone.

‘I make you a present of everything I’ve said as yet.’

‘A cheap sort of present!’ thought Alice. ‘I’m glad people don’t give birthday-presents like that!’

‘He taught Laughing and Grief, they used to say.’ ‘So he did, so he did,’ said the Gryphon, sighing in his turn; and both creatures hid their faces in their paws. ‘And how many hours a day did you do lessons?’ said Alice, in a hurry to change the subject. ‘Ten hours the first day,’ said the Mock Turtle: ‘nine the next, and so on.’ ‘What a curious plan!’ exclaimed Alice. ‘That’s the reason they’re called lessons,’ the Gryphon remarked: ‘because they lessen from day to day.’

Favorite quotes from Through the Looking Glass:

‘Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don’t smile, my dear, I’m asking it seriously. Because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as if you understood it: and when I said “Check!” you purred! Well, it was a nice check, Kitty, and really I might have won, if it hadn’t been for that nasty Knight, that came wriggling down among my pieces. Kitty, dear, let’s pretend –’ And here I wish I could tell you half the things Alice used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase ‘Let’s pretend.’

Oh, Kitty, how nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking glass House! I’m sure it’s got, oh! such beautiful things in it! Let’s pretend there’s a way of getting through into it, somehow, Kitty. Let’s pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we can get through. Why, it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare! It’ll be easy enough to get through—’ She was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And certainly the glass was beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist.

She was out of the room in a moment, and ran down stairs – or, at least, it wasn’t exactly running, but a new invention for getting down stairs quickly and easily, as Alice said to herself. She just kept the tips of her fingers on the hand-rail, and floated gently down without even touching the stairs with her feet: then she floated on through the hall, and would have gone straight out at the door in the same way, if she hadn’t caught hold of the door-post. She was getting a little giddy with so much floating in the air, and was rather glad to find herself walking again in the natural way.

‘It’s a great huge game of chess that’s being played – all over the world – if this is the world at all, you know. Oh, what fun it is! How I wish I was one of them! I wouldn’t mind being a Pawn, if only I might join – though of course I should like to be a Queen, best.’

‘Well, in our country,’ said Alice, still panting a little, ‘you’d generally get to somewhere else – if you ran very fast for a long time as we’ve been doing.’ ‘A slow sort of country!’ said the Queen. ‘Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that!’ ‘I’d rather not try, please!’ said Alice.

‘He’s dreaming now,’ said Tweedledee: ‘and what do you think he’s dreaming about?’ Alice said ‘Nobody can guess that.’ ‘Why, about you!’ Tweedledee exclaimed, clapping his hands triumphantly. ‘And if he left off dreaming about you, where do you suppose you’d be?’ ‘Where I am now, of course,’ said Alice. ‘Not you!’ Tweedledee retorted contemptuously. ‘You’d be nowhere. Why, you’re only a sort of thing in his dream!’

‘Well, it’s no use your talking about waking him,’ said Tweedledum, ‘when you’re only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you’re not real.’ ‘I am real!’ said Alice, and began to cry. ‘You wo’n’t make yourself a bit realler by crying,’ Tweedledee remarked: ‘there’s nothing to cry about.’ ‘If I wasn’t real,’ Alice said – half-laughing through her tears, it all seemed so ridiculous – ‘I shouldn’t be able to cry.’ ‘I hope you don’t suppose those are real tears?’ Tweedledum interrupted in a tone of great contempt. ‘I know they’re talking nonsense,’ Alice thought to herself: ‘and it’s foolish to cry about it.’

‘The rule is, jam to-morrow and jam yesterday – but never jam to-day.’

‘It must come sometimes to “jam to-day”, ’ Alice objected. ‘No, it ca’n’t,’ said the Queen. ‘It’s jam every other day: to-day isn’t any other day, you know.’ ‘I don’t understand you,’ said Alice. ‘It’s dreadfully confusing!’ ‘That’s the effect of living backwards,’ the Queen said kindly: ‘it always makes one a little giddy at first –’ ‘Living backwards!’ Alice repeated in great astonishment. ‘I never heard of such a thing!’ ‘– but there’s one great advantage in it, that one’s memory works both ways.’

‘Consider what a great girl you are. Consider what a long way you’ve come to-day. Consider what o-clock it is. Consider anything, only don’t cry!’

‘Can you keep from crying by considering things?’ she asked. ‘That’s the way it’s done,’ the Queen said with great decision: ‘nobody can do two things at once, you know.

Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.

‘I never ask advice about growing,’ Alice said indignantly. ‘Too proud?’ the other enquired. Alice felt even more indignant at this suggestion. ‘I mean,’ she said, ‘that one ca’n’t help growing older.’ ‘One ca’n’t, perhaps,’ said Humpty Dumpty; ‘but two can. With proper assistance, you might have left off at seven.’

‘they gave it me – for an un-birthday present.’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ Alice said with a puzzled air. ‘I’m not offended,’ said Humpty Dumpty. ‘I mean, what is an un-birthday present?’ ‘A present given when it isn’t your birthday, of course.’ Alice considered a little. ‘I like birthday presents best,’ she said at last. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ cried Humpty Dumpty. ‘How many days are there in a year?’ ‘Three hundred and sixty-five,’ said Alice. ‘And how many birthdays have you?’ ‘One.’ ‘And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?’ ‘Three hundred and sixty-four, of course.’

‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean – neither more nor less.’

‘The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’ ‘The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master – that’s all.’

‘I can repeat poetry as well as other folk, if it comes to that –’ ‘Oh, it needn’t come to that!’ Alice hastily said, hoping to keep him from beginning.

‘I see nobody on the road,’ said Alice. ‘I only wish I had such eyes,’ the King remarked in a fretful tone. ‘To be able to see Nobody! And at that distance too! Why, it’s as much as I can do to see real people, by this light!’

‘Who did you pass on the road?’ the King went on, holding out his hand to the Messenger for some more hay. ‘Nobody,’ said the Messenger. ‘Quite right,’ said the King: ‘this young lady saw him too. So of course Nobody walks slower than you.’ ‘I do my best,’ the Messenger said in a sullen tone. ‘I’m sure nobody walks much faster than I do!’ ‘He ca’n’t do that,’ said the King, ‘or else he’d have been here first. However, now you’ve got your breath, you may tell us what’s happened in the town.’

‘I was wondering what the mouse-trap was for,’ said Alice. ‘It isn’t very likely there would be any mice on the horse’s back.’ ‘Not very likely, perhaps,’ said the Knight; ‘but, if they do come, I don’t choose to have them running all about.’

‘Always speak the truth – think before you speak – and write it down afterwards.’

 What do you suppose is the use of a child without any meaning? Even a joke should have some meaning – and a child’s more important than a joke, I hope. You couldn’t deny that, even if you tried with both hands.’ ‘I don’t deny things with my hands,’ Alice objected. ‘Nobody said you did,’ said the Red Queen. ‘I said you couldn’t if you tried.’ ‘She’s in that state of mind,’ said the White Queen, ‘that she wants to deny something – only she doesn’t know what to deny!’ ‘A nasty, vicious temper,’ the Red Queen remarked;

‘It’s too late to correct it,’ said the Red Queen: ‘when you’ve once said a thing, that fixes it, and you must take the consequences.’

 It is a very inconvenient habit of kittens (Alice had once made the remark) that, whatever you say to them, they always purr. ‘If they would only purr for “yes”, and mew for “no”, or any rule of that sort,’ she had said, ‘so that one could keep up a conversation! But how can you talk with a person if they always say the same thing?’

© 2026 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

12. Frankenstein

12. Frankenstein (Oxford World's Classics). Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley. 1818/1998. 261 pages. [Source: Library, Audiobook, classic, science fiction, speculative fiction.]

First sentence: You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.

Premise/plot: Robert Walton is on the adventure of a lifetime; he's always, always, always wanted to be an arctic explorer. He just wishes he had a best-good-buddy to share it with. As he's sharing his longing for a friend with his sister--via letter--he stumbles across a candidate for the job. He's a strange, odd man with one super-crazy story to tell. He's also a man full of warnings and woes. His name is Victor Frankenstein. You might have heard of him. Maybe.

Victor Frankenstein understands dreaming big. If asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he might have responded oh-so-seriously: GOD. You see, Victor spends way too much time thinking about how life is created. Well. Perhaps I should rephrase that. When he's thinking about creation, he's thinking about how to reanimate DEAD BODIES and RECREATE life.

Frankenstein becomes more than a little obsessed with his science project. I personally could never figure out the appeal. He isn't interested in bringing the dead back to life--as is. That is, reanimating the life of a specific person. He is interested in piecing together bits and pieces of dead humans into a new super-human form. Taller. Stronger. Bigger. And definitely uglier. He isn't interested in prolonging life or reuniting families. What does he hope to gain by his creation? Does he see himself as a Creator? What does he owe his creature--if anything? What does his creature owe him--if anything?

If man is created in the image of God, is the monster created in the image of Frankenstein? Does the monster share the characteristics of Victor Frankenstein? Are the two more alike or different? Does the monster reveal the heart and mind of his Creator?

My thoughts: I've read Frankenstein so many times now. I think I've really only ever read the 1818 text of the novel. Most of the time I stick with the same copy I used in college.

I love the book.

 

© 2026 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

6. These Happy Golden Years

6. These Happy Golden Years. Laura Ingalls Wilder. Illustrated by Garth Williams. 1943. HarperCollins. 289 pages. [Source: Library] [5 stars, historical fiction, classic, audiobook]

First sentence: Sunday afternoon was clear, and the snow-covered prairie sparkled in the sunshine. A little wind blew gently from the south, but it was so cold that the sled runners squeaked as they slid on the hard-packed snow.

Why is it that reading These Happy Golden Years makes me giddy? Could it be my actual favorite of the series after all? Perhaps. It has been such a treat for me to reread these Little House books this past month. I've enjoyed visiting with Laura and her family. I've enjoyed watching 'the romance' unfold with Almanzo in Little Town on the Prairie and These Happy Golden Years.

In These Happy Golden Years Laura has accepted--for better or worse--that she is all grown up. In this book, she teaches several different schools. Each teaching term is short--a few months here, a few months there. Her first teaching position lasts eight weeks, and, it is mostly a nightmare for her. She's rooming with Mr. and Mrs. Brewster. And Mrs. Brewster must be suffering from some mental illness. I feel sorry for Mr. Brewster and their baby, Johnny. There's a helplessness in the situation. Laura realizes how blessed she's been for a happy home life. The opening chapters dwell on her homesickness and gratitude. And she owes much to Almanzo Wilder. For HE comes to "rescue" her from the Brewsters every single weekend no matter how cold the weather. And it all comes as such a surprise to her that she'll get to spend her weekends at home.

When she's not teaching school, she's attending it. Every few months, it seems, she receives an opportunity to teach and earn money, and she'll take a teacher's exam, and get another certificate. But teaching isn't the only way she's able to earn money. She really, truly wants to earn money, not for herself, but to help keep Mary in college.

Most of the book focuses on the courtship of Laura and Almanzo. How he comes to take her sledding or for buggy rides. Laura does love his horses.

I love this book! I do.

© 2026 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

121. Anne's House of Dreams

Anne's House of Dreams. L.M. Montgomery. 1919. 227 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence: “Thanks be, I’m done with geometry, learning or teaching it,” said Anne Shirley, a trifle vindictively, as she thumped a somewhat battered volume of Euclid into a big chest of books, banged the lid in triumph, and sat down upon it, looking at Diana Wright across the Green Gables garret, with gray eyes that were like a morning sky.

 ETA: I don't know how many times I've read this series--dozens??? scores???? My most recent read through is December 2025...and I listened to the audio book. It is just as magical as when I first discovered the series in the late 1980s. 

Premise/plot: Anne Shirley marries Gilbert Blythe in this oh-so-lovely, oh-so-charming book by L.M. Montgomery. Technically, it is the sequel to Anne of the Island! Anne of Windy Poplars was written in the 1930s, decades after Anne's House of Dreams. In this Anne book, the happily married couple settle down in their first home together near Four Winds Harbor and Glen St. Mary. 

Anne's House of Dreams introduces many new characters--some of my favorites I admit--Captain Jim, Miss Cornelia, Leslie Moore, Owen Ford. Marshall Elliot. Susan Baker. Who would ever want to forget their stories? Captain Jim's life-book. Leslie Moore's tragic past but enduring spirit. Miss Cornelia. She's got to be one-of-a-kind. Just a truly spirited character with so much heart and full of gumption. Practically everything out of her mouth is quotable. She sure is great at banter!

My thoughts: I love and adore this one!!! I love how emotionally satisfying it is. The Anne books may have sweet moments, but they pack in reality as well. No one can make me cry like L.M. Montgomery.

Quotes: 

“Stoutness and slimness seem to be matters of predestination,” said Anne.

Jane was not brilliant, and had probably never made a remark worth listening to in her life; but she never said anything that would hurt anyone’s feelings — which may be a negative talent but is likewise a rare and enviable one.

“I’ve heard you criticise ministers pretty sharply yourself,” teased Anne. “Yes, but I do it reverently,” protested Mrs. Lynde. “You never heard me NICKNAME a minister.” Anne smothered a smile.

Their happiness was in each other’s keeping and both were unafraid. 

“Miss Cornelia Bryant. She’ll likely be over to see you soon, seeing you’re Presbyterians. If you were Methodists she wouldn’t come at all. Cornelia has a holy horror of Methodists.”

“I know we are going to be friends,” said Anne, with the smile that only they of the household of faith ever saw. “Yes, we are, dearie. Thank goodness, we can choose our friends. We have to take our relatives as they are, and be thankful if there are no penitentiary birds among them. Not that I’ve many — none nearer than second cousins. I’m a kind of lonely soul, Mrs. Blythe.” There was a wistful note in Miss Cornelia’s voice.

“Were you able to eat enough pie to please her?” “I wasn’t. Gilbert won her heart by eating — I won’t tell you how much. She said she never knew a man who didn’t like pie better than his Bible. Do you know, I love Miss Cornelia.”

“Our library isn’t very extensive,” said Anne, “but every book in it is a FRIEND. We’ve picked our books up through the years, here and there, never buying one until we had first read it and knew that it belonged to the race of Joseph.”

A woman cannot ever be sure of not being married till she is buried, Mrs. Doctor, dear, and meanwhile I will make a batch of cherry pies.

“I wonder why people so commonly suppose that if two individuals are both writers they must therefore be hugely congenial,” said Anne, rather scornfully. “Nobody would expect two blacksmiths to be violently attracted toward each other merely because they were both blacksmiths.”

The p’int of good writing is to know when to stop.

There’s only the one safe compass and we’ve got to set our course by that — what it’s right to do.

Logic is a sort of hard, merciless thing, I reckon.

“Since you are determined to be married, Miss Cornelia,” said Gilbert solemnly, “I shall give you the excellent rules for the management of a husband which my grandmother gave my mother when she married my father.” “Well, I reckon I can manage Marshall Elliott,” said Miss Cornelia placidly. “But let us hear your rules.” “The first one is, catch him.” “He’s caught. Go on.” “The second one is, feed him well.” “With enough pie. What next?” “The third and fourth are — keep your eye on him.” “I believe you,” said Miss Cornelia emphatically.

Cats is cats, and take my word for it, they will never be anything else.

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

117. Anne of Avonlea

117. Anne of Avonlea. L.M. Montgomery. 1909. 304 pages. [Source: Bought]

First sentence: A tall, slim girl, "half-past sixteen," with serious gray eyes and hair which her friends called auburn, had sat down on the broad red sandstone doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one ripe afternoon in August, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of Virgil. 

Premise/plot: Anne Shirley, a YOUNG Anne Shirley, assumes the responsibilities of school teacher and big sister while resuming her roles as kindred spirit, best friend, and daughter. At the end of Anne of Green Gables, Gilbert gallantly offers the Prince Edward Island school to Anne Shirley so that she can remain closer to home so she can care for (an aging) Marilla while she saves money for college. Anne of Avonlea chronicles about two years. She's a teacher...with some memorable students, notably Paul Irving. She's a friend...Mr. Harrison, a grumpy neighbor, is one new friend. But most importantly perhaps, she becomes a "big sister." Marilla takes in TWO children--twins--Davy and Dora. Davy is a HANDFUL and delight. Never a dull day with his troublesome, mischievous adventures/misadventures. Dora is a saint. By the end of the novel, Anne Shirley is ready to head off to college....

My thoughts: I really LOVE, LOVE, LOVE this one. Is it as good as the first book or last book in the series? Probably not. Is it as good as Anne of the Island? Well. It's a toss-up. Because as much as I love and crazy love and adore aspects of Anne of the Island, Anne of Avonlea is just MARVELOUS. And Anne of the Island has its duller moments. Definitely less comedic. 

Mr. Harrison about Mrs. Rachel Lynde:

"I detest that woman more than anybody I know. She can put a whole sermon, text, comment, and application, into six words, and throw it at you like a brick."

"I never was much of a talker till I came to Avonlea and then I had to begin in self-defense or Mrs. Lynde would have said I was dumb and started a subscription to have me taught sign language."

Fun with Davy:

"Anne," said Davy, sitting up in bed and propping his chin on his hands, "Anne, where is sleep? People go to sleep every night, and of course I know it's the place where I do the things I dream, but I want to know WHERE it is and how I get there and back without knowing anything about it...and in my nighty too. Where is it?"

 "I wish people could live on pudding. Why can't they, Marilla? I want to know."
"Because they'd soon get tired of it."
"I'd like to try that for myself," said skeptical Davy.

Paul Irving to Anne:

"I've prayed every night that God would give me enough grace to enable me to eat every bit of my porridge in the mornings. But I've never been able to do it yet, and whether it's because I have too little grace or too much porridge I really can't decide."

Favorite quotes: 

"You're never safe from being surprised till you're dead."

“One can't get over the habit of being a little girl all at once.” 

“After all," Anne had said to Marilla once, "I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”

“Anne had no sooner uttered the phrase, "home o'dreams," than it captivated her fancy and she immediately began the erection of one of her own. It was, of course, tenanted by an ideal master, dark, proud, and melancholy; but oddly enough, Gilbert Blythe persisted in hanging about too, helping her arrange pictures, lay out gardens, and accomplish sundry other tasks which a proud and melancholy hero evidently considered beneath his dignity. Anne tried to banish Gilbert's image from her castle in Spain but, somehow, he went on being there, so Anne, being in a hurry, gave up the attempt and pursued her aerial architecture with such success that her "home o'dreams" was built and furnished before Diana spoke again. ”

“…I think,' concluded Anne, hitting on a very vital truth, 'that we always love best the people who need us.” 

“When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right up on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize I drop down to earth with a thud. But really, Marilla, the flying part is glorious as long as it lasts...it's like soaring through a sunset. I think it almost pays for the thud.” 

“It takes all sorts of people to make a world, as I've often heard, but I think there are some who could be spared,' Anne told her reflection in the east gable mirror that night.” 

"If we have friends we should look only for the best in them and give them the best that is in us, don't you think? Then friendship would be the most beautiful thing in the world." 

"In this world you've just got to hope for the best and prepare for the worst and take whatever God sends."

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

68. The Magician's Nephew

68. The Magician's Nephew (Chronicles of Narnia #6) C.S. Lewis. 1955. 221 pages. [Source: Library [4 stars, audio book, children's fantasy, children's classic]

First sentence: This is a story about something that happened long ago when your grandfather was a child. It is a very important story because it shows how all the comings and goings between our own world and the land of Narnia first began.

Premise/plot: In this sixth book in the series, Lewis takes us back to 'in the beginning.' The Magician's Nephew introduces readers to the Professor when he was just a young boy, Digory. The adventures concern Digory, his friend and neighbor, Polly, and Digory's very foolish and slightly wicked uncle who sees himself as a MAGICIAN. The magician manipulates and tricks the children into taking part in his experiment--yellow rings and green rings, traveling to other worlds. Digory gives into temptation and awakens an evil queen named Jardis. This one has plenty of action but also a great deal of beauty. Readers witness the creation of Narnia, witness Aslan speaking--or singing--the world into being, witness Aslan establishing order and making provisions for his creation.

My thoughts: I really do like this one. I hate that some people want to make this the first in the series. But the story itself is well worth reading. It has so many great scenes, in particular the creation of Narnia is quite mesmerizing.

ETA: I listened to this one on audio in June/July 2025. I listened to the audio by Kenneth Branagh.

Favorite quotes:

“Oh, I see. You mean that little boys ought to keep their promises. Very true: most right and proper, I’m sure, and I’m very glad you have been taught to do it. But of course you must understand that rules of that sort, however excellent they may be for little boys—and servants—and women—and even people in general, can’t possibly be expected to apply to profound students and great thinkers and sages. No, Digory. Men like me, who possess hidden wisdom, are freed from common rules just as we are cut off from common pleasures. Ours, my boy, is a high and lonely destiny.”

“Silence, sir!” said Uncle Andrew, bringing his hand down on the table. “I will not be talked to like that by a little, dirty, schoolboy. You don’t understand. I am the great scholar, the magician, the adept, who is doing the experiment. Of course I need subjects to do it on. Bless my soul, you’ll be telling me next that I ought to have asked the guinea-pigs’ permission before I used them! No great wisdom can be reached without sacrifice. But the idea of my going myself is ridiculous. It’s like asking a general to fight as a common soldier. Supposing I got killed, what would become of my life’s work?”

“Very well. I’ll go. But there’s one thing I jolly well mean to say first. I didn’t believe in Magic till today. I see now it’s real. Well if it is, I suppose all the old fairy tales are more or less true. And you’re simply a wicked, cruel magician like the ones in the stories. Well, I’ve never read a story in which people of that sort weren’t paid out in the end, and I bet you will be. And serve you right.”

“There’s not much point in finding a magic ring that lets you into other worlds if you’re afraid to look at them when you’ve got there.”

“Don’t you understand?” said the Queen (still speaking to Digory). “I was the Queen. They were all my people. What else were they there for but to do my will?” “It was rather hard luck on them, all the same,” said he. “I had forgotten that you are only a common boy. How should you understand reasons of State? You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for you or for any of the common people is not wrong in a great Queen such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules. Ours is a high and lonely destiny.”

Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind.

In the darkness something was happening at last. A voice had begun to sing. It was very far away and Digory found it hard to decide from what direction it was coming. Sometimes it seemed to come from all directions at once. Sometimes he almost thought it was coming out of the earth beneath them. Its lower notes were deep enough to be the voice of the earth herself. There were no words. There was hardly even a tune. But it was, beyond comparison, the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. It was so beautiful he could hardly bear it.

The earth was of many colors; they were fresh, hot and vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the Singer himself, and then you forgot everything else. It was a Lion. Huge, shaggy, and bright, it stood facing the risen sun. Its mouth was wide open in song and it was about three hundred yards away.

THE LION WAS PACING TO AND FRO about that empty land and singing his new song. It was softer and more lilting than the song by which he had called up the stars and the sun; a gentle, rippling music. And as he walked and sang the valley grew green with grass. It spread out from the Lion like a pool. It ran up the sides of the little hills like a wave. In a few minutes it was creeping up the lower slopes of the distant mountains, making that young world every moment softer. The light wind could now be heard ruffling the grass. Soon there were other things besides grass. The higher slopes grew dark with heather. Patches of rougher and more bristling green appeared in the valley. Digory did not know what they were until one began coming up quite close to him. It was a little, spiky thing that threw out dozens of arms and covered these arms with green and grew larger at the rate of about an inch every two seconds. There were dozens of these things all round him now. When they were nearly as tall as himself he saw what they were. “Trees!” he exclaimed.

IT WAS OF COURSE THE LION’S VOICE. The children had long felt sure that he could speak: yet it was a lovely and terrible shock when he did. Out of the trees wild people stepped forth, gods and goddesses of the wood; with them came Fauns and Satyrs and Dwarfs. Out of the river rose the river god with his Naiad daughters. And all these and all the beasts and birds in their different voices, low or high or thick or clear, replied: “Hail, Aslan. We hear and obey. We are awake. We love. We think. We speak. We know.”

“Creatures, I give you yourselves,” said the strong, happy voice of Aslan. “I give to you forever this land of Narnia. I give you the woods, the fruits, the rivers. I give you the stars and I give you myself. The Dumb Beasts whom I have not chosen are yours also. Treat them gently and cherish them but do not go back to their ways lest you cease to be Talking Beasts. For out of them you were taken and into them you can return.

For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where you are standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are.

Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed.

“Foolish boy,” said the Witch. “Why do you run from me? I mean you no harm. If you do not stop and listen to me now, you will miss some knowledge that would have made you happy all your life.” “Well I don’t want to hear it, thanks,” said Digory. But he did. “I know what errand you have come on,” continued the Witch. “For it was I who was close beside you in the woods last night and heard all your counsels. You have plucked fruit in the garden yonder. You have it in your pocket now. And you are going to carry it back, untasted, to the Lion; for him to eat, for him to use. You simpleton! Do you know what that fruit is? I will tell you. It is the apple of youth, the apple of life. I know, for I have tasted it; and I feel already such changes in myself that I know I shall never grow old or die. Eat it, Boy, eat it; and you and I will both live forever and be king and queen of this whole world—or of your world, if we decide to go back there.”

 

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

67. The Moving Finger

67. The Moving Finger. Agatha Christie. 1942/2007. Black Dog & Leventhal. 208 pages. [Source: Library] [5 stars, adult mystery, classic, romance]

First sentence: I have often recalled the morning when the first of the anonymous letters came.

Jerry Burton, our hero, has taken a house in the country with his sister, Joanna. He's recuperating from an injury, and his doctor has definitely suggested some rest and relaxation. As for Joanna, she's recuperating from a broken heart. But rural village life isn't as uneventful and peaceful as he expected. For soon after his arrival, an anonymous "poison pen" begins a nasty letter campaign. Which is unpleasant enough, he supposes, but things turn deadly after a woman's "suicide" after receiving a vile letter. The victim leaves behind two young sons, an older daughter from her first marriage, a husband, and a rather pretty governess. Megan, the daughter from the first marriage, soon becomes a major player in this Miss Marple mystery. This "suicide" becomes a bit suspicious when a second death occurs--that of a maid--within the home. The question becomes did this maid--on her day off--see something?

I loved this one. I just LOVED it. It wasn't a purely pleasant read for me. I wouldn't exactly say I was praying throughout, but I was certainly wishful with my repeated pleas, please don't let it be Megan, please don't let it be Megan, please don't let it be Megan. Never have I gotten that involved with a mystery. Who is Megan? For better or worse, she's the young woman our hero described thusly, "She looked much more like a horse than a human being. In fact, she would have been a very nice horse with a little grooming" (17). She's largely ignored not only by the village but by her family as well. But there is something about her that Jerry, our hero, can't ignore. He goes out of his way--time and time and time again--to include her. He even invites her to stay with him and his sister after her mother's death. He is the one person, she's found, willing to listen to her.

While Jerry is making friends with Megan--not always an easy task--Joanna, his sister, is trying to make friends with the local doctor. That is an uphill battle. Joanna has never, ever had to work this hard to get a guy to like her.

So this mystery has a romantic element to it which I just loved. It also stars Miss Marple, though she doesn't enter the case until after the second death occurs. Miss Marple finds Jerry Burton a great help in this one! The details he's observed through his stay, makes solving this one so much easier for her! It gives her quite the lead. But she still has to *prove* it.

The Moving Finger is very compelling! I loved it for so many different reasons.

My favorite quotes:

Emily Barton, I think, has a mental picture of men as interminably consuming whisky-and-sodas and smoking cigars, and in the intervals dropping out to do a few seductions of village maidens, or to conduct a liaison with a married woman.
When I said this to Joanna later, she replied that it was probably wishful thinking, that Emily Barton would have liked to come across such a man, but alas, had never done so. (85)

"The police are doing their best."
"If Agnes could be killed yesterday, their best isn't good enough."
"So you know better than they do?"
"Not at all. I don't know anything at all. That's why I'm going to call in an expert."
I shook my head. "You can't do that. Scotland Yard will only take over on a demand from the chief constable of the county. Actually they have sent Graves."
"I don't mean that kind of an expert. I don't mean someone who knows about anonymous letters or even about murder. I mean someone who knows people. Don't you see? We want someone who knows a great deal about wickedness!"
It was a queer point of view. But it was, somehow, stimulating. (141)

"Yes, it was dangerous, but we are not put into this world, Mr. Burton, to avoid danger when an innocent fellow creature's life is at stake. You understand me?"
I understood. (199)

 

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

59. The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum

 59. The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum. Thornton W. Burgess. 1914. 139 pages. [Source: Library] [5 stars, classic, children's classic, animal fantasy]

First sentence:  THE Green Meadows were thrown into great excitement late one afternoon, just as the black shadows came creeping down from the Purple Hills. Reddy Fox brought the news, and when he told it he grinned as if he enjoyed it and was glad of it. "Old Billy Possum is dead. I know it because I saw Farmer Brown's boy carrying him home by the tail," said Reddy. "So you see he wasn't so smart as you thought he was," he added maliciously. No one really believed Reddy Fox, for every one knows that he seldom tells the truth, but when Jimmy Skunk came mournfully down the Crooked Little Path and said that it was true, they had to believe it. Then everybody began to talk about Unc' Billy and say nice things about him and tell how much they had enjoyed having him live in the Green Forest since he came up from "Ol' Virginny." That is, everybody but Reddy Fox said so. Reddy said that it served Unc' Billy right, because he was of no account, anyway. Then everybody began to hoot and hiss at Reddy until he was glad enough to slink away.

Premise/plot: What you see is what you get: the ADVENTURES of Uncle Billy Possum. Thornton W. Burgess published a series of children's books--fantasy books, animal fantasy books--in the early twentieth century. Unc' Billy Possum LOVES to steal eggs from Farmer Brown. Jimmy Skunk is a friend and cohort. They both love to steal eggs from Farmer Brown. Usually, Unc' Billy is clever enough NOT to get caught directly by Farmer Brown or his son(s). But not always--so this one has some adventures AND misadventures. 

The simple plot could be condensed to Uncle Billy Possums' family comes to live with him in the Green Meadows and his friends throw a surprise party to celebrate. Not all the animals are invited, pranks are planned, and plots are foiled. Uncle Billy finds himself in a series of scrapes when his wits become 'sleepy' and he doesn't think through his 'criminal' activities (egg stealing). While his family worries, Unc' Billy feels stressed. Will he ever find his way back to his family?! Will lessons be learned?!

My thoughts: This is the first Thornton Burgess that I remember reading--at least reading on my own! Mom assures me that she read aloud some of his animal stories when we were young. I definitely LOVED this one. I thought the characters were fun. The stories were charming; perhaps a few instances where people might feel them to be NOT politically correct--a few 'dated' terms that are not perfectly ideal. However, especially adult readers could still find these stories delightful, charming, and perhaps nostalgic.
I would always prefer to read classics in their original form--rooted in the time and place in which they were written--than to have 'edited' versions that are seeking to appease. 

Favorite quote:

Now it never does to let one's wits go to sleep. Some folks call it forgetting, but forgetting is nothing but sleepy wits. And sleepy wits get more people into trouble than anything else in the world. Unc' Billy Possum's wits were asleep when he left Farmer Brown's hen-house. If they hadn't been, he would have remembered this little saying:

The wits that live within my head
Must never, never go to sleep,
For if they should I might forget
And Trouble on me swiftly leap.

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

58. The Fellowship of the Ring (Lord of the Rings)

The Fellowship of the Ring. J.R.R. Tolkien. 1954/1965. Houghton Mifflin. 423 pages. [Source: Bought] [5 stars, fantasy, classic]

First sentence from the prologue: This book is largely concerned with Hobbits, and from its pages a reader may discover much of their character and a little of their history.

First sentence from chapter one: When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.

[ETA: I've reread The Lord of the Rings many times now. This was my FIRST TIME to listen to the audio book of Fellowship of the Rings. It's about 22 hours of awesomeness. Maybe a little longer. The audio book I listened to was narrated by Andy Serkis. He was a GREAT narrator. DISTINCT voices for all the characters. Each one was GREAT. It was just a joy to revisit the book in audio form. It made the poetry/songs especially enjoyable instead of just something you skim/skip.]

Premise/plot: The novel opens with a HUGE celebration. Bilbo will be turning 111 and Frodo will be turning 33.

Bilbo is preparing to leave the Shire forever, but, he'll be leaving most everything to Frodo--including his magical ring. Gandalf is relieved that the ring will pass onto Frodo, it makes him a bit nervous to see Bilbo so attached to it and calling it precious. As the years go by--and years DO go by--Gandalf becomes concerned, worried, anxious about the ring. He fears that it is the ONE RING, and that Frodo's possession of the ring is dangerous.

I believe Frodo is about fifty when he does eventually set out on his very own adventure. And he won't be alone. He'll be accompanied by Sam, Pippin, and Merry. As their journey progresses, more people join the fellowship, and more risks are faced.

My thoughts: I love, love, loved rereading The Fellowship of the Ring. I think this is my third time to finish the series. (Yes, I've read all three of the trilogy when I'm writing this review.) There is something comforting about rereading it. I think it gets better each time. I find more to love, more to share. I notice more as well.

  On birthday presents:

Hobbits give presents to other people on their own birthdays. Not very expensive ones, as a rule, and not so lavishly as on this occasion; but it was not a bad system. Actually in Hobbiton and Bywater every day in the year was somebody’s birthday, so that every hobbit in those parts had a fair chance of at least one present at least once a week. But they never got tired of them.

It was a tendency of hobbit-holes to get cluttered up: for which the custom of giving so many birthday-presents was largely responsible. Not, of course, that the birthday-presents were always new; there were one or two old mathoms of forgotten uses that had circulated all around the district; but Bilbo had usually given new presents, and kept those that he received. 

On the food at the birthday party:

There were three official meals: lunch, tea, and dinner (or supper). But lunch and tea were marked chiefly by the fact that at those times all the guests were sitting down and eating together. At other times there were merely lots of people eating and drinking – continuously from elevenses until six-thirty, when the fireworks started. 

Bilbo confesses something to Gandalf:

‘I am old, Gandalf. I don’t look it, but I am beginning to feel it in my heart of hearts. Well-preserved indeed!’ he snorted. ‘Why, I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can’t be right. I need a change, or something.’ Gandalf looked curiously and closely at him. ‘No, it does not seem right,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘No, after all I believe your plan is probably the best.’ ‘Well, I’ve made up my mind, anyway. I want to see mountains again, Gandalf – mountains; and then find somewhere where I can rest. In peace and quiet, without a lot of relatives prying around, and a string of confounded visitors hanging on the bell. I might find somewhere where I can finish my book. I have thought of a nice ending for it: and he lived happily ever after to the end of his days.’ 

The ring:

As Frodo did so, he now saw fine lines, finer than the finest pen-strokes, running along the ring, outside and inside: lines of fire that seemed to form the letters of a flowing script. They shone piercingly bright, and yet remote, as if out of a great depth. ‘I cannot read the fiery letters,’ said Frodo in a quavering voice. ‘No,’ said Gandalf, ‘but I can. The letters are Elvish, of an ancient mode, but the language is that of Mordor, which I will not utter here. But this in the Common Tongue is what is said, close enough: One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.
It is only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore: Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky, Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone, Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die, One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.’

But as for breaking the Ring, force is useless. Even if you took it and struck it with a heavy sledge-hammer, it would make no dint in it. It cannot be unmade by your hands, or by mine. 

‘There is only one way: to find the Cracks of Doom in the depths of Orodruin, the Fire-mountain, and cast the Ring in there, if you really wish to destroy it, to put it beyond the grasp of the Enemy for ever.’ 

Frodo and Gandalf 'regret' the times in which they live:

‘I wish it need not have happened in my time,’ said Frodo. ‘So do I,’ said Gandalf, ‘and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us. And already, Frodo, our time is beginning to look black. The Enemy is fast becoming very strong. His plans are far from ripe, I think, but they are ripening. We shall be hard put to it. We should be very hard put to it, even if it were not for this dreadful chance. 

I am not made for perilous quests. I wish I had never seen the Ring! Why did it come to me? Why was I chosen?’ ‘You may be sure that it was not for any merit that others do not possess: not for power or wisdom, at any rate. But you have been chosen, and you must therefore use such strength and heart and wits as you have.’

‘Not safe for ever,’ said Gandalf. ‘There are many things in the deep waters; and seas and lands may change. And it is not our part here to take thought only for a season, or for a few lives of Men, or for a passing age of the world. We should seek a final end of this menace, even if we do not hope to make one.’ 

More words of wisdom from Gandalf:

Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. 

Hobbits really are amazing creatures, as I have said before. You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch.  

The wide world is all about you: you can fence yourselves in, but you cannot for ever fence it out.’ 

It is perilous to study too deeply the arts of the Enemy, for good or for ill. But such falls and betrayals, alas, have happened before. 

‘Despair, or folly?’ said Gandalf. ‘It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not. It is wisdom to recognize necessity, when all other courses have been weighed, though as folly it may appear to those who cling to false hope. Well, let folly be our cloak, a veil before the eyes of the Enemy! For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts. Into his heart the thought will not enter that any will refuse it, that having the Ring we may seek to destroy it. If we seek this, we shall put him out of reckoning.’ 

Favorite Sam Bits:

‘Well, sir,’ said Sam dithering a little. ‘I heard a deal that I didn’t rightly understand, about an enemy, and rings, and Mr. Bilbo, sir, and dragons, and a fiery mountain, and – and Elves, sir. I listened because I couldn’t help myself, if you know what I mean. Lor bless me, sir, but I do love tales of that sort. And I believe them too, whatever Ted may say. Elves, sir! I would dearly love to see them. Couldn’t you take me to see Elves, sir, when you go?’

‘It is going to be very dangerous, Sam. It is already dangerous. Most likely neither of us will come back.’ ‘If you don’t come back, sir, then I shan’t, that’s certain,’ said Sam. ‘Don’t you leave him! they said to me. Leave him! I said. I never mean to. I am going with him, if he climbs to the Moon; and if any of those Black Riders try to stop him, they’ll have Sam Gamgee to reckon with, I said. They laughed.’

‘Do you feel any need to leave the Shire now – now that your wish to see them has come true already?’ he asked. ‘Yes, sir. I don’t know how to say it, but after last night I feel different. I seem to see ahead, in a kind of way. I know we are going to take a very long road, into darkness; but I know I can’t turn back. It isn’t to see Elves now, nor dragons, nor mountains, that I want – I don’t rightly know what I want: but I have something to do before the end, and it lies ahead, not in the Shire. I must see it through, sir, if you understand me.’

Sam looked at him unhappily. ‘It all depends on what you want,’ put in Merry. ‘You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin – to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours – closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid – but we are coming with you; or following you like hounds.’ 

‘Where did you come by that, Sam?’ asked Pippin. ‘I’ve never heard those words before.’ Sam muttered something inaudible. ‘It’s out of his own head, of course,’ said Frodo. ‘I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he’s a jester. He’ll end up by becoming a wizard – or a warrior!’ ‘I hope not,’ said Sam. ‘I don’t want to be neither!’ 

Sam sat on the ground and put his head in his hands. ‘I wish I had never come here, and I don’t want to see no more magic,’ he said and fell silent. After a moment he spoke again thickly, as if struggling with tears. ‘No, I’ll go home by the long road with Mr. Frodo, or not at all,’ he said. ‘But I hope I do get back some day. If what I’ve seen turns out true, somebody’s going to catch it hot!’ 

‘So all my plan is spoilt!’ said Frodo. ‘It is no good trying to escape you. But I’m glad, Sam. I cannot tell you how glad. Come along! It is plain that we were meant to go together. We will go, and may the others find a safe road! Strider will look after them. I don’t suppose we shall see them again.’ ‘Yet we may, Mr. Frodo. We may,’ said Sam.

Concerning Aragorn and other members of the Fellowship:

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king. 

‘I am Aragorn son of Arathorn; and if by life or death I can save you, I will.’

‘Did the verses apply to you then?’ asked Frodo. ‘I could not make out what they were about. But how did you know that they were in Gandalf’s letter, if you have never seen it?’ ‘I did not know,’ he answered. ‘But I am Aragorn, and those verses go with that name.’ He drew out his sword, and they saw that the blade was indeed broken a foot below the hilt. ‘Not much use is it, Sam?’ said Strider. ‘But the time is near when it shall be forged anew.’

There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone. You will learn that your trouble is but part of the trouble of all the western world.

 

 

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

43. The Hobbit

 

 

43. The Hobbit. J.R.R. Tolkien. 1937.  320 pages. [Source: Library] [5 stars, MG Fantasy, fantasy, classic] 

First sentence:  In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.  

ETA: I listened to the audio book narrated by Andy Serkis. It is a little over ten hours, I believe. IT WAS WONDERFUL, FANTASTIC, A JOY AND DELIGHT. He is a talented voice actor. I loved all his voices, except perhaps for some birds? But I recommend the audio a hundred million percent. I would say the audio book is perhaps better than the book. Perhaps. It definitely HELPS the singing portions! I usually skip the poems/songs when I read. But Serkis actually makes them enjoyable!!!!

Premise/plot: Bilbo Baggins has an unexpected adventure in J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. When this children's classic opens, Bilbo is decidedly not a burglar. But by the end of it, well, you may have to decide for yourself if he is or isn't... Regardless, Bilbo sets off with THIRTEEN dwarves on a get-rich-or-die-trying quest. They're off to face down a DRAGON, but the dragon won't be the only challenge they face. Will Bilbo return to his beloved shire wiser?!

My thoughts: I love, love, love, love, love, love, love this one. I do. I may even love it a tiny bit more than the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Maybe. It's a tricky thing really because in truth, I just LOVE hobbits. I love spending time with hobbits. I love Tolkien's insights about hobbits. One of the things I love about Tolkien is how quotable he is.

Quotes:

“Good Morning!” said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat. “What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?” “All of them at once,” said Bilbo.

“What a lot of things you do use Good morning for!” said Gandalf. “Now you mean that you want to get rid of me, and that it won’t be good till I move off.”

He liked visitors, but he liked to know them before they arrived, and he preferred to ask them himself. He had a horrible thought that the cakes might run short, and then he—as the host: he knew his duty and stuck to it however painful—he might have to go without.

“Go back?” he thought. “No good at all! Go sideways? Impossible! Go forward? Only thing to do! On we go!”

He was altogether alone. Soon he thought it was beginning to feel warm. “Is that a kind of a glow I seem to see coming right ahead down there?” he thought. It was. As he went forward it grew and grew, till there was no doubt about it. It was a red light steadily getting redder and redder. Also it was now undoubtedly hot in the tunnel. Wisps of vapour floated up and past him and he began to sweat. A sound, too, began to throb in his ears, a sort of bubbling like the noise of a large pot galloping on the fire, mixed with a rumble as of a gigantic tom-cat purring. This grew to the unmistakable gurgling noise of some vast animal snoring in its sleep down there in the red glow in front of him. It was at this point that Bilbo stopped. Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did. The tremendous things that happened afterwards were as nothing compared to it. He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait.

“You have nice manners for a thief and a liar,” said the dragon. “You seem familiar with my name, but I don’t seem to remember smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?” “You may indeed! I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my paths led. And through the air. I am he that walks unseen.” “So I can well believe,” said Smaug, “but that is hardly your usual name.” “I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number.” “Lovely titles!” sneered the dragon. “But lucky numbers don’t always come off.” “I am he that buries his friends alive and drowns them and draws them alive again from the water. I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me.” “These don’t sound so creditable,” scoffed Smaug. “I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider,” went on Bilbo beginning to be pleased with his riddling. “That’s better!” said Smaug. “But don’t let your imagination run away with you!”

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.

 

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

36. All Creatures Great and Small

     

36. All Creatures Great and Small. James Herriot. 1972. 437 pages. [Source: Library] [semi-autobiographical, adult fiction, animals; 5 stars]

First sentence: They didn't say anything about this in the books, I thought, as the snow blew in through the gaping doorway and settled on my naked back. I lay face down on the cobbled floor in a pool of nameless muck, my arm deep inside the straining cow, my feet scrabbling for a toe hold between the stones. 

Premise/plot: The first two books of a British book series were published under the name All Creatures Great and Small in 1972. They are an animal-focused 'memoir' [semi-autobiographical???] of a Yorkshire vet. James Herriot is the pen name of James Alfred Wight.

Is a love of animals required? Perhaps somewhat. Certainly if you absolutely hate animals it might not be a good match for you.

Is an interest in veterinary practices required? Not really. True if you absolutely hate animals and have zero interest in their care and wellbeing, well, it might not be the absolutely best fit. However, it isn't so much *what* as *how*. 

All Creatures Great and Small is a celebration of storytelling. It is HOW the stories are told, the narration itself, that makes this one so delightful, so charming, so worth reading. It is also a celebration of a passing-away-way-of-life. I believe, though I am not sure, they capture rural, country life in the late 1930s, early 1940s. 

The chapters are linked together loosely in that they are stories of his veterinary practice. There are some characters [loosely based on people he knew] that are present for many if not most of the stories. There is a love interest as well--though she doesn't make her appearance until later in the book. But in some ways the chapters are just episodes that could almost be read in any order. 

My thoughts: I was slightly resistant. Slightly. I knew in a fuzzy, vague way that these stories, these books, were among my grandma's favorites. I knew that the television series was based on a book series. I knew that there were two television series. (I haven't seen either yet). I knew that this might be a someday book for me. I'll get around to it...someday. I definitely enjoyed this one. I am not "big" on farm life, farm stories, farm animals. But I found the stories charming. I LOVED him as a narrator. It almost didn't matter that I didn't really *care* care about horses and cows and sheep and pigs, etc.

 

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews

29. The Martian Chronicles

    

29. Martian Chronicles. Ray Bradbury. HarperCollins. 1997 edition. 288 pages. [Source: Library] [5 stars, science fiction, speculative fiction, classic, short stories]

First sentence: One minute it was Ohio winter, with doors closed, windows locked, the panes blind with frost, icicles fringing every roof, children skiing on slopes, housewives lumbering like great black bears in their furs, along the icy streets.
And then a long wave of warmth crossed the small town. A flooding sea of hart air; it seemed as if someone had left a bakery door open. The heat pulsed among the cottages and bushes and children. The icicles dropped, shattering, to melt. The doors flew open. The windows flew up. The children worked off their wool clothes. The housewives shed their bear disguises. The snow dissolved and showed last summer's ancient green lawns.
Rocket summer. The words passed among the people in the open, airing houses. Rocket summer. The warm desert air changing the frost patterns on the windows, erasing the art work. The skis and sleds suddenly useless. The snow, falling from the cold sky upon the town, turned to a hot rain before it touched the ground. Rocket summer. People leaned from their dripping porches and watched the reddening sky.  

Premise/plot: Martian Chronicles is a collection of Mars-themed short stories. It has been published in several different editions. New stories kept getting added, for example, small edits here and there. The earliest stories are from the 1940s. Each chapter can (and does) stand alone. The stories do have a flow, and, perhaps some do depend on what has gone before. But there is not one main character. It doesn't follow a particular person or family. 

This time around [I might have rearead this one a half dozen times or so] I read it from the Library of America edition (2021). It uses the *original* dates. And it includes all of the stories, I believe. 

January 1999 Rocket Summer
February 1999 Ylla
August 1999 The Summer Night
August 1999 The Earth Men
March 2000 The Taxpayer
April 2000 The Third Expedition
June 2001 And the Moon Be Still As Bright
August 2001 The Settlers
December 2001 The Green Morning
February 2002 The Locusts
August 2002 Night Meeting
October 2002 The Shore
November 2002 The Fire Balloons
February 2003 Interim
April 2003 The Musicians
May 2003 The Wilderness
June 2003 Way in the Middle of the Air
2004-2005 The Naming of Names
April 2005 Usher II
August 2005 The Old Ones
September 2005 The Martian
November 2005 The Luggage Store
November 2005 The Off Season
November 2005 The Watchers
December 2005 The Silent Towns
April 2026 The Long Years
August 2026 There Will Come Soft Rains
October 2026 The Million Year Picnic

My thoughts on individual stories, and, first sentences from the stories

"Ylla"

They had a house of crystal pillars on the planet Mars by the edge of an empty sea, and every morning you could see Mrs. K eating the golden fruits that grew from the crystal walls, or cleaning the house with handfuls of magnetic dust which, taking all dirt with it, blew away on the hot wind.

A story told solely from the perspective of the Martians, in this case, a husband and wife. A husband has a very definite reaction to his wife's strange dreams. She dreams of a man, Nathaniel York, coming in a ship, in a rocket, and landing. The dream even tells her where and when. But her controlling and perhaps jealous husband has a way of dealing--for once and for all--with his wife's dreams.

"The Earth Men"

Whoever was knocking at the door didn't want to stop. Mrs. Ttt threw the door open. "Well?"

The story of the second expedition. Let's just say that the welcoming committee wasn't quite what they expected! First, NO ONE wanted to bother with them, then they were greeted by a strange assortment of Martians all claiming to be from Earth. And then....well, that wouldn't be polite of me to spoil it!
"The Third Expedition" (aka Mars is Heaven)

The ship came down from space. It came from the stars and the black velocities, and the shining movements, and the silent gulfs of space. It was a new ship; it had fire in its body and men in its metal cells, and it moved with a clean silence, fiery and warm. In it were seventeen men, including a captain. 

This one is a classic short story that you may have stumbled across in another context from The Martian Chronicles. (I've heard two radio adaptations, for example.) And the title is self-explanatory. It is the story of what happens when the third expedition lands. It is the story of what they see and  WHO they see. It is a story that stretches you, perhaps. But it's a good one!

"--And the Moon Be Still As Bright"

It was so cold when they first came from the rocket into the night that Spender began to gather the dry Martian wood and build a small fire. He didn't say anything about a celebration; he merely gathered the wood, set fire to it, and watched it burn.

And now we're on to the fourth expedition, the fourth rocket ship to successfully land on Mars. This time they manage to stay alive past the initial day or two or three. This is the story of what happens when one of the crew members, Spender, goes off on his own to learn the Martian culture, to explore the ruins, to explore the cities, to examine the artifacts and remnants of a culture that is gone with the wind. What happens next...well....there are a million reasons why readers shouldn't sympathize with Spender, but, like Captain Wilder, they may feel the pull all the same.

"The Settlers"

The men of Earth came to Mars. They came because they were afraid or unafraid, because they were happy or unhappy, because they felt like Pilgrims or did not feel like Pilgrims. There was a reason for each man. They were leaving bad wives or bad jobs or bad towns; they were coming to find something or leave something or get something, to dig up something or bury something or leave something alone. They were coming with small dreams or large dreams or none at all.

One of my favorite vignettes. For some reason it reminds me of John Steinbeck.

"Night Meeting"

Before going on up into the blue hills, Tomas Gomez stopped for gasoline at the lonely station.

There is something haunting and fantastical about this short story of a human and Martian meeting and not exactly seeing the same reality.

"The Fire Balloons"

Fire exploded over summer night lawns. 

 I first read "The Fire Balloons" in another collection of Ray Bradbury stories. I didn't, at the time, see it as being part of The Martian Chronicles. (And, in fact, it wasn't part of the edition I first read.) But now it is one of my favorite stories! In it two priests go to Mars as missionaries. One at least was expecting, was hoping, to meet Martians, to actually BE a missionary TO Martians, to an alien species. So when given the opportunity of going out into the hills and trying to communicate with blue balloon-like hovering creatures OR ministering to humans who have migrated to Mars, the answer is clear to Father Peregrine. But do the Martians need his church? This story has one of my favorite quotes:

"Father Peregrine, won't you ever be serious?"
"Not until the good Lord is. Oh, don't look so terribly shocked, please. The Lord is not serious. In fact, it is a little hard to know just what else He is except loving. And love has to do with humor, doesn't it? For you cannot love someone unless you put up with him, can you? And you cannot put up with someone constantly unless you can laugh at him. Isn't that true? And certainly we are ridiculous little animals wallowing in the fudge bowl, and God must love us all the more because we appeal to His humor."

 "The Wilderness"

Oh, the Good Time has come at last--
It was twilight and Janice and Leonora packed steadily in their summer house, singing songs, eating little, and holding to each other when necessary. But they never glanced at the window where the night gathered deep and the stars came out bright and cold.

This is another story that I ended up loving. And it was new-to-me too, it not being part of the original. But in this story we meet two women who are about to travel to Mars to get married and settle down. (The men having gone first.) The story likens exploring and settling Mars to exploring and settling the Old West (places like Wyoming, California, Oregon, etc.) It is about how the two handle their last night on Earth.

Is this how it was over a century ago, she wondered, when the women, the night before, lay ready for sleep, or not ready, in the small towns of the East, and heard the sound of horses in the night and the creak of the Conestoga wagons ready to go, and the brooding of oxen under the trees, and the cry of children already lonely before their time?...Is this then how it was so long ago? On the rim of the precipice, on the edge of the cliff of stars. In their time the smell of buffalo, and in our time the smell of the Rocket. Is then then how it was? And she decided, as sleep assumed the dreaming for her, that yes, yes indeed, very much so, irrevocably, this was as it had always been and would forever continue to be. 

"Way In the Middle of the Air" 

"Did you hear about it?"
"About what?"

For better or worse this story exists. It does. I can see why some editions sweep it under the rug and pretend it doesn't exist. Is that the right call? Maybe. Maybe not. It concerns a racist family airing very vocally their views about 'a certain race' [the n-word is used throughout] joining the space race and going to Mars. It is a violent story. It is an ugly story. I didn't feel it enhanced the collection as a whole. However, it is what it is. And when the story was written racism WAS in play. It would have been written before the Civil Rights movement and perhaps gives one vignette of the times.

"Usher II" (aka Carnival of Madness)

"During the whole of a dull, dark and soundless day in the autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the heavens, I had been passing alone on horseback, through a singularly dreary tract of country, and at length found myself, as the shades of evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher..." Mr. William Stendahl paused in his quotation. There, upon a low black hill, stood the house, its cornerstone bearing the inscription: 2036 A.D.

I remembered this as being one of the stories in A PLEASURE TO BURN, a Ray Bradbury collection celebrating the creative stories leading up to the writing/publishing of Fahrenheit 451. And it was first published as "Carnival of Madness." But it was also part of Ray Bradbury's book, The Martian Chronicles. And it is perhaps one of the most memorable of the collection. It is a true must read for anyone who loves Fahrenheit 451, for it continues on some of the same themes. I don't want to say too much about it really, because it shouldn't be spoiled at all if you want to get the full enjoyment of it!

"The Martian"

The blue mountains lifted into the rain and the rain fell down into the long canals and old LaFarge and his wife came out of their house to watch. 

An elderly couple have come to Mars and one night they are surprised by the appearance of their "son" (who died and was buried back on Earth). Their "son" doesn't want to leave the house, and is enjoying his family too much to risk getting "trapped" by going into the city and interacting with others. This story is creepy.

"The Luggage Store," "The Off Season," "The Watchers," "The Silent Towns," "The Long Years," "There Will Come Soft Rains," and "The Million Year Picnic."

These stories, I feel, work best as a sequence showing what happens both on Earth and Mars when the worst happens--atomic war on Earth. In "The Luggage Store," one speculates that his business will improve greatly if the war happens, if the worst happens. He feels that everyone will want to go back home to Earth to be with their loved ones, to find out if their loved ones are okay, to try to piece their society and civilization back together. In "The Off Season" readers learn that the war has started and the destruction has begun. There is nothing truly comical about it, but, it does happen to be told from the point of view of a man who has just opened a hot dog stand. "The Watchers" shows the people leaving Mars to return to Earth--for better or worse. "The Silent Towns" and "The Long Years" are two stories set on Mars. The first, "The Silent Towns" is told from the point of view of a man who chose to stay behind. He's lonely, but not THAT lonely it turns out. He does meet one woman who stayed behind, but, he decides that his own company is enough after all. "The Long Years" sees the return of Captain Wilder, I believe, who discovers a man and his family. There is a twist, however, which prevents this one from being a happy story. "There Will Come Soft Rains" is a very, very, very lonely story where we get a glimpse--just a small glimpse perhaps--of the desolation and destruction of life as we know it in at least one human city. We see the ending of an era, perhaps. There are no human characters in this one. "The Million Year Picnic" resonates even more when seen back-to-back with "There Will Come Soft Rains." In this story, readers meet a family: parents and sons who have come to Mars on their own private Rocket--a rocket that has been hidden away for many years, a rocket that has been saved for a true emergency. We meet a father who has prepared for THE END in a big, big way.

 

© 2025 Becky Laney of Becky's Book Reviews